by Tia Louise
“I’m so sorry this happened.” Her green eyes are round and glistening. “I wish there was some way I could turn back time. I wish it had been me instead of you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Silence fills the car, and her eyes drop to the console. “I hate to bring this up… but we have to decide what you want to do. If you’d like to have a memorial service? For… the baby?”
Another spear of pain slices my injured heart, and I clutch the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, but this time, her voice wavers as well. “We just… we have to let the hospital know something. I didn’t want to make any decisions without you.”
“I understand.” I clear the thickness from my throat. “I would like to do something.”
She nods. “I’ll take care of everything. You rest.”
Leaning my head against the window, I look out at the falling rain. The prairie grasses are dark and gloomy. My little girl took the gold with her when she danced up to heaven.
“Renee,” I say.
“What?” Amy turns to me again.
“Jessica Renee.” We’re quiet, and I finish. “It’s what I would have named her.”
* * *
Stuart
The empty bottle of Macallan lies on the counter near the small sink. Another empty bottle of Ketel One is at my feet, but nothing kills the pain of what I’ve done. Reaching up, I scrub my fingers over my eyes trying to clear the haze.
It’s dark. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I can still see her in the soft yellow light of our bedroom. She was sad, and I’d held her in my arms. I’d told her nothing would happen to her on my watch then the next morning I left her alone.
My shoulders drop and my face is in my hands. I fight against the heat filling my eyes. The image of her unconscious and lying in that hospital bed sears through my memory like a brand, but stronger than that is the pain of knowing I put her there.
She should be in Bayville right now. She’d wanted to go to summer school with Kenny and finish her degree. I made her transfer to Princeton so she’d be closer to me. I told her to skip summer school, and I’d fucking brought her to this place.
She was afraid, and I promised to keep her safe. Then I left her to go and establish myself as the future owner of this ranch, this place where she’s only been hurt. I never asked her what she wanted. I’ve been a selfish bastard from the beginning.
Just like my father…
Unable to stop myself, I haul my ass off the floor and push through the door. I jerk open the door of the rented truck and drive all the way to the hospital. It’s the middle of the night. Visiting hours are over, but I walk past the vacant nurse’s station all the way to her room. The lights are dim, the monitors beep, and the air conditioner hums.
I stand silently in the doorway and allow my eyes to travel over the beautiful girl lying unconscious in the bed. Tubes still run from the machines to her body. Her eyes are closed, and I linger at a distance aching for her. My arms want to hold her. I want to crawl into bed with her, pull her broken body to my chest, and tell her I’ll never let it happen again, tell her I’ll do anything to take her pain away.
Does she know what happened? Have they told her about the baby? Has she even been awake yet? My legs start to move, when I see my mother asleep in the chair. A blanket is pulled up around her neck, and her face is lined with sadness.
In that moment my past, everything I’ve done, pushes me back. I remember the years of sadness growing up. I remember my father and his selfishness. Year after year he wore her down. She did everything he wanted, lived wherever he said, and she only smiled when he was gone. I can’t remember a day she was happy with him.
Just like your father…
The words trickle into my brain like a cruel truth. I reach for the doorjamb as they move through my chest. I have to let Mariska go. I can’t hold onto her when I’ll only hurt her. I can’t watch the light fade from her eyes as she slowly grows to hate me.
My heart breaks as I turn away. I return down the hall, my eyes fixed on the glossy beige linoleum. One of the nurses speaks to me, but I don’t stop. I leave the small hospital and drive through the night back to the ranch. My mind is silent. My stomach cramps with pain, and I grip the steering wheel as heat burns my eyes.
I drive for what feels like hours until I’m at the quiet house. My idea is to gather clothes and things so I can stay away, but instead I take the last fifth of crown off the wet bar and leave.
I go back to the cabin, back to the floor. My knees are bent, and my head is in my hands. Scrubbing my fingers against my scalp, I whisper her name as my entire body burns for her. “Mariska.”
I have to let her forget me. I have to let her go back to her life. I won’t be like my father.
The sharp toe of a boot nudges me awake. I’m on the floor, and the half-empty bottle of Crown is on the coffee table. My head feels like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer.
“You don’t look so good.” My uncle sits on the sofa, arms on his knees. His brown eyes are sad.
Pushing against the floor, I sit up, pulling my knee to my chest to steady myself. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Not surprised,” he grunts. “Have you eaten?”
“Not hungry,” I manage through my cottonmouth.
“Well, I brought you some food anyway.” He pauses a beat before reaching out and holding my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
My hand goes over my eyes, and I rub the heat away. Pain radiates through my chest at his words, and even though I don’t have the right to ask, I need to know. “How is she?”
He exhales deeply, leaning back. “She’s coming home. She’s asking for you.”
More pain twists in my chest. “As if she needs me.” My voice is ragged. “As if I didn’t take everything from her.”
“You’re working on it.” Brown eyes level on mine, and for the first time, I detect a slight edge in his voice.
