The Hard Truth About Sunshine

by Sawyer Bennett

  So Portland was out and Vegas was in, then we'd head home.

  Now we have to inform Barb of our plans and hope to God she's on board with it. I think she will be. As much as she made clear that she needs to distance herself from Connor when we get back home, I know deep down she isn't going to begrudge him this trip. She might put on a cold, hard outward appearance to keep people at arm's length, but I know Connor has wormed his way into her heart, just as he has mine.

  Little fucker. He's going to cause me a world of hurt when it's all said and done, but I've accepted that burden.

  I approach the SUV, deciding to go ahead and get Barb up. She's the crankiest and slowest in the morning. When I open the back door, I'm surprised to find it empty with the blanket that had been covering her last night tossed to the floorboard.

  Looking around the campsite, I don't see her, but I suppose it's possible she got up and went to the bathroom while I was in there doing my thing.

  Shrugging, I shut the door and walk back to the tent. Opening the flap, I call out to Jillian and Connor. "Okay lazy butts, get up. We need to hit the road."

  Jillian's head pops up, her eyes heavy with sleep as she tries to focus in on me. "What time is it?"

  "About 6:30," I tell her, having looked at my watch just a bit ago.

  She nods, yawns, and then nudges Connor in the sleeping bag beside her. "Time to get up, Connor."

  He groans, burrows down deeper into his sleeping bag, and mumbles, "Five more minutes, Mom."

  "Get up now," I say in an authoritarian voice. To my surprise, Connor's head pops up. He looks at me with wide eyes, and I grin back at him. "Come on... I'm starving. I want pancakes."

  Jillian shakes her head with a smile, completely enjoying the new and improved Christopher Barlow, and I must say, I'm enjoying her enjoying me. With a smile at her, I back out of the tent and wait for them to emerge. When she does moments later, Jillian gives me a kiss on the corner of my mouth and a breathy, "Morning, handsome," before she and Connor walk off toward the restrooms.

  Yes, pride swells through me that she called me "handsome," and I hope I never get used to this feeling of euphoria that she produces inside of me. I don't know why I trust it so much, but I do and I'm running with it. Now that I've committed to seeing where Jillian can take me, and I've opened to the possibility that I can have an amazing life just as I am, I'm riding this bitch as far as it will take me, even if at the end, more hurt is waiting. I have to take this chance.

  I pull the sleeping bags out of the tent and efficiently roll them up. I'm about halfway done dismantling the tent when Jillian and Connor come strolling back into camp.

  "Hey, did you tell Barb we're heading out and going to get pancakes?" I ask Jillian.

  She frowns at me. "She wasn't in the bathroom."

  "Huh," I say with confusion, wondering where in the hell she is. I drop the poles in my hand that I'd just pulled free from their trappings and walk back over to the Suburban. Opening the passenger door again, I look for her backpack. I see nothing but the blanket and her pillow, so I check the rear of the SUV. No backpack.

  "What's wrong?" Connor asks as I swing the tailgate shut.

  "Barb's gone," I say as I scratch my head. I turn back to Jillian. "Are you sure she wasn't in the bathrooms?"

  Jillian's brows furrow as she shakes her head. "I'll go check again."

  "I'll go check the beach," Connor says helpfully with a confident smile. "I bet she's just on the beach."

  "Yeah, you're probably right," I agree, shaking off the feeling of unrest within me.

  He takes off trotting down the small trail that cuts through to the beach, and I make my way back to the tent to finish packing it up. My eyes sweep around the campground and the unsettled feeling increases, causing the hair at the back of my neck to stand on edge.

  There's the thick row of trees bordering one side with the opening to the trail that Connor just took to the beach. A double row of campsites, almost all of them filled with tents, but there's no people milling around because it's so early. A gravel drive for vehicles, then the community buildings, and then a small field with waist-high brown grass. There's a large shade tree with huge branches that stretch out like arms with a tire swing. I hadn't seen it last night when we pulled in, but I imagine plenty of kids in the campground have played on that tire. My eyes move past the tree, finishing their three-hundred-and-sixty-degree perusal as they reach the forest edge, but something stops me.

