by J. L. Rizzo
Whiskey is amazing. It makes me honest, less afraid. I want to have an honest relationship with my mother. I think that starts with my father. “Sometimes I feel like I’m letting Dad down by not playing classically anymore. And I don’t know what to do about that feeling of, that feeling of —” I shrug my shoulders instead of working it out to find the right word.
“Betrayal?” she asks after a long silent moment.
Yes. I nod.
“You shouldn’t deny your feelings, Summer girl. But you should listen to them. You can readjust your expectations as you go along.” She cups my face with both hands. “Your father loved you very, very much. He wouldn’t want you to sit in this unsteady state of resentment and anger.”
Here it goes. “I hate you.” I look to my mother’s stunned eyes with tears flooding down my face. “That was the last thing I said to him. ‘I hate you’.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for saying that to him.” The tears are unstoppable, as is the flood of sadness suddenly washing over me. My mother leaves her spot on the coffee table and sits next to me, wrapping her arms around me and holding me up in every way possible. It’s everything I hoped she would do.
And I cry. Like I’ve never cried before.
I cry for my father.
I cry for me.
I cry for my mother.
I love her so much.
It’s like a dam has broken, and every resentful feeling, every ounce of hatred, every inch of anger pours through me. It all gets washed away with a good, long cry. A necessary cry. A cry to mend my broken soul. A cry that begs for forgiveness. A cry that grants mercy.
After a few long minutes, I lift away my heavy body and let her wipe her thumbs along my cheeks to brush away the tears. It’s such a maternal thing she’s doing, and I absolutely love it.
I smile at her, and she knows why. She’s my mother.
“I think you should hear what your father said about that.”
What?
She smiles at me, then walks to the other couch where Crew’s envelope and letter sits. She picks them up and walks them back to me.
“Mom, no. I don’t really —” I begin to protest.
“Summer.” She captures my attention as I look her in her pretty brown eyes. “I think you should read this.” Because I’m your mother.
We both chuckle, and I never realized how similar our laughs sound.
“Thanks, Mom.” I take the envelope from her, then I turn Crew’s letter over. There’s a whole back side that I didn’t see.
“I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
I need you, Mom. I let her go.
I sit in silence with Crew’s letter.
24.
Summer
The handwriting on the back of Crew’s letter is different than the front. Almost illegible. Like he scribbled it down quickly. I tuck the pictures away, unable to look at the images of me or my father. Every time I see his face, I relive the pain of that night all over again.
Taking a deep breath and a long blink, I open my eyes to read his truth.
“I hate you.” You told me your last words to him. And I know immediately what he meant when he spoke to me from his car.
With a gargled voice, he whispered to me, “Tell my daughter that I know she doesn’t hate me.”
“I will, Sir,” I replied. “I’m so sorry,” I said to him, trying to bring down my raging pulse. I didn’t want to startle him, but I was hyperventilating at the moment.
“I know, son,” he whispered back to me. “Tell my wife and daughter that I love them. And I’ll always be with them, even when they can’t see me.” He drew in as deep a breath as he could, coughing on the way out. “I’ll always love the music,” was the last thing he said to me. Then he sucked in a long breath and passed out. The paramedics were on him instantly.
I stayed as long as I could to see if he was ok. But they put him in the ambulance and raced to the hospital. Before my father arrived, one of the police officers was asking me questions. He didn’t know that I was the son of the District Attorney, so he asked about my history.
Where’s your father, he asked. I told him he’d be here shortly.
And your mother?
She died, I replied. He shifted his feet, the uncomfortable silence accusing me of her death. Finally, I choked out the word “Cancer” to clear myself of any unspoken blame. Then he directed me to his Captain. It was the first time I had said it in seven years, since my mother died.
I couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than watching my mother suffer through the disease for years. I couldn’t speak the evil word that had consumed her, taken her away forever. But at that moment, I knew there were worse things in the world.
Losing a parent without notice. Without warning. Without a chance.
I said it because I knew what I had done to you, Summer, to your world. I flipped it inside out. And all I wanted was to make things better.
I knew I couldn’t.
After I left the hospital and your heartbroken face, I took a drive back up to the place where the crash happened. I sat in my car, staring at the broken tree and tire marks in the dirt.
I never thought I’d experience worse pain than after my mother died.
I was so wrong.
That moment was agonizing torture, horrific in every sense of the word.
And I wanted the pain to end.
I hadn’t had a drink all night, but right then I wished I wasn’t sober. Sobriety doesn’t make the pain go away. So I took a few long swigs of gin from a bottle I found that a friend had left on the floor. I unlatched my seatbelt, and I revved the engine deep before throwing the car into drive.
Then I blacked out.
When I came to, there was blood pouring down my face. I could taste the hint of metal oozing from my lip. My phone was buzzing like crazy in my pocket. That’s what brought me back to consciousness.
It was my Aunt Rosie video calling me to tell me about your dad. The story was on the news, everywhere. I confessed to her what happened. Told her I was to blame. I calmed her down after she saw my face. She knew what I attempted to do. Then I hung up and cried like a baby. She called back to tell me to get my act together and meet her at the diner. So I did.