Confused, I meet his gaze. “It’s not a work in progress. I’ve done a damn good job.” Pushing all the way up, I go to the window and look out at the miles of empty grassland. I wonder how long this torment will rage in my chest. “Everyone was right. I’m just like him. I’ll only break her down, make her unhappy…”
“I don’t know what kind of lies you’ve been out here telling yourself, but you’re not your father. The choices you make right now are your choices, not his.”
A small echo seems to resonate in the cabin behind his words. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn. I search for a point far on the horizon as I think about what he just said.
Clearing my throat, I answer. “I have to let her go. She needs someone more like her.”
He pushes off the couch and walks to where I’m standing. “How about you let Mariska decide what she needs.” He pauses, and the warmth of his hand is on my shoulder. “Your sister planned a memorial service. Get yourself cleaned up and come to the house.”
Going to the door, he pauses to look back at me, but I don’t turn. I don’t believe he’s right, but I will go back to say goodbye.
16
Returning
Mariska
It’s evening when we gather for the memorial service. Amy found a secluded location on a hill not far from the house. A cluster of young trees provides shade over a small thicket, and a spray of happy yellow flowers mixes with bluebonnets in the tall grass.
The hospital sent me a certificate stating how she died. I don’t want to look at it, so I tuck the envelope into my suitcase. The doctor released me to return to Bayville on the condition I would see a doctor there. I agreed, although I doubt I will. I’ve reached a point where I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.
I watch as Amy sets a bouquet of purple flowers in front of a small white cross that stands near a mound of dirt where we buried a small box containing the yarn we used to measure
my waist and the Polaroid. The only thing I kept were the ultrasound pictures and my wish for her to find her true love and live happily ever after.
“It’s the best I could get on short notice, but I ordered something more official,” she says, backing up to stand beside me. “A headstone with her name engraved on it and the year.”
“It’s very good,” I say, looking at the cross and the tiny mound of dirt beside it. She was so tiny.
Amy and I hold hands as we gaze down on her memorial. Bill stands across from us with his arm around Sylvia, who touches her eyes with a cloth handkerchief.
“Lord, in your infinite wisdom, you know the beginning from the end,” he starts, and we all bow our heads. My eyes close, but I’m far from here. “I pray that in this time, you will be near us as we mourn, weep, perhaps even harbor bitterness. I pray you will bless us with hope for the future. Help us to know that in our deepest sadness, you are comfort. You are hope. Amen.”
We’re all quiet, and Sylvia steps forward to put a bunch of small roses on the little grave.
“There he is,” Bill says. He’s smiling warmly, and his eyes are focused behind me.
I turn, and a flash of pain steals my breath as my eyes connect with the ones I’ve been longing to see. Stuart wears jeans and an untucked long-sleeved shirt. Scruff covers his jaw and dark shadows are under his eyes. Instead of joining us, he stays away, down beside a tree. A bouquet of yellow daisies is in his hand.
I have to look away. I can’t bear to analyze his expression or try to understand what he’s feeling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since we lost everything.
As if on cue, Bill touches Sylvia’s hand, and they approach me. Sylvia gives my arm a squeeze, and they continue on in the direction of the house. Amy wraps her arm over my shoulder and gives me a hug.
“Take your time,” she says quietly before releasing me and following her mother and uncle.
We’re alone, but I won’t look at him. The nonstop breeze pushes tendrils of my hair around my shoulders. I’m wearing a black shift dress that stops at my knees. A flesh-toned bandage covers the crescent-shaped bruise on my upper arm. The hideous bruise on my hip is gradually fading from purple-black and blood red to a nasty yellowish green. The only invisible wound is the one that will never heal, the one on my heart.
Neither of us moves. I study the small mound where my heart was buried along with my childish dreams of a family. At last, I can’t take standing here any longer, wishing for something that isn’t going to happen.
I step forward and place my little bunch of bluebells on Jessica’s grave then I turn and begin walking to the house. I’m at his side when he stops me.
“Wait.” His voice is rough. I stop walking, but I don’t meet his eyes.
Several moments of silence pass, and I’m sure he’s trying to decide what to say. I’m not sure what I want him to say. He doesn’t reach for me, but his eyes are like heat on my skin.
“How are you?” he finally says.
I don’t think I can answer that question without tears, so I only nod.
“I wanted to be there…”
I’m not sure what he means, so I do look at him then. Up close, I see what I couldn’t see from the grave. I see the break in his eyes. I see the emptiness in his face. Even when I met him that day at the gym so long ago when he was struggling against an addiction threatening to overcome him, even then he had a spark of fight in his eyes. Now that spark is gone, and I’m the reason.
Again I only nod. It’s time for me to go. I have to drive into town and catch my flight to Bayville. I linger a moment at his side, wishing for something, a touch, a sign that I’m not alone. A reason to believe we might survive this.
I’m a breath away from the man I once believed I’d build a life with, and we couldn’t be farther apart. He doesn’t move, and with a fortifying inhale, I start walking again. I’m going back to the house then back to my old life.
