Finding Life

by Tiffani Lynn

  It’s been three days since I was at Victor’s house and I miss him. I want to hear his voice, want to talk to him and tell him the good news that my sister is back home and doing well, tell him that business at the shop has been good and we’re all putting in overtime to cover for Jeff being out. Most of all I want to see him and feel his arms wrapped around me. There is a safe feeling that comes with the closeness of Victor. I don’t know if it’s his calm demeanor or if it’s his quiet manner or whatever it is, I miss it. I think I’ll call him tonight when I get home. He’s texted a few times and left me a voicemail once but I’ve been busy and effectively avoiding him. I did send a text back telling him I’m swamped, but that was as far as that went.

  I’ve just finished up my last brake job of the day for a woman who came in after she got off work. Everyone else went home for the night except my dad who is doing an oil change. I check the lady out, straighten up the front desk and start turning out lights inside the office when I hear a weird sound come from the shop, like a crash of metal, not like the normal clanging of metal. What the hell? I cross the room quickly and head into the shop.

  “Pop, what was that noise?” I call out to him.

  No response. That’s weird.

  “Pop!” I say a little louder as I continue moving to where he’s working. I’m about to yell again when I see his boot sticking out from behind the tire of the car he was working on, and it’s obvious he’s on the floor. I sprint over and find his eyes open but unfocused, and blood soaking his hair as it pools on the ground by his head. He must have hit the concrete or the toolbox when he fell.

  “Pop!” I screech, scrambling to get to him on the floor. I shake him hard. “Pop! Answer me!” There’s no response so I check his neck for a pulse and can’t find it. My heart is pounding so hard I swear it could crack my ribs. My adrenaline has kicked up so high that I feel like I’m in hyperdrive. I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial 911, put it on speaker, and drop it next to me.

  When the 911 operator answers, I spit out all the information as I know it. Then I start CPR with her still on the phone. There’s no response from him. He doesn’t even twitch. Holy shit. How did I end up giving my father CPR?

  A banging on the door snaps me out of my panic. “Ma’am, the paramedics are there. You need to open the door,” the 911 operator tells me.

  I jump up and run for the door I locked only a few minutes ago and fling it open. Victor is standing there looking bewildered with several large men and one short woman behind him.

  “Colby, are you okay?”

  “No! It’s my pop!”

  Victor rushes past me, followed by the paramedics.

  “In the shop, on the floor.”

  “Fuck!” I hear him shout.

  Within seconds, there is a flurry of activity as two of the paramedics work on him. Victor comes back and wraps me in his arms, not saying a word. We stay like that for a couple minutes while they push on my pop’s chest and load him onto the gurney.

  “How long has he been like this?” Victor asks me.

  “I heard a crash about 15 minutes ago and came running out. He was on the ground and his head was bleeding and he wasn’t talking. I tried CPR,” I tell him. The scene is already foggy in my memory. I know what happened, but it feels like it was happening to someone else.

  “I know you did. You did everything right,” he says against my hair. “They’re going to load him up. I’ll drive and we can follow them to the hospital. You can call your brother and Jeff to let them know so they can meet us there. Okay?”

  My chin quivers as I ask, “What if he doesn’t make it?”

  “Don’t think like that until they’ve had a chance to try everything, okay? Come on, let’s get ready to lock up and follow them. Grab your purse.”

  I follow his instructions and watch as they push the gurney into the ambulance with grim expressions.

  “Colby, go get in the car. I’ll find out where they’re taking him in case we get separated.”

  I don’t respond; I just do as I’m told. The numbness is setting in and I think my adrenaline is dying down.

  He reaches the paramedic as he’s shutting the door, while the two people inside continue to work on my pop. The driver looks at me as he talks and finally Victor turns my way and jogs back to the car.

  He slides into his seat and fires up the car without a word. We follow the ambulance down through town until we reach the ER. Jeff is calling his neighbor to come stay with the kids while he brings Shaunda up to the hospital and my brother says he’ll be there in five minutes.

  By the time we park and get through the doors my brother is coming in behind us. I explain to the lady at the desk who I am and she nods, passing me paperwork to fill out. Why do they always give you paperwork that requires thinking when you’re in the middle of a crisis? Seems like they would wait and approach when things calm down so you could answer with some level of accuracy.

  I sit down and do my best to fill out the information but my hand is shaking and I can’t seem to concentrate on the words.

  “Colby, give me the paperwork. You can tell me the answers and I’ll fill it out, okay?”

  The sound of his voice draws my attention and soothes me enough to finally pass him the clipboard.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  The next 10 minutes are spent with him asking questions and writing. Just as he’s turning it in to the lady at the desk, Jeff and Shaunda rush in. She’s all bundled up and pale but looking as wild-eyed as I feel with all of this. Our family has always been close. Mom and Pop have always been our foundation and when Mom died we only grew tighter, but that was because we had my pop. Steady, strong and levelheaded. That’s always been my dad. What if we don’t have that anymore?