Aunt Rosie held me while I cried for you, for your father. She was my comfort when I didn’t deserve it.
My father came after a while. He got me a pardon for the accident. Because it was an accident.
But I was so mad, Summer. Raging mad.
Your father died for no reason. And no one was punished for it.
So I punished myself.
I vowed never to drink again. But my heart made a silent vow to make me pay for the rest of my days for it. I took care of Sebastian, enabled him, paid for him.
I denied myself love and understanding. At the time, I gave what I could to you. I tried to be the most noble son a father could ask for.
I don’t know what else to do.
I have no idea why I’m still alive, Summer, other than to tell you what happened to your dad and why he was taken from you. Because someone grabbed my wheel, and I wasn’t strong enough to stop him.
Your dad knew you didn’t hate him. He knew you loved him. He will always love your music.
His last breath told me so.
Yours always,
Crew
Is there a way to love someone and hate someone at the same time?
I feel like I’ve loved Crew for 4 years, since he handed me his handkerchief. I feel a connection to him that I’ve never experienced before. He understands me. He understands my agony. He understands my loss.
Only because he caused it.
Which makes me hate him.
What the hell do I do?
I consider asking God for an emotional intervention. But before I get the chance, I find that my eyelids suddenly weigh a thousand pounds each, and they won’t stay open. My body feels paralyzed. It’s an effort to move, but I still tip m
yself over onto my side on the couch and fall into a deep, exhaustive sleep.
“Summer. Summer, wake up.” My mother’s voice. Why is she down in my room? She never comes down here. “Summer, open your eyes.”
I groan and roll to my other side only to realize that I can’t. Something is stopping me. A wall. Where the hell am I? The couch. The back of the couch keeps me from rolling over and away from the voice waking me up. Holy cow. How long have I been sleeping? Feels like days. My body aches everywhere. My head is thrumming with my pulse. My eyeballs feel huge and swollen.
“Summer. Drink this.” The smell of herbal tea awakens my senses. I will my eyes to start blinking open only to see glimpses of my mother sitting across from me with a teacup in her hand. She remembered my predilection for tea. It warms me in more ways than one.
“Hi, Mom,” I mutter. I rub my eyes like a tired schoolgirl who’s had a long day. I’ve had a long fucking day. I sit myself up and take her tea with a smile, feeling a sense of warmth that she remembered that I love Chai. “Thank you.” I smile at her.
After I’ve had a few sips, she asks, “Did you finish reading his letter?”
I nod.
“Do you believe him?”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I have every reason to doubt him, but yes. I believe him.”
She reaches over and brushes a hair away from my mouth. “Why do you doubt him?”
I chuckle incredulously. “Because he’s lied to me. Like, a lot.” This tea could be the cure for all my troubles.
My mom’s smile reaches her warm, brown eyes. It’s her “I’m your mother” smile, and I have yet to build a defense for it. “What are you going to do?”
Psychobabble. Here it comes. “I’m not sure yet.” I shrug. What can I do?
“Well, I think you better decide quickly.” She cups her hand under my chin. “Because he’s in jail.”
Oh, hell. What now.
Peeling myself off the couch, I inform my mother that I’m going downstairs to take a shower. Then I’ll head to the municipal building. Crew doesn’t know anyone in this city, so I’m sure I’m his only contact.
During my brief shower, it hits me. I don’t have any missed calls or texts from Crew. Every medium is silent from him. Then how did…?
“Mom,” I call from the bottom of the stairs after I’ve dressed. She appears in a moment. “How did you know that Crew was in jail. He didn’t contact me.”
She exhales a pent up breath. “Chance is the public attorney.”
Of course he is.
I nod and walk toward the front door to leave, opening it to find Xaden leaning against the wall for support with bruises all over his face and a bleeding fat lip.
He’s never been to my house. Because I’ve never invited him. Yet somehow he learned where I lived and showed up beaten to a pulp.
Christ. This day just keeps getting better and better.
25.
Crew
“What are you in for, hotshot?” The gruff voice next to my cell won’t stop talking or whistling or asking me stupid fucking questions. It’s irritating the shit out of me. If my hand wasn’t already bruised or broken, I might punch his face through the bars.
But I ignore him completely, which is easy to do considering that all I can think about is Summer and how I left her. Angry. Bitter. Resentful. And hating me.
I have no idea how I’ll make it up to her, if she’ll even let me. But I do know one thing — I have no choice but to try. I’ve waited too long for her. I need her too much. I’ve got to get out of here so I can talk to her, explain things to her, make her understand.
But right now, I’m fucking stuck here until my lawyer arrives. Whoever the hell he is.
His last words keep ringing in my head as the police handcuffed and dragged me into the cruiser.
I’m going to go fuck Summer, pretty boy. You think about that while you’re in jail.
Xaden. That fucking prick deserves what I sold him.
“Is this the dipshit who came in with Summer last night, Marie?” he asks without taking his eyes off me, scrutinizing me from head to toe. Instantly, I know that this is Xaden. From the band. Who gives a lot of effort to make the world think he and Summer are together.
