Only Love

by Smith, Victoria H.

  He wanted Rissa.

  He wanted me.

  A bitter chill ran down my spine at the idea of him being reduced to nothing more than a memory. At the thought of how final our last conversation ended, I pulled my legs up to my stomach. After our breakup, I kept him at arm’s length whenever we had to converse about Rissa, keeping my disposition toward him cold so he’d know this separation was serious. I was sure he thought I hated him. That was how he died, thinking I hated him. Now there was no way to take that back. No way to make it right.

  I breezed past the swinging door of the church’s gymnasium into the kitchen with a large box in my hands. Bent over a counter, Joan turned her eyes, blinking at me. She directed some women holding bags, filled with non-perishables like in my box, then placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you said you’d be here by three, darlin’? You almost missed the truck to the shelter.”

  I did say that. Setting the box down, I apologized for my tardiness. Today had basically been the day from hell. I’d had a lot of those lately. Crap days. That felt like an understatement. In fact, I knew it to be one. Sighing, I explained to my mom why this particular day had gone shoddy. We’d been swamped at work. Seemed everyone was out to give law enforcement a hard time more than usual. Don was still gone so I was with a temp until he returned. The kid was fresh out of the academy. We both had a pull over today during our rounds, standard ticket and procedure. Turned out the guy had a warrant for his arrest in two counties. We chased him down. They never could outrun us long but despite that he tried anyway. We got him to pull over, but then he bolted from the car, straight into the woods. By the time we got back up to aid in the search and arrested the guy, I was already running late to deliver these canned goods to my moms for their food drive. I coordinated the one at the precinct. This usually wasn’t a problem, but hell, stress had gotten me and I hadn’t been keeping up with bugging people to donate. My haul was half what it usually entailed.

  Joan noticed that but she didn’t say anything, rooting around it while I told her about my day and she collected inventory. Afterwards, she set her hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t even had time to change from my uniform and drove my squad car here.

  “It’s okay, honey. No harm done,” she said lowering her hand to her clipboard. “Go ahead and set the box in the stockroom. The boys are hauling everything out of there when they arrive. There’s a special place reserved for the food for the shelter. Can’t miss it.”

  I noted the look she gave me before she left, prolonged gaze right around the area of my eyes. No doubt staring because they were red-rimmed, pretty much bloodshot, then down to my chin, my stubble I hadn’t gotten around to in more than a few days. Again, she didn’t say anything. Just let me go. I couldn’t take her stare so I did, taking my box down the hall and around the corner. But when I got there, setting my box down I just stopped, stark still in the middle of the room. I had to because I couldn’t breathe, anxiety squeezing my lungs. I hadn’t broken down enough to take anything for it. I had meds I used to take back in the day when I was struggling. I guess I didn’t want to admit it was back, the anxiousness, the shakes which now hit my hands.

  Letting go of the box, I tried to calm them, squeezing my hands into tight fists. It didn’t make sense I was feeling this way. As if I was coming down, withdrawing. But perhaps maybe it did.

  “Honey?”

  Joan’s voice caused me to turn around, and this time, she didn’t hide the frown that creased her face. Tilting her head at me, she folded her arms over her chest. “Baby, I said put the box in the stockroom. This is the supply closet, hon.”

  A look around my surroundings told me that instantly and my head spun that I’d made such a clear mistake. I couldn’t get like this, lost in my head and distracted. If I did, I knew what was next, nothing but a downward spiral.

  I scrubbed my hand down my face trying to get it all back, my mind and myself. When I lowered my hand I managed to give my stepmom a smile but the war I was having inside myself wouldn’t let it go fully, and the clear heartache that triggered it didn’t help. She didn’t address that, but did follow me to the stockroom. I hoped she didn’t think she had to, that I’d lose my way again.

  I gave her a hug to go after I set the box down and noticed that it was longer than the ones we normally shared. I read into that. I definitely did. I thought I’d get away without confrontation, without confronting my feelings and what was going on with me, but then Joan said my name.

  Turning, I braced myself. “Yeah?”

  She came over. “Why don’t you go ahead and stop by your mama on your way out? She brought some things for you. From our garden. She’s in the office.”

  I guess I did get away with it, not talking about things. At least for now. My moms knew everything that had been happening with me lately. Of course they did as I told them everything. That last day with Aubrey, seeing her face, clearly trying to hold it all together but failing miserably… She failed just as much as I had. Every day had been autopilot for me. Every day waking up and making myself move on when all I wanted to do was move backward, back to her. Being in the same space as her, wanting to hold her and rid her of all her stresses, yet not being able to do a damn thing about it just about shattered me. On top of that was Gabby, clearly trying to help by bringing us together, only to get it thrown back at her when it all fell apart.

  And then Rissa...

  God, Rissa. I heard her, heard her screaming after I left, and that nearly killed me. It just about did.