  Half an hour later, a doctor is summoning us to the side. My whole body is numb as I wait to hear of my dad’s fate. Victor wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close, holding me steady.

  The doctor’s tired eyes should tell me everything without words, but I need them. For this to be true, I need to hear him say it out loud.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Averette is dead. We did everything we could, but he was already gone when he arrived here. I suspect he had a massive heart attack and was gone before he hit the floor. I’m sorry.” The doctor continues to talk, but I don’t hear anything except the sound of my sister crying uncontrollably. That foggy state of numbness I was starting to feel at the shop when the paramedics were working on my dad is so much worse now and I can’t find my way out of it. Victor ushers me and my sister out of the building while Jeff and Marshall take care of whatever remains.

  Chapter Eleven

  Victor

  It’s been two weeks since Colby’s dad’s funeral and she has been MIA. She’s not returning calls and she’s not returning texts. I’ve given her space and time, but she’s scheduled to leave next week for her first truck show and I don’t want her to go without some kind of conversation. My stomach has been in knots I’m so worried about her, worried about us, or at least the us we were becoming.

  I’ve been through the same kind of emotional hell of mourning she’s in so I get that pressuring her will do me no good. It’s just difficult when we were working toward something good before all this happened. I know she felt something for me; I could tell in her kiss, in her touch and in her eyes.

  I haven’t experienced that since Carol and I were first married. That look and response got lost with Carol when I went off to war. She didn’t recognize the man I’d become to survive and it took me a while to acclimate back to civilian life. Even as close as Carol and I were when she was battling cancer, we were never able to get that little something back that disappeared with me in the rocky mountains of Afghanistan. When I found that with Colby, it was as if my life started again and I’m not willing to let that go without a fight.

  I approach the doors as the light turns out in the back office. When I pass through the entrance, the b
ell chimes, letting whoever is inside know that someone has arrived. Colby’s tired voice sounds ahead of her, coming down the hall. “We’re closed.”

  I don’t say anything. I wait to gauge her expression when she sees my face. That will tell me more than anything else, I think.

  Colby stops in her tracks as her eyes widen and her mouth opens, like she’s going to say something but isn’t sure what.

  “I’ve tried calling. I’ve tried texting. You haven’t dropped by and you haven’t been at home when I’ve gone by.”

  “I…”

  I take a few steps forward, approaching her like she’s a wounded animal, afraid to spook her. The dark circles under her eyes tell me she’s tired, as if she hasn’t slept for days. Her normally silky hair is frayed a little, like she hasn’t given much of a shit. She’s in worse shape than I expected and all of my instincts scream at me to scoop her up, carry her home, feed her, bathe her and make sure she rests.

  “I’m not trying to push and stalk you. I want to help you get through this.”

  She shakes her head a little. “I don’t have time to deal with a boyfriend right now. I can’t worry about your needs. I’m trying to figure out how to keep this place from going under, take care of my father’s estate, prepare to leave town, and help my sister heal. I can’t lose her after all of this.”

  “What about your brother? Is he helping with any of this?”

  “Yes, he’s working seven days a week to get us caught up. Jeff is working as much as he can too, but his family needs him. This is on me.”

  “Let me help you. I’m an estate lawyer; I can help take care of some of this.” I plead with her as I close the distance between us and see more fine lines around her red-rimmed eyes than were there a few weeks ago. I physically hurt because of her heartbreak.

  “I don’t want or need your help. I’ve gotten our family through worse than this.”

  “Everyone needs help sometimes. You don’t have to do this alone. You forget I’ve been through the death of someone I love dearly. I know your pain.”

  “You don’t know shit about what I’m going through. Your wife was sick for a really long time. My father was working hard and living life when this happened. It was unexpected and we weren’t even close to ready. So don’t talk to me about understanding. You’ll never understand this. Besides, I’m not sure you ever really let her go. How can you help me when you should be helping yourself?”

  I jerk back a little, surprised by her viciousness. Her words hurt, especially about Carol. I buried her several years ago and am long since past it, but I understand that what’s coming from Colby is all from a place of pain. For whatever reason, she’s decided that I’m the one who should get the wrath of her hurt and fear. I wish it were different, that I could change it, but I can’t.

  “So you’re going to let something as good as we’ve got go because you’re hurting and too proud to allow me to help?”

  She crosses her arms and fidgets a little. She wants to change her mind, but she’s too proud at this point. I stare at her, willing her to understand what a bitch she’s being. If I didn’t get it I would walk out that door and never look back, but I do.

  I’ll give her some time and see if that helps. Walking away right now goes against everything I want and believe so I cup her chin and hold tight, but not so much that I’ll hurt her, just to keep her in place. Then I lower my mouth to hers and place a chaste kiss on her lips. As I pull away I pause to look in her eyes. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  A single tear runs down her face and the urge to comfort her becomes too much so I turn and walk out of that shop without looking back. I jump in my car and drive away, pissed that she’s giving up so easily and hurt in the same breath. I have no idea how to fix this and frankly, tonight I’m not in the mood. I press a few buttons on my phone and the ringing sound filters through the speakers in my car.