  My gaze swings back to the tree, and I peer harder. The eastern sun is coming up on the other side, and it's bathed the meadow and the tree in golden light. On the side opposite the tire swing, I see something near the base of the tree. It looks like Barb's backpack.

  I start walking that way, tilting my head to the side as I get closer, not knowing what I'll find. Her backpack comes fully into view, followed by a pair of jean-clad legs stretched out with her recognizable combat boots on the end. My lips curve into a smile, knowing I've found her and that she's probably getting high before we hit the road.

  I sneak up, still only able to see her backpack and legs, but it's clear she's sitting with her back up against the tree trunk. With a slight hop around the side of the tree, I yell, "Caught ya," as I come to a rest beside her, hoping to scare the shit out of her. I even start laughing, knowing she'll cuss me out big time.

  Instead, she doesn't move.

  Her hands rest on her lap with her fingers curled slightly inward, and her head is lolling on her shoulder. I walk around further, looking at her slack face with her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted.

  "Barb," I say hesitantly, nudging the tip of her boot with my shoe.

  She doesn't move, and I'm thinking she must be trashed.

  "Barb," I say a bit louder as I squat down in front of her.

  Still nothing, and that's when it hits me... her chest isn't moving.

  "Barb," I yell at her as my hand shoots out to palm her face. Even through my roughened, scarred skin, I can feel how cold she is and I jerk my hand back involuntarily.

  "Barb," I whisper, bringing my hand back to her and placing my index and ring finger against her carotid.

  I get nothing but icy skin and utter stillness.

  My entire body goes numb and my good leg turns to jelly. I collapse backward on my ass, and I just stare at Barb in disbelief. I look around, but I don't see anyone. I swivel my head and look at the area around Barb, and that's when I see it.

  An empty baggy next to her.

  I have no clue what was in it, but whatever it was, it was lethal. It's empty, and now Barb is no more.

  My guts twist, feeling like a wet dishrag being violently wrung out, and nausea overwhelms me. I take in a deep breath through my nose and exhale it through my mouth, willing the bile to stay down. Moisture leaks from my eyes, and I hastily rub the back of my hand over them.

  "Goddamn you, Barb," I whisper hatefully toward her. "Goddamn you for this."

  Goddamn her for being so complex and broken and yet completely real to me. Fuck her for being just like me. In this moment where her truest weakness is exposed, it shines a light as bright as the sun on my own weaknesses. Fuck her to hell for that peaceful look on her face that says she's escaped this hard world and left us behind. And fuck it all as I wonder what we could have done to prevent this.

  And mostly screw her goddamned tortured soul all the way to hell because while Jillian's actions alone have given me unfettered hope, I'd given part of the credit for my transformation to Barb--the woman who pissed on graves and defaced headstones--thinking that she truly was the strongest out of all of us. She was the one who raced to rescue Connor from a furious homeowner whose house we egged. And she was the one who, oh so sweetly and with great care, gave Connor a very special experience before he died. She was strong for a whole host of reasons that she probably never even recognized, but mainly because she had many times chosen to live when she wanted to die. She'd faced suicide down before and walked away from it
. That should have been her destiny.

  To live.

  If I had miscalculated Barb and her ability to pull herself back from the edge of darkness so poorly, what else am I wrong about?

  I think back to when I questioned Jillian about her strength and courage while facing impending blindness and how she gave me the hard truth about sunshine. She said she wouldn't miss it when she could no longer see it, because it wasn't going anywhere. It would always be there for her to feel in other ways. The only thing that would change was her ability to perceive it in a certain way and she said she'd accommodate that.

  She made it sound so easy.

  She made that optimism seem attainable to me, and I jumped at it like a starving man handed a ribeye steak.

  I bought it hook, line, and sinker, and I was gullible enough to think that Barb would be able to understand that hard truth about sunshine too. I thought with enough support, her gray world would brighten and she'd find her way out of the darkness the way I was.

