Protecting Her

by Allie Everhart

  I can’t be this way. Garret needs me. He’s still grieving the loss of his mother, just like I am. And I haven’t been here for him. I’m too trapped in my own grief.

  The room is silent, except for the sound of his fork lightly scraping against his plate as he pushes his potatoes around but doesn’t eat them. I need to say something to him, but I have nothing to say. I never know what to say to him anymore.

  “So you have a science test tomorrow?” I ask, remembering what Charles said.

  Garret sets his fork down and says quietly, “I told you that ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

  “You never do,” he says under his breath. He slides off the stool. “I’m going up to my room.”

  His plate looks like it hasn’t been touched. He couldn’t have eaten more than a couple bites.

  “Don’t you want to finish your dinner?” I ask as he walks away.

  “I’m not hungry,” he mumbles. I hear him go up the stairs and his bedroom door close.

  I get up and take our plates to the sink. My plate is almost as full as Garret’s. Neither one of us has been able to eat much since the plane crash. I scrape the food into the drain in the sink and run the garbage disposal. Then I put the plates in the dishwasher.

  A memory flashes in my head of Rachel standing here at the sink. I’d always come up behind her and wrap my arms around her and kiss her neck. She’d tell me to stop distracting her while she’s trying to clean up dinner, but then she’d turn around, a big smile on her face, and she’d kiss me and tell me she loves me.

  God, I miss her. I miss her so much. I miss everything about her. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she danced whenever a song she liked came on the radio. The way she snuggled up next to me on movie night. The way she hugged me. The way she touched me. The way she looked at me.

  The way she loved me.

  I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, my body trembling as I sob. I haven’t cried about her for weeks, but the memory of her here at this sink is so vivid, so real, that I’m suddenly overwhelmed with grief, unable to hold back the tears.

  Why did this have to happen? Why? Why did I tell her to get on that plane? Why did I force her to stay behind? Why did I agree to go to that meeting? If I’d just said no, I would’ve been there with her. We would’ve had our anniversary dinner. We would’ve taken the later flight. She wouldn’t have been on that plane. We’d be together right now.

  “Dad?” I hear Garret’s voice behind me, quiet and hesitant.

  “Garret, go away.” I’m still gripping the sink, my head hung over it, my face soaked with tears. I take a breath, but it’s shaky and I know Garret hears it.

  “Dad.” I feel his small hand on my back. “Are you okay?”

  “I said go away!” I scream it. “Get out of here! Go to your room!”

  His hand drops from my back and I hear him slowly walk away. I turn around and see him leaving the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his head dropped down.

  I should be racing after him, holding him, listening to him, helping him get through this. But I can’t. I can’t even help myself, so how can I help him?

  I hate myself right now, and the person I’m becoming. I feel like I’m reverting back to how I used to be and I can’t seem to stop it. I’m not just becoming a bad father. I’m becoming a bad person.

  Now that Jack’s gone, I have nobody to talk to when I feel my dark side taking over. So when it does, I feel like I can’t control it, so I let it take over and don’t bother fighting it. I know I’m stronger than that. I know I can fight it, but part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wants to embrace that side of myself, and release some of the pent-up rage I’m feeling over all that I’ve lost.

  And that’s exactly what I did a few weeks ago. A kill assignment was given to me, and instead of hiring a freelancer, I did it myself. We aren’t supposed to do that anymore. It’s too risky. They don’t want our members getting caught. But I did it anyway.

  The target of my assignment was a lawyer who had worked for us in the past and was threatening to tell our secrets if we didn’t pay him millions of dollars. He was a bad man. He abused his wife, nearly killing her one night. But we used our connections to cover up his sins in exchange for him helping us. It was wrong, but that’s what we do.

  When he made threats against us, I got the order to kill him. He lived in Manhattan so I drove there one night and found him in a bar having drinks with his mistress. When he left, I followed him.

  It was late and dark and cold outside, so not many people were out. I snuck up behind him, shoved him into an alley and shot him. Not just once. But over and over again. And it felt good. It scared me that I was getting pleasure out of it, but at the time, I was so angry that it almost made sense that I felt that way. That’s how I justified it. The next day, I felt no remorse. I just went on as if nothing had happened. But that anger is still there. I’ve heard that anger is a stage of grief, so maybe I’m stuck in that stage and can’t move past it. I feel like I never will. I lost the woman I love and the man who was like a father to me, all in the same day. How do I get past that? How do I move on?

  When I go upstairs later, Garret’s door is closed. I walk up to it and don’t hear anything. He must be asleep. I go down to my own room and change into pajamas and get into bed. As usual, I lie there unable to sleep. I can still smell her scent on the sheets. They’ve been washed many times, but they still smell like her. I thought of getting rid of them and buying new, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. Her scent is one of the last remaining pieces of her that remains in my life.

  The other piece of her, the big piece that remains, is Garret. He’s similar to her in so many ways. He looks exactly like me, but he acts just like Rachel. He has her personality. He’s loving and caring. He’s friendly and outgoing. He always tries to be optimistic. And he isn’t afraid to show emotion. You know when he’s happy or sad. He doesn’t try to hide it.

