by Lindsey Iler
“Don’t remind me.” She chuckles, turning me in her arms and holding me close. I lay my head on her shoulder. “You’ll do amazing in New York. Don’t let my sadness deter your excitement.”
I lift my head and peer up at her. “Oh, it won’t.” I laugh. “What time is it?” I look around my room, searching for my cell phone.
She checks her watch. “Graham should be here any minute.”
I walk to the bathroom with a pleased grin on my face.
“I’ll let you know when he gets here,” my mom calls as she walks out.
Instead of my usual less is more attitude about makeup, tonight I decide on an edgier style. I screw up my eyeliner twice, forcing me to re-do it all to ensure perfection. With smoky eyes and thick black eyeliner complete, I finish the look with bright red lipstick and dark black mascara. I take a step back to look at my handy work. I barely recognize myself, but I like the reflection staring back at me.
I’m blinded by the flash of my dad’s camera when I walk out of my room. He snaps a few photos, and as usual, I put my hands up in protest.
“It’s senior prom, not my wedding,” I joke.
“Just let me get one of you alone, and one of you and Graham and I’ll be done,” he pleads.
“Fine.” I pose in front of him with a smile as wide as the hallway.
He rolls his eyes at my theatrics. Once he’s done and the camera is safely tucked away, I look in the entryway in hopes of finding Graham waiting, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“What time is it?”
My dad looks at his watch. “Seven forty-five.”
“I was doing my make-up for almost an hour?” I ask, not waiting to hear a reply. I hold up my dress and walk into my room for my cellphone. No missed messages.
I push his name on my call list. After several rings, his voicemail picks up. Impatiently, I sit on the edge of my bed and call back. Still no answer. After thirty minutes of the same routine and both of my parents coming in with concerned looks, I jump from the bed. With my keys and phone in hand, I rush down the driveway and jump in the car.
My dad races after me. I roll down my window as he yells, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Graham’s to make sure he’s okay,” I explain.
“Be careful, and call me if you need anything,” he begs. His voice slows as he pats the top of my car.
“I’ll be okay, and I’ll call you in a little while. I promise.” I glance down at my phone. No missed calls. As I back out of the driveway, I call Graham one more time. Still no answer.
When I pull up to his house a few short minutes later, I get an incoming text from Violet wondering where we are. I ignore her when I see Graham’s car outside the garage. The driver’s door is open. I approach the passenger side and see a clear container holding a beautiful, black wrist corsage on the seat.
My eyes shift to his house. An eerie feeling washes over me as I walk the lit path to his front porch.
I peek in the small windows on each side of the door, but see nothing in the dark house. My phone lights up as I try to call Graham again, but my finger freezes on the screen when a loud thud followed by a bang as if someone dropped something heavy startles me.
My hand shakes as I wrap it around the knob. When I open the door, I hear the noises again. My heart begins to race as I tiptoe through the halls of the unfamiliar house. The only light filters through where the door across from the kitchen island is cracked open.
“Graham,” I whisper. My lips tremble as I step forward, clutching my cell phone in my sweaty palm.
A pained groan has me moving fast toward the noise. As I round the island, I see Graham’s mother on the floor on her side, elbows bent at the waist, gripping tightly to her stomach. I fall to my knees to turn her limp body over.
“Shh,” I whisper. “You’re okay.”
“Gra... Gra...” her voice begs. She points to the door, horror written in her eyes.
“Graham’s down there?” I question. She nods. “And he’s not alone, I take it?”
Tears stream down her face. She whimpers a reply and shakes her head. With lightning speed, I dial 911 for help. After I whisper the address and explain they need to send an ambulance, I drop the phone beside Mrs. Black.
“Where are you going?” she cries, an arm stretched out. “He’s down there. My husband’s down there.” Her shoulders tighten at the mention of Mr. Black.
“When they get here, you tell them we’re downstairs. Don’t hesitate. Graham needs you.” The obvious disdain in my voice makes her wince. “Hold tight.” I pat her shoulder and walk into the unknown.