  But she hadn't, even though she was so strong, and now I have to question my own strength and whether I can actually accept the truth about sunshine.

  Chapter 32

  I step out onto the hotel balcony and shut the door behind me. Digging in my pocket, I grab onto the pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I don't give a second thought about pulling one out and lighting it. It's not my first since I found Barb, and it won't be my last. Since smoking a joint, drinking a fifth of liquor, or popping some pills isn't an option, this is the only thing keeping me semi-sane. At the very least, my hands don't shake as much while I'm smoking.

  Taking a deep drag, I pull the smoke down into my lungs, hold it for just a moment, then let it out on a forceful sigh. Resting my arms on the balcony railing, I drop my head down and stare at the street five floors below us. Would I die if I jumped from here?

  Probably not. My body would just be mangled, and I've already been there and done that.

  Besides, I couldn't do that to Jillian and Connor. Not after what they've gone through today.

  They are in the hotel room. Jillian's dead asleep, exhausted from the myriad of emotions that she's been having. Obviously, she was distraught and cried hard for almost an hour. I was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop. But then she squared her shoulders and became the one to comfort because she knew that Connor was taking Barb's death really hard. She spent most of the day blowing sunshine up his ass about "God's plan" and "circumstances beyond our control." I know it was mentally draining for her to keep up that facade, and she's been sleeping hard for a few hours. Connor is just sitting on the other bed, his back up against the headboard. When I came out onto the balcony, I left him staring at the wall.

  When my fingers touched Barb's cold skin and I knew she was dead, something inside me shifted. I felt like I was dangling from a precipice. I was so angry with her--still am for that matter--and I knew it wouldn't take much more for me to let go and fall from that cliff. I could fall right back into misery and self-loathing, because Barb's suicide gave me tacit permission to continue to feel crappy about my life because she damaged the hope I'd been building up.

  But then Jillian came walking down the gravel drive from the bathrooms, and I knew I had something more important to do than to give in to the darkness. I had people I needed to protect other than myself.

  I'd scrambled up from the ground, wiped my eyes again, and hurried over to Jillian before she got too close to the tree. She took one look at my face, and she knew.

  She just fucking knew.

  Her face crumbled as tears started streaming down her face. She shook her head forcefully in denial. "She didn't. Please tell me she didn't."

  "I'm sorry," I said gruffly as I jerked her into my arms and held her tight against me. Jillian let it all go, immediately pouring out her sorrow and despair in racking sobs that carried throughout the campground. Some people came out of their tents and looked at us with worry, yet I did nothing to try to calm her down. She needed to get it out. The more she cried in my arms, the stronger my backbone felt.

  Good thing too, because Connor appeared from the trailhead and he immediately locked eyes on us. And even though he was a good fifty yards away, I could see on his face that he knew too.

  In hindsight, it was no surprise to us.

  It made me realize how foolish I'd been to think that just because Jillian managed to point out a different, more optimistic view of the world, it didn't mean everyone would subscribe to it. I'd also been foolish to underestimate the depth of Barb's despair, and I feel guilty that perhaps I didn't do enough to help pull her back. That fucking conversation I'd had with her about suicide replays, and I can't believe I didn't do anything to help her.

  Connor's gaze had swept around the campground, and he spotted Barb's backpack with an eagle eye. He took off running for it--for her--and I had to let go of Jillian to intercept him. But the little fucker was fast. Faster than me on a prosthetic leg, and he breezed by me, coming to a skidding halt by the tree.

  "Connor... don't," I called out to him.

  He ignored me and knelt on the ground beside Barb's body. He just stared at her blankly.

  Jillian brushed past me and I lunged to grab her hand, missing it totally. She ran to Connor and knelt beside him, her arm coming protectively around his shoulders. Her sobs continued, and I'd never felt more helpless in my life.

  Not even when the pain was so unbearable that I wanted to rip my own leg off.