It’s me, you waste of life.
“Yeah, that’s Crew,” Marie says, annoyed at her brother. Rolling her eyes behind his back makes it clear that even she can’t stand him.
Xaden is shorter than me, a little scrawnier. But his attitude more than makes up for his height. I wonder how many times he’s had his ass beaten because his mouth is bigger than his body.
Sticking his nose up to me, he gets close enough for me to smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. The white powder by his nose draws the line — Xaden isn’t just a douche. He’s a fucking alcoholic and coke addict.
Fucking fantastic.
“I think you should know…. Summer and I…we’re together.” Xaden makes a motion with one finger sticking into the other hand’s clenched fist. Then he swallows hard, tell tale signs that he’s a lying piece of shit. He steps closer and continues, “So it’s best if you don’t cross me. And leave her the fuck alone.”
I may have had a few drinks today, but I’m certainly not incapacitated enough to defend myself. “Not according to her,” I reply, resisting the urge to knock this fucker out of my face.
His eyes shoot up. “Oh? Is that right?” He steps even closer; if he were taller, we’d be nose to nose. But the fact that he’s about four inches shorter than me doesn’t filter the smell. His stench is nauseating. “You’ve had a piece of that, now?” he bites out as his eyes grow bigger, bulging out of his eye sockets.
Refusing to answer this asshole, I simply clench my fist at my sides, itching to put him in his place.
“Well, then. You must know how she likes it.” Don’t provoke me, fucker. “You must know that she likes her pretty little hands all tied up.” Dammit. “You must know,” he whispers, enunciating each sharp consonant, “that she likes to be…taken,” he whispers with his tongue landing on the “n” a little too long.
I’m going to fuck his shit up if he doesn’t shut his shit up.
I sidestep him and walk to the bar to pay Marie. He’s not worth going to jail.
“My brother’s an asshole,” she mumbles while wiping down the bar, probably so Xaden doesn’t hear her.
“You don’t say,” I groan back and overpay her for the two beers. It’s not her fault that her brother’s a dick.
Xaden spins me around by my shoulder. “Hey, don’t you walk away while I’m talking to you, fuckstick.”
“Leave him alone, X,” Marie intercedes.
“You shut your fucking mouth, bitch,” he bites back.
Classy piece of shit. “Listen, man. Why don’t you just go sleep it off somewhere. I’m not here to make trouble.” But I’ll give you trouble if you so deserve it.
Jumping in front of me might be the stupidest thing he’s done so far. “I don’t give a shit why you’re here. You just stay away from Summer.”
“Or what?” I provoke him.
He hesitates. What a fucking prick. “Or I’ll fuck you up,” he stammers out. Is that really the best he can do? “Or are you too much of a mama’s boy to stand up for yourself?” His mouth really needs a filter. Or an elbow.
“Get the fuck out of my face,” I say and walk toward the door.
Xaden jumps in front of me again. What the fuck is wrong with him? This time, he’s too close.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a mama’s boy, aren’t ya? A little softie who likes sucking on his mama’s tits? You walk in here strutting your shit thinking that you own the fucking place. Well, I’ve got news for you, dipshit. This is my fucking joint. And I’m kicking you the fuck out. So, why don’t you go find your mama and suck on her. And I’ll go find Summer and fuck her hard in the ass.”
Throat punch.
Elbow to the mouth.
Box the ears.
Left hook to the eye.
That’s all it took to take down Xaden, the waste that he is.
He might not be worth going to jail over, but Summer and my mother certainly are.
I know Summer isn’t stupid enough to fall for Xaden’s crap. But I still hate the idea that I’m in here while that douche gets to walk freely. Probably to go to her.
“Evans,” a deep voice stirs me out of my nightmare. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Like the ray of sunshine that she is, Summer walks through the door and lights up the room. I spring to my feet to get closer to her, but she stands out of reach.
There’s so much I want to say, so much she needs to hear. But all I can get out is, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she replies lowly. Shit.
She looks radiant, even in her thick winter coat and boots.
My mouth goes dry looking at her, making it difficult to swallow, even speak. “How did you know I was here?” I never got my phone call.
She doesn’t speak for a moment. She looks as if she’s swirling thoughts around her head, deciding which to land on first. What’s going on?
“Your attorney called us.”
What? I furrow my brows in confusion. “How is that possible? I don’t even have an attorney here yet.”
“It’s Chance,” she says quickly.
Oh. Crap.
“Yeah,” she replies, reading my thoughts. “He recognized you from last night. Saw you talking to my mother.”
Her eyes roam everywhere but on me, like she’s making every attempt to avoid eye contact with me. Or even glance at me. I’ve got to draw her back to me.
“How is your mother?” I ask.
She fixates on me. Good. “She’s fine. We’re…fine.” She shrugs. Fine is better than awful. I give her a hard smile knowing that she’s struggling but obviously making a tremendous effort.
“Xaden came to see me,” she finally speaks. “You really did a number on him.” Not nearly as much as he deserves.