  Garret is so much like Rachel that sometimes it hurts to even be around him. It’s like I’m seeing her through him. That should be a good thing. I should be comforted by the fact that part of her lives on through Garret. But instead of feeling that way, I feel anger toward him for reminding me of her. I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do.

  The next day, I go to the office and lose myself in my work. It’s one of my coping mechanisms. I make sure every moment of my day is filled with constant activity so I don’t have a chance to think about her. I work from the second I arrive to the second I leave. I take no breaks, not even for lunch.

  “Pearce, do you have those reports?” My father is standing at my office door.

  “Yes.” I get up and bring him the folder.

  “There’s a conference call at five today. I need you to be there.”

  “Yes, fine,” I say, returning to my desk. He walks away.

  Since Rachel died, I haven’t been fighting with my father. Then again, there’s no reason to. We always fought about work or Rachel, but now Rachel is gone and I work at such a feverish pace that I get everything done on time and on schedule. My father has nothing to complain about.

  I’m sure he’ll be back to yelling at me in a month or so. I think the only reason he’s kept quiet is because my mother forced him to. She knows how upset I am that Rachel is gone, so she won’t allow my father to make my life even worse. Not yet. Not while I’m still such a mess.

  My father hasn’t even mentioned Rachel since she died, which is how he acts when anyone dies. He just continues on as if the person never existed. He acts the same way about Jack. The other members do too. After Jack died, everyone just went on as if nothing had happened.

  I never found out who killed Jack. The story we were told is that one of his freelancers did it, but I’m not sure I believe that. A freelancer would only know Jack by his number, not his name, so someone had to have told the freelancer that information, but if that’s the case, then who did it, and wh
y? Why would someone want to kill Jack? It can’t be because he was secretly calling me on that phone. Nobody even mentioned that to me or questioned me about it so I’m not sure if anyone actually knew that Jack and I had been talking. Maybe Jack just misplaced his phone and mistakenly thought someone took it.

  I don’t think I’ll ever know what really happened to Jack. And I don’t have time to worry about it. I have too many other things on my mind.

  The work day goes by quickly and we have our call at five. It ends a half hour later and I head home. It’s Friday night and I’m exhausted from the week. I usually leave at six, so it’s not that my days are overly long, but I work so hard while I’m there that I’m exhausted when I get home. That could also be caused by the fact that I get almost no sleep at night.

  When I arrive home, Charles is there, making dinner. Garret runs up to me, like he always does.

  “Hi, Dad.” He hugs me and I lean down and hug him back.

  “Hello, Garret.”

  He should be mad at me for how I treated him last night, but he’s not. That’s another way he’s like Rachel. He doesn’t hold a grudge. The two of us can argue, and by the next day, he’s over it.

  “What are we having for dinner, Charles?” I take my coat off and set my keys on the counter.

  “Pizza. It was Garret’s request.” Charles smiles at him. “He even helped me make it.”

  “I added the toppings,” Garret says.

  Charles checks the oven. “It should be done in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll go up and change.” I make my way up to the bedroom and change out of my suit.

  When I come back down, Garret is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He looks excited about something. He hasn’t looked that way since before his mother died.

  “I want to show you something.” He takes my hand.

  “What are you showing me?”

  “Just wait.” He drags me through the living room, past the kitchen, and into the family room.

  “We’re having movie night!” he says, his voice filled with excitement.

  There’s a stack of movies on the floor in front of the TV. And along the wall is the foldout table Rachel used to set up every Friday night for family movie night. We haven’t had one since she died.

  Garret takes me over to the table, which is topped with a big bowl of popcorn, cans of soda, licorice, and small boxes of candy. The licorice is sticking out of a glass jar, which is how Rachel used to always arrange it.

  “I set everything up all by myself,” Garret says. “Look! I even made the sign.” He holds up a piece of paper that reads ‘concession stand’ and has dancing popcorn and soda people drawn on it. Rachel used to make a sign just like that, or sometimes she’d have Garret do it.

  “That’s why Garret requested pizza,” Charles says, walking into the family room. “He said it’s tradition for movie night.”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “It was.”

  My gaze wanders back to the concession stand and then the movies on the floor. It’s all too much. It’s too much of a reminder of her. Memories come rushing back as I look around the room. Memories of Rachel in my arms as we sat on the couch, with Garret on the floor in front of us, sitting in his beanbag chair. He even brought the chair out. I’d hidden it away, not wanting to see it because it reminds me of our movie nights.

  “What do you think?” Garret asks.

  I feel him looking at me, but I can’t look back at him. I’m so angry at him right now. I don’t want this. I hate it! It’s just a reminder of how great our lives used to be. How much I want that life back. How much I miss her. How much I miss the three us together as a family.

  “Go to your room!” I yell at him. “Right now!”