* * *
Stuart
I’m back on the couch in the cabin, my head is in my hands, and the fifth of Crown is empty at my feet. She left me. I went to the house thinking I’d take my uncle’s advice. I’d try to find the words I’ve been struggling with for a week. I would apologize. I’d tell her I’d do whatever she needed to make it right. If she wanted to try and get pregnant again, we could. I’d do anything to put the gold back in her beautiful eyes.
Instead, I found our room empty. Her engagement ring was on the dresser and the closet was bare except for my things. Opening drawer after drawer, all I found were my jeans, my socks, my grey Henley…
Her message was loud and clear. We were done.
The memorial service gutted me. Watching her cry from afar was like standing in the hospital all over again, seeing her battered body for the first time. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn’t seem to move. I couldn’t take her away from the comfort of the people who had never hurt her, who had never put her in this place of pain and loss.
When she came to me, the distance in her eyes twisted my insides. She stood as if trying to protect herself from me. She wouldn’t even speak to me. She only nodded.
It all wound together into a pain worse than anything I’ve ever experienced. My physical injuries couldn’t compare to this. My withdrawals were closer, but still not like this. This pain is despair and hopelessness and knowing I’ll never find another reason to care as long as I live.
A scuff across the wooden floor, and my uncle enters the cabin. “Didn’t think I’d find you back out here.”
He walks to the small sofa where I’m sitting and leans over, retrieving the empty bottle at my feet and reading the label.
“I remember a time when I thought I could find the answers in a bottle.”
My mind is fuzzy and my insides are gaping wounds, but I manage a bitter laugh. “I’m not looking for answers.”
I’m trying to find an escape. I’m trying to find anything that will dull the burning rubble that’s left of me.
“Hmm,” my uncle grunts, dropping down beside me. “You’re looking for the same thing you thought those prescriptions would bring.”
I bristle at the insinuation. “I was trying to stay in the game. Killing the pain was the only thing keeping me going.”
That addiction was also killing me. I finally saw the light and left the desert. I came here to fight out the withdrawals, and here I found Mariska.
“What happened after we left yesterday?”
“She left.”
“Did you talk to her?” He leans forward to catch my eye, but I’m not in the mood.
“I tried. She didn’t want it.”
“That doesn’t match what I’ve seen of her.”
My head is hazy. I’m drunk, I’m hurting, and I’m angry. I don’t feel like hearing any more of his hippie shit. He wasn’t there to see how she looked at me, the emptiness in her eyes.
“I’ve decided to stay,” I say, changing the subject. “Give me work. I want to work. The harder the better.”
Pushing off the couch he nods. “Sleep it off and head back to the house tomorrow.” He’s at the door when he pauses and looks back. “Stuart?”
Looking up with bleary eyes, I wait.
“I’m not going to subsidize this. You have to get your shit together if you’re staying here.”
Nodding, I lean down to rub my face. “I’m done here.”
* * *
Mariska
I’m surprised to find everything is the same as I left it at my little apartment in Bayville. The front room is buried in a stack of books, and Ganesh, my favorite Indian elephant statue, holds a tray of even more books on his trunk. Silky pillows in jewel tones cover a gold velvet couch. A beaded lamp sits on an end table, and huge sitting pillows are arranged around the coffee table.
Returning to this life I left behind feels comforting, familiar, but the specifics of how it worked before are fuzzy. Picking up my phone, I call the one person I know can help me find my way back.
“Mariska?” My best friend Kenny’s voice reaches through the line like a warm hug, and the old patterns begin to filter into my memory.
“Hey, I’m back at my place.” I try to sound upbeat, and I wonder if I succeed.
“What do you mean you’re back?”
“Um, Stuart and I are taking a break,” I lie. “I’ve moved back to my old apartment.”
“Taking a break?” Her voice goes loud, and I decide to come clean.
“More like we decided to end it.” I’m not sure if that’s true either. It implies a conversation occurred.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” She’s breathless, and I can almost see my best friend’s ice blue eyes blinking wide.
“Of course!” Even I hear the tremble in my voice this time. I clear it away. “It’s not like that. It’s cool. I don’t want to make a big deal about it.” Finally, I’ve arrived at the truth.
She’s quiet a beat. “But it kind of is a big deal.”
Closing my eyes: Inhale… exhale. “I was hoping I could get my old job back. What are the chances of that?”
“At the Jungle Gym?” I can’t blame her for sounding skeptical.
“I love that place! And I need a job that’s flexible for school.”
The line is quiet. I know Kenny is trying to work this out. I’ve gone from engaged to the first man I ever loved to acting like our breaking up is no big deal and I want my old life back.
I get it.
Still, I’m not going to encourage any problem solving. My problem is solved. I don’t want to discuss it or dissect it. My insides are far too raw for a post-mortem.
“I think Rook would be happy to give you your old job back,” she says slowly. “All our clients ask about you, and Pete complains daily nobody can make his cinnamon bun smoothie but you.”