At the bottom of the stairs, I peek around the corner. The first thing I see is Graham sitting on the sofa, collar ripped, and a blood stain on his chest. A deep gash runs along his cheek. His hands are behind his back, and he wiggles in discomfort. When his eyes shift around the room, they land on me last. His irises bounce back and forth in protest.
A deep voice echoes through the room, and I shrink back out of view.
“Life’s not meant to be easy, Graham. You’ve had everything handed to you. You’ve never had to struggle.”
His dad’s voice bites into my skin. He sways back and forth. His khaki pants are wrinkled and his dress shirt is untucked, making him appear disheveled.
“And you know what it’s like to struggle?” Graham snaps back.
I want to laugh at his response. Graham’s disdain towards his father is palpable.
Mr. Black picks up a bat and bangs it against his open palm. “It would be a shame if you couldn’t play baseball next year, wouldn’t it?” His sinister laugh causes my stomach to roll in protest.
He brings the bat back and swings it forward once, stopping inches from his son’s head. He does it again, but Graham doesn’t flinch. He’s not afraid of what’s to come. Years of abuse have groomed him for this moment. My feet carry me into the main room. Although his dad’s back is turned, he senses my presence and turns around quicker than I can process.
The bat is now inches from my face.
“You must be the girl waiting for the black corsage.” His venom filled voice makes every hair on my body stand at attention and his eyes scan every inch of my exposed skin.
My heart pounds in my chest. “I’m Kennedy,” I whisper. “You must be Graham’s dad. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Black.” I attempt to distract him from his helpless son.
In the distance, sirens wail. I sigh a breath of relief, knowing this will be over soon. Mr. Black is too concerned with the bottle of whiskey near his feet to notice them.
“Don’t patronize me, little girl.” Mr. Black’s eyes narrow on me. He takes one giant step in my direction. The smell of alcohol is strong on his breath. “You know what I’ve done to this family. He can’t keep his big mouth shut long enough for you not to.” He turns back to Graham, and I step back while he’s distracted. He’s too drunk to notice when he turns around. “You sure are a pretty thing. I can see why Craig wanted a piece so bad.” Mr. Black staggers back to me and runs the outsides of his fingers down the length of my face. I cringe, clenching my fists at my sides.
“Don’t put your hands on her,” Graham shouts as he attempts to stand. He draws deep, sharp breaths through his nose.
“What are you going to do about it, huh? From where I stand, it looks like you’re pretty tied up.” Mr. Black laughs at his own joke.
“Why don’t you just put the bat down?” I suggest, my voice calm and flat.
“That’s a good idea, Kennedy.” He swings the bat again, stopping it at the last second from slamming into my skull. “I’m going to put the bat down. My son deserves more than a bat to the head. You ruined my life, son.”
The way he sneers the word ‘son’ like it’s a curse breaks my heart for Graham. I’ve only known unconditional love from my parents, and to see blatant disdain roll off Mr. Black like waves is a hard thing to experience.
When he tosses the bat to the side, it bounces off the carpet and hits a cl
uster of pictures on the television stand. Photos of Graham as a young boy scatter across the floor.
I take another step back, but stop when he reaches into the back waistband of his pants.
Before I register what’s happening, Graham faces the barrel of a gun. His eyes widen as his own father cocks the gun and wiggles his finger on the trigger. My body, as if on its own selfless mission, leaps forward, careening into Mr. Black.
The loud bang sings through the basement and a bone chilling scream escapes my throat.
Then, everything goes dark.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Graham
Not registering pain through my numbness, I barrel over on the sofa. My ears ring as Kennedy’s screams make the walls feel like they’re closing in on all of us. The room fills with men in uniform, their guns pointing at my father.
As my vision clears, my eyes search for Kennedy and find her on the floor with her hands shielding her head. A sense of vindication crosses my heart as my father is handcuffed in front of me.
“Sir, you’re in shock. You need to sit down,” an officer states. “I need to cut you loose.” He pushes my chest to force me back down onto the couch. The officer slices through the tape my father used to shackle me into submission. I twirl my wrist to ease the strain the tight restraint caused.