  Garret backs away, startled. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

  “Everything!” I scream as I storm over to the concession stand. “How dare you do this! This was HER idea! HER tradition!” I sweep my hand across the table, knocking the bowl of popcorn and the neatly arranged boxes of candy on the floor. “We will NOT disrespect her by doing this without her!” I take the sign and rip it in half and toss it on the floor. “Do you understand me?” I scream it at him.

  Garret stands there, staring at me, his body rigid, like he’s afraid to move. He’s breathing fast, his lip quivering, but he manages to nod in response to my question.

  “Go upstairs!” I yell at him. “Now!”

  His eyes stay on my face for just a moment, then he turns and runs off and up to his room.

  Charles remains in the family room as I assess the mess I made.

  “I’ll clean this up,” I tell him. “You don’t have to.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” He sounds angry and I look up and see the anger on his face.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

  “You don’t know?” He sighs and shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did you not just see what happened here? Did you not see his face? What the hell were you thinking, yelling at him like that?”

  “He knows better than to do something like this. Throwing his mother’s memory in my face! Making this even harder on me! He knows how I’m suffering, and then he goes and does this!” I motion to the table.

  “He was trying to help you,” Charles says. “He said you were upset last night and he thought this would make you feel better.”

  “Well, he was wrong. He only made it worse.”

  “Garret didn’t know that. He thought he was helping. He spent all afternoon setting this up. Making that sign. Helping me with the pizza. He thought you’d be happy. And then you yelled at him.”

  Guilt clouds over my anger as I think about what Charles said. He’s right. Garret would never do this to hurt me. In his mind, he thought he was helping me. And the fact that he even wanted to help me, after the way I’ve acted toward him, just shows how caring he is, just like Rachel.

  “He was trying, Pearce. Garret was trying desperately to get through to you. He’s been trying for months. He’s trying to get his father back.”

  “Don’t lecture me about being a father.” I feel my anger return. What Charles said is true. I know it is, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear how I’ve failed my son. I don’t need to be reminded of what a horrible father I am. “You don’t have children, Charles. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “No, I don’t. But I’m not blind, and I can see what’s going on here. You’re still grieving the loss of your wife. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you, but it’s also hard for your son to go on without his mother, and you’re not there for him. He’s struggling, Pearce. Just like you are. But you won’t talk to him.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t. I’m not ready to.”

  “Then you need to get him into counseling. Give him someone to talk to. He’s just a little boy. He doesn’t understand what grief is or how to get past it. And you’re not helping him.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to help him when I’m drowning in my own grief?”

  “You’re his father. You’re all he has. Stop being so goddamn selfish and think of your son. Stop ignoring him. Stop acting like you’re the only one who’s suffering here. Like his grief doesn’t matter. Rachel would be furious if she knew you were treating Garret this way.”

  “Get out!” I yell at him. “Get out of my house!”

  He looks surprised, which he shouldn’t be. He said her name, and he knows I don’t want anyone saying her name.

  Charles slowly nods. “The pizza is on the counter. Your meals for the weekend are in the fridge. You just need to heat them up.” He turns to leave but then stops. “Garret was invited to a birthday party tomorrow. He asked you multiple times last week if he could go and you never answered, but he really wants to go.” He pauses. “And he needs some help with his math homework.”

  When I don’t respond, he turns and goes back to the kitchen. Moments later, I hear the
front door open and close as he leaves.

  I sit on the couch and take a moment to calm down. I need to go apologize to Garret. It was wrong of me to yell at him like that. I almost sounded like my father.

  Charles is right. Rachel would be furious if she knew I was treating Garret this way and not helping him get through this. And even though I know he needs help, I don’t think I’m the one who can help him. I’m not ready to talk about her, or the plane crash. I can’t answer his questions. I need to do as Charles suggested and get Garret into counseling. He needs to talk to someone. Someone better than me.

  I go over and pick up the mess I made. I arrange the candy boxes back like Garret had them. There are all different kinds, in the small boxes like they sell at the theater. Charles must have taken Garret out earlier to buy them.

  I get the small garbage can from the kitchen and throw out the licorice since it wasn’t wrapped. Next I scoop handfuls of popcorn in the trash, then pick up the remaining pieces. I take the remnants of Garret’s sign and hold it in my hand. It looks like he spent forever making it. He carefully drew the characters the same way Rachel used to draw them, and then he colored them with markers. I add the sign to the trash, then put the small garbage can back under the sink.

  It’s almost seven now and we haven’t had dinner. The pizza is still sitting on the counter. I go up to Garret’s room and knock on the door. He doesn’t answer. I open the door and see him sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed.

  “Garret.”

  He ignores me, which he should. I don’t deserve his attention.

  I sit on his bed. “Garret, come sit next to me.”

  He doesn’t move, so I just say what I need to say.

  “I’m sorry, Garret. It was wrong of me to react that way. I know you were only trying to help.”

  He’s quiet, his eyes on the floor.

  “I put the candy back like you had it. I threw out the popcorn, but we can make more. And the pizza is done. We just need to reheat it.”