  Even if I hadn’t wanted to tell my moms, they would have worked it out of me. They knew everything, always did, which was why I was surprised I’d gotten away so easily from Joan. Yes, they knew about Aubrey, but they’d been really good about letting me deal with this my way. Not prying or smothering me. But that was before, on regular days. Today wasn’t a regular day. Today, I woke up and my chest burned as if millions of daggers had made their way inside. Today, I woke up and didn’t have the desire to actually get up. Today, I wanted to close into myself. Today, I wanted to give into the heartache, the one that stemmed from the situation with Aubrey, yes, but so much more.

  Today, I wanted to break.

  But I didn’t. I made myself get up, move on, and I was doing that now as I headed toward the church’s office. Mom was in there like Joan said, her head popping up when I came in. She leaned over stacks of papers, no doubt doing the books, as that was her job as church secretary. The pair were heavily involved in this church. It was a church of acceptance, which was something not only they needed, but I did as well. I got lots of support during my battle with alcoholism over the years from the congregation.

  I didn’t take a seat when I came in, because the longer I was there the longer I had to be around my mom and she wouldn’t let things go as easy as Joan. That I knew. I hugged her of course and she smiled, but she also had that same look I saw upon arrival on Joan’s face, and that was the look of remorse, sympathy. She usually wouldn’t allow herself to do that in front of me. Again, today wasn’t most days.

  She had the bag of veggies from their garden on the desk and that told me this wasn’t just a trap to get me in here, a last minute ruse Joan created on the fly at seeing me today.

  I grabbed them, letting my mom know I’d call her, that I had to go, but I knew my mom. She didn’t make things easy, never easy.

  “Take a seat, sweetheart,” she said, her mouth turned down behind her seat at the desk.

  Sighing, I forced myself to ignore the tremor inside at her request, her request for me to sit, her request for me to talk. I dampened my mouth, trying to stay calm. “Mom… please don’t do this.”

  She couldn’t. Not today. I wasn’t strong enough today. Any day was hard. Any damn day, especially since I lost Aubrey. But today… But today… I just couldn’t handle it. I knew my limits. I’d break if she made me talk. I’d break.

  My mom moved a hand over her face, settling over her mouth, and I swallowed hard, looking away
from the glaze over her eyes, the emotion in her eyes.

  “You need to talk to someone, sweetie. If not Joan and me, then… Then Aubrey, honey. You’ve both gone through loss. Are still fighting through loss. I think it would only help. ”

  My lids lowered over my eyes. Aubrey… Aubrey. I couldn’t confide in her. She had her own hurdles, her own losses, and on top of that she didn’t… She didn’t…

  I let out a breath before I spoke to my mom. I had to or I wouldn’t have been able to talk. “Aubrey doesn’t want to be with me.” The words hurt to say, killed to say. “She can’t be with me. She won’t let herself. I can’t just talk to her like that isn’t present between us. I can’t confide in her about this.”

  I didn’t want to do this now. I just… I wanted to walk away but I couldn’t. I had more respect for my mom than to walk out on her. I did turn though and she moved from behind the desk, placing her hand on my back.

  “Aubrey’s going through a lot, yes,” she paused rubbing, “but she needs you. She needs you so much right now and you need her. Especially now. Perhaps, if you talked to her about Lia. About Abigail…”

  The shakes had returned to my hands, the symptoms as if withdrawing. Nausea surfaced when the world tilted, a headache hitting my brain in a wave. This always happened. It always did when I need something, when I needed a drink.

  A hand slipped into mine, a warm one. “Check in the bag when you get home,” my mom said. “Don’t hate me for keeping it from you. I just saved it for today. I promise you that. I hoped it would help with today is all.”

  I fought the urge from checking the bag, waiting until I got home like my mom requested, but each step I made toward my door, one foot in front of the other, my anxiety thickened, the influx of it representing an intense fear. I feared what was inside this bag I held. I feared the unknown, and as I sat in my apartment, empty, just me for so long, those fears came to fruition. There was an envelope there, right near the cucumbers my mom grew and packed in the bag for me.

  Dampening my mouth, I took it out, setting the bag aside. It was addressed to my mom, and though I didn’t recognize the sending address, I recognized the name of the sender.

  Ophelia Donavon, it said. I knew her as Lia once upon a time, but her last name wasn’t Donavon then. It had been Holloway.

  I couldn’t even open the letter at first. My hands were shaking so bad, my stomach tied in so many knots. I didn’t think I could physically open it, but it turned out I had the strength. The flap had been severed already, lifted. My mom had done it no doubt as it had been addressed to her. Opening the envelope, I saw a letter on regular lined paper, and unfolded it, seeing a date. She sent this months ago. This must have been why my mom said what she had. She told me not to hate her, that she was just holding it for today. She said by doing so would make today easier for me. I had a feeling her labor had been for nothing. It had to be because of what today meant. Today nothing could be made easier.