“Is she okay? Is she okay?” I shout. “Someone, answer me.”
“Graham, I’m okay,” her soft voice answers, and relief hits me. She rises from the floor, her hands clenched to her stomach. Her eyes widen and fill with tears as she lunges forward. “Oh, my god! You’ve been shot,” she yells.
“Ma’am, it’s only a flesh wound.” The paramedic cuts the arm off my shirt. “Won’t even need stitches.”
“Where’s my mom?” I demand an answer.
“She’s outside in the ambulance. She’ll need to be checked out at the hospital for a concussion and maybe some cracked ribs,” he calmly explains. He peers up at me with a sympathetic smile. “You both were very lucky.”
“And his father?” Kennedy blurts. The beautiful, white fabric billows as she sits beside me. She takes my hand in hers and squeezes lightly.
“He’s being transported to the county jail as we speak.” The paramedic cleans the wound and places a bandage over it without making eye contact with me.
“And then what happens?” I ask, almost afraid to hope.
The paramedic looks at me, his lips flat. “If all goes well, based on what your mother told the police, I assume he’ll be going away long enough for you to build a new life without him.”
“Thank you. I’d like to see her before you take her to the hospital.”
An older police officer with kind eyes steps in front of Kennedy and me. “Of course. I’ll walk you out.”
Kennedy’s grip tightens as we stand and walk away from the sofa my father tried to kill me on. Red and blue lights illuminate the neighborhood. Close friends come outside to see what the commotion is all about. I want to yell that they can go back inside because it will be in the newspaper in the morning, but my mother strapped to a gurney makes everything else in the world falls away.
The paramedics tending to my mom step out of the truck. Kennedy waits outside while I slide onto the bench and look down at her. The gentle eyes I turned to when I was young are now darkened with regret and guilt.
“I should’ve done something a long time ago,” she whispers. The cause of her weak voice is evident. Finger shaped bruises circle her neck. “I failed you.” Tears wash over her cheeks, leaving wet trails over her swollen, purple face.
“You didn’t fail me. You did what you had to do. I may never understand it, Mom, but one thing I can do is forgive you. Just please, don’t take him back. Not just for me, but because you deserve better than that son of a bitch,” I beg as my own tears fall. A lifetime of hurt escapes down my cheeks. They’ve been held hostage for long enough.
“You’re missing your prom,” my mom says as she tries to sit up. Her hand feathers the shallow wound on my arm. Her gaze moves to Kennedy.
“You’re an idiot if you let that girl go.” My mom’s smile widens.
“It’s not always that easy, Mom,” I protest.
“It is if you make it.” She takes my hand in hers. “Your aunt’s flying in. Please, go to the prom. Dance with that girl and just forget your life’s a total fucking mess right now. You deserve that, at least.”
“We’re alive. Life’s not a total mess, Mom,” I insist.
Mrs. Conrad hollers Kennedy’s name. Both her parents run to her and cradle her in a hug.
“We’re alive because of that girl.” We watch Kennedy. Her face says it all as she kicks her heels around the concrete as her parents ask her question after question. “She thought she was going to lose you.” Mom’s fingers run over my bandage. “I thought I lost you.” She reaches up and dries the few remaining tears. “Now do as your mother says and go have fun.”
I step off the ambulance and wrap Kennedy in my arms. Her weeping rattles against my chest, and her tears soak what’s left of my shirt. I nod at her parents as they dry their own tears.
An older gentleman in a tailored suit walks up to the two of us. “I’m Detective Patrick. Tomorrow morning we’ll need you two to come down and make a statement,” he says with an understanding smile, peeking over us to nod at Mr. and Mrs. Conrad, then walks to a group of officers near the driveway.
Kennedy turns her eyes back to me. “Can we just have one year that doesn’t end in tragedy?” she begs. Her head lifts from my chest, but her fingernails dig into my back.
“We always have next year.” I joke in hopes of lightening the mood. Kennedy giggles and I laugh with her. “Can we go to prom?”