  “What’s up, bro?” Diego asks.

  “Fucked-up situation. I need a beer. You got time to meet me?”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Nope, don’t need to eat. Just need a drink…or 20,” I reply.

  “Fine. Come by my place and pick me up.”

  “I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” I say and hit disconnect.

  Maybe my best friend can talk me through this. I have no idea what to do at this point. Should I go back to her and try again, or should I give up and let her go? Letting go doesn’t feel right, but I also know I can’t force her.

  Half an hour later, Diego and I are sitting at the bar in Hector’s Hacienda. He’s waiting for food while I toss tequila shots down my throat and fill him in.

  “You know better than anyone how hard it is to get your life back when someone you love dies. Give her some time. Do you think she’s the one?”

  I give him a look like he’s an idiot. “You know we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t feel that way.”

  “Are you sure it’s not because you finally got laid after all this time?”

  “I’ve had opportunities to get laid, I just wasn’t interested.”

  “So you’re saying you love this woman?”

  “Love?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t stutter. Love. Do you love her? You said she’s the one. If she’s the one, I’m assuming you love her.”

  I sit for a long moment, contemplating his question while he eats his tamales quietly. I don’t know what to say. There are so many things to point at a feeling of love and so much about her to love, but I’ve only ever loved one woman I wasn’t related to and that’s a big thing. At one point a few weeks ago I thought I was falling in love with her, but to hear Diego say it out loud feels…weird. What about Carol? If I say I love Colby, does that mean I can’t love Carol anymore? Sure, she’s gone and never coming back, but I’ve loved her for so long that it seems weird to say I love someone other than her.

  Diego wipes his mouth and sets his fork down before turning toward me. “Decide if you love her and that will tell you what to do. If you love her, go back for her. If you don’t, then let her go. Why fight for someone you don’t love? You’ll end up hurting her worse if you help her through this only to put her in the friend zone when it’s done. You also need to figure out if you’re really over Carol.”

  “Carol’s been gone several years now. Why would you say that? Colby said something similar tonight.”

  Diego pushes his plate away and turns on his barstool to face me. By the set of his jaw I can tell he’s about to get real with me. I know my friend well enough to know that he’s going to say things in a way I need, but probably don’t want to hear. Why did I call him again?

  “I love you like a brother. We’ve been friends since we were little kids, but it’s time to get real with you. From the outside looking in, you’re not over Carol.”

  “Why would you say that? Why would she say that?” I grit my teeth. It always irritates me when people say shit like this. It doesn’t happen often but it does on occasion and it pisses me off.

  “Let’s start with the visits to the cemetery. They are way more frequent than they should be for a man who has moved on. Why do you need to go there every week? She’s not there. You can have the same conversation with her there that you can have in the car or in your house or in your office. She’s gone; you don’t need to go there all the time.”

  “I—”

  He holds up his hand to stop me. “Let me finish. Why does your house still look like she’ll walk through the door at any minute and resume a life with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fuck. I hate to be the one to point this out. I was hoping you’d come to these conclusions on your own. The whole house is still covered in pictures of you guys. The décor she used to make your house a home is still there, untouched. The baby’s room is still exactly as she left it.”

  “What did you want me to do? Redecorate my house? I’m not a fucking woman. I don’t care what the place loo
ks like. Why would I take the pictures of her down and pack them away? I didn’t stop loving her because she died. Are you saying I should act like she never existed?”

  I’m so pissed. What if Claudia died? Would he shove her in a box and pretend it never happened? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.

  “I’m not saying forget her. I’m saying move on. Sell the house that was your home with her. Leave one or two pictures out of her in your new place. Visit the grave once or twice a year. Everything in your life still screams Carol. What did Colby say when she saw your place?”

  “She—”

  “Don’t blurt out some dumb answer. Think about it. Has she slept over at your place? What was her reaction when she saw the baby’s room?”

  I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. I want to be able to tell him he’s making a big deal out of nothing, but the churning in my gut says he’s right. She didn’t say much after she looked around, and she stopped us in the middle of a heavy make-out session that at any other time would have continued. Did my house freak her out?

  “Listen, bro, I love you. I want the best for you and I think Colby’s it. She’s going through a shitty time right now, but she’s a good woman, a hard worker, beautiful, fun and easy-going. She’s worth fighting for. If you’re coming back to life, do it with her, but say goodbye to your old life with Carol first.

  “You need a woman in your life with some down-to-earth qualities. Those bitches you work with every day are not who you are. I’ve always been worried one of them would get their claws into you and we’d never see you again. You are good at fitting into that fancy-ass lawyer world—always have been smarter than the rest of us—but you’re also a man who isn’t afraid of a hard day of work and getting your hands dirty. Your time in the Army proved that if nothing else did.”