  By this time, the people who had come out of their tents started to realize something was wrong, a few moving closer to get a look at what Connor and Jillian were looking at on the other side of the big tree. While I very much wanted to go pull them away, I knew I had other things to do.

  So I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911.

  Taking another drag off my cigarette, I look out over downtown Portland as the sun starts to set. I glance down at my watch, noting that Connor's parents should be here in a few hours. They were able to get a flight out of Raleigh today.

  Immediately after I called 911, I called Connor's dad and quietly told him what happened. I asked him to please come to Portland, because I just didn't know what to do or how to handle things with his son. I also didn't know how to handle anything with Jillian either, but figured I could take some cues from the McCanns. His father didn't hesitate and jumped into action.

  After that, I'd called Mags, who for the first time since I've known her was stunned speechless. But she recovered and went into counselor mode. I let her do this because she needed to, and I promised I'd have Jillian and Connor call her later.

  While I dealt with the police and the rescue workers who didn't even bother trying to resuscitate Barb, and finally the coroner, Connor and Jillian sat in the Suburban. I know Connor talked to his parents, and Jillian talked to hers. I had no fucking clue what was going to happen, but I was grateful that Mr. McCann got us into a Portland hotel and told us to wait for them there.

  So that's what we're doing. I'm smoking, Jillian's comatose, and Connor is staring blankly at a wall.

  Fun times.

  I finish my cigarette and because I don't want to go back inside the room, I light another.

  I smoke that down, and then I light another.

  I smoke that down, but this time, I find my pack empty.

  With a sigh, I turn and open the sliding door, quietly slipping into the room through the heavy blackout curtains. Jillian is still asleep on one bed, and Connor is still staring at the wall from the other. The room is dark, gloomy, and depressing as fuck.

  "I'm going to go get some smokes," I say in a low voice to Connor as I grab my wallet and keys off the small desk in the corner.

  He doesn't respond, and I'll admit I'm a bit worried about him. He hasn't said much since this morning.

  Regardless, I head for the door because I need some fucking cigarettes. I'm sure they'll be fine without me for a few minutes.

  But just as I put my hand on the door to open
it, Connor's voice reaches out to me from the depressing gloom where he's sitting. "Why do you think she did it? Why now?"

  My shoulders sag as I let out a sigh. I'd like to ignore this hard-as-fuck question, but I know I can't. He needs answers, even if mine are wrong.

  Turning around, I walk over to his bed and sit down on the end to face him, cocking my left leg up on the bed and stretching my C-leg to plant on the floor. His eyes are red but currently dry. He's been crying in spells, and it hits me hard... this is the first time I've really seen this dude shaken up. For living under a death sentence, he's been so stoic about everything that I sometimes forget he's probably still just a frightened boy.

  "Did we do this?" he asks. "Did I do this?"

  I shake my head, place a palm on the mattress, and lean closer to him. "No, Connor. She did it all herself. It had nothing to do with you, Jillian, or me."

  "How do you know that?" he asks... no, he pleads almost, sounding as if he's asking me to take away whatever this guilt is he's feeling.

  "Because I've had my share of mental health professionals poking around in my head," I tell him honestly. "Because I've had those thoughts run through my head, and it's difficult to ask for help with it."

  "I thought she was happier," he mumbles as he looks down at his hands clenched in his lap. "She seemed like she was opening up and was having a good time with us."

  "I know. I think she probably had some of her best days this last week. There are ups and downs with depression. Sometimes, it's not obvious a person is feeling bad because they can hide it."

  "It makes no sense to me," he says with frustration. He lifts his face, and his eyes are blazing with fury. "I'm really pissed at her for doing this."

  "Me too," I tell him. "And I think that's probably natural."

  "It was a selfish move," Connor grits out, his hands bunching in anger.

  "No, it wasn't," Jillian's voice rings out from the other bed. Connor and I turn to look at her. She's on her stomach, both arms crossed with her head resting on them, her face pointing our way. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Barb was trying to deal with her demons the best way she knew how. It wasn't the best way for us, but if she made the choice to go through with it, she thought it was the only way for her."