We look at her parents for an answer.
“Like this?” Kennedy steps back and scans her dirty dress and my shredded shirt.
“Yes, like this. I’d like to dance with you.”
I sprint to my car to grab the corsage while Mrs. Conrad attempts to fix Kennedy’s ratted hair and smeared makeup. Running back to her, I slide it on her small wrist.
“It’s beautiful.” Kennedy’s smile brightens when she looks down at her wrist.
“Okay kids, stand together. Let’s get a picture and try to make this as normal as possible,” Mr. Conrad jokes with a sad smile.
Kennedy hugs both her parents before she gets into the car.
“I’m happy to know your dad’s going to get what he deserves.” Mr. Conrad slaps me on the shoulder.
“How long have you known?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“Since the first night you crawled through my daughter’s window.” He raises an eyebrow. “All’s forgiven, but make sure you take care of my baby, okay?”
“Of course, sir. Thank you.” I shake his hand, and we both look at his beautiful daughter and smile.
With Kennedy’s hand locked in mine, we drive to our senior prom.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. “We don’t have to. We’ll be bombarded with questions. It will become a circus.” I glance at our clothes.
“I’d like to end this year on a good note, Graham. I need some good memories with you,” Kennedy explains, playing with her fingernails.
I brush my fingers beneath her chin, coaxing her to look at me. “Let’s go make some good memories, then, shall we?”
Hand in hand, we walk inside. Shiny, metallic foil covers almost every surface of the gymnasium with the Under the Sea theme. Sea shells sit in bowls on each table while large iridescent balls hang from the ceiling.
“Bubbles?” I point to the ceiling.
“Okay, maybe we’ll make some cheesy memories.” Kennedy leans into me.
As if we’re the only two people in this room, I drag her onto the dance floor, take Kennedy in my arms, and hold our hands close to our chests. Her heart beats against me as Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up” echoes through the gymnasium. I couldn’t have chosen a better song for this moment.
&
nbsp; “Remember how you said that song in Nashville was our song?” I ask.
With tears in her eyes, Kennedy nods.
“It was sad and haunting, nothing that we are. This song...” I let the thought trail as I dry the single tear sliding down her cheek. “We aren’t sad. Our relationship may not have had the easiest start and middle, but I would never describe our love as sad. I gave up on us for you, and to this day, I regret that choice, but only for selfish reasons.”
“Graham,” Kennedy whispers as she peers up at me.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life.” My head shakes and my eyebrows furrow. “It’s like I’ve always known we were meant for each other, but we met too early. We weren’t ready for each other.”
“Will we ever be ready for each other? I’ll be in New York, and you’re going to Georgia,” Kennedy pleads. Hope fades from her eyes. “I feel like every time we’re ripped apart.”
I run my fingers through her hair, and she whimpers into my chest.
“It’s a small world, Kennedy. We’ll find each other.”
“How do you know?” She looks up to me and I think my heart breaks.
“I don’t,” I answer honestly.
Kennedy’s head shakes as she lets out a loud sigh.
“This time last year, I never believed I’d be holding you in my arms, but here we are. I’ve learned to have a little faith because life has a way of working in mysterious ways sometimes, Kennedy. You just need to believe those meant to find you, will, and I promise I was born to find you. I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”
Kennedy peers up at me with love in her eyes and I sigh in relief. We can walk away from this night knowing the world works in strange ways, some ways we won’t ever understand.
“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you dance, Ken, but I can’t let you give it up for me,” I whisper in her hair. “I know you’re thinking how easy it would be to follow me to Georgia.”
“It would be,” Kennedy states. “But as much as I want to, I’m not going to.” She leans her head on my shoulder, and we finish the dance we’ve been owed since last year.
With only thirty minutes left of our senior prom, we don’t leave the floor, and as if everyone knows, no one interrupts us. We hear the whispers, the rumors churning through the mill. Violet offers a sad smile while Dan nods in understanding. We’re in our own little world, soaking each other up before the sand runs out in our hourglass.