  Nothing.

  Adam, the letter read. I’m sending this to your mom, as I didn’t know if you were still at the old address. I wouldn’t have kept our house, so you probably didn’t.

  She was right. I sold it well below market value just to get rid of it. I figured I had already lost everything, so why live in the memory of that very loss.

  Taking a breath, I decided to continue reading, my eyes itching with emotion. I must have been a glutton for torture.

  Lowering the paper, I rubbed my hand over my face, my eyes. She knows about me. She knows who I am.

  I didn’t know how I was able to see the photo, my eyes were so blurry but I did. I’d been staring at the same photos for so long, the ones I only had up until her fourth birthday, shortly before I lost her. I’d come to terms that she was only that, a memory. I had very much mourned her, as that had been the only way I could deal with losing her. But she wasn’t gone; she wasn’t because she was in my hands, squeezing my heart and making me shake with emotions I’d tried so hard to contain. I noticed the hair first, that damn bright red hair like Lia’s, and I laughed. She could never manage its bushiness, never, and this little girl had the same problem, the same wonderful problem, that fell down past her shoulders in curly waves.

  Pushing my thumb over the glossy image of her cheeks, I noticed they were no longer round but had thinned out, as she was older. She was eight now. She was eight today. Today was her birthday. And when I got to her eyes, my own lingered there, the brightness, that bright blue. She did have my eyes.

  She sat there in the photo, a large smile missing a tooth on the lower right side, and I couldn’t help smiling as well. The warmth that rushed over me played with my heart as well. She looked so happy. My Abby looked so happy.

  In my joy, I wanted more. To hold her, hug her and make her real but this was only a tiny photograph, limited by the tight box of the frame, and though its scope was limited I still saw what was behind her. No matter the angle of the photograph they couldn’t hide that they had made accommodations to take her photo. She wasn’t mobile like the other children, couldn’t take a quick photo like the others and move along. She could but it took her a bit longer. It would always take a bit longer, and even though Lia said what happened was just as much her fault as it was mine, she forgot something. I had freewill. I could have handled things differently when it came to her unfaithfulness but I didn’t. I let myself get lost, drowned in my addiction, and in my absence, I allowed my child to suffer because of it.

  Setting the photo down, I stared at it in my lap but no longer at Abby. I looked at what was behind her, the padded backing of what would forever bind her, make her unlike most children, and when she was an adult, make her unlike most people.

  Her wheelchair.

  Rissa’s eyes were glued to the television screen as she sat on the floor between my legs while I styled her hair in four ponytails. Thankfully she didn’t fuss too much. Lord knows my nerves couldn’t have handled that—not another breakdown like the one she had a few days ago when Adam came and went too quickly for her to grasp. Having him back and then not having him was more than she could handle. More than I could handle. It was that sort of back and forth that I didn’t want. The instability wasn’t fair to Rissa and I wouldn’t have that, which was why Gabby’s interference upset me so badly. Still, though, I shouldn’t have blown up on her like that. If I’d seen her lately I would’ve apologized… but I hadn’t.

  Usually, she was here for breakfast, then came back to check in after school before doing the same with her mother, and then she was back again for dinner. Three whole days had passed since the incident and she was like a ghost. Even going to her apartment had turned up nothing. She was avoiding me like the plague and I couldn’t blame her. We needed to make things right. Worrying about her had my stomach in knots, as if I needed more things to worry about.

  Rissa’s heavy tap on my arm drew my eyes to hers before she faced the television again. Her finger was aimed at the screen. I smiled. “Yeah, sweetie, ‘Olivia’ is on.” She loved that show and got excited every time she heard the theme song. She bounced a few more times and then settled again so I could finish the last section of her hair. When it was done, I had her turn toward me so I could evaluate the finished product.

  Her smile was big when she stood, not taking her hands off my knees until her feet were firm on the carpet. She watched me watch her, patting her chubby hand to my cheek when a tear dripped. There was just so much of Javi in her. Looking at her in that moment was a reminder of where we were headed tonight—a reminder of why I’d just redone her hair in neat ponytails with pretty lavender bows so late in the evening. We were going to pay our respects to her daddy.

  …One of the hardest things I’d ever have to do in my life.

  Kissing the palm of Rissa’s hand, I dried my eyes and scooped her up, carrying her to her room where a matching lavender outfit hung on a hook inside the closet. I dressed her in silence, still trying to wrap my head around where we were on our way to
. She held her feet still while I cloaked them in the flower-patterned shoes she got for her birthday.

  “You look beautiful, baby girl,” I said, touching my lips to her cheek. It made me laugh when she grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me again, smelling of the apple juice and animal crackers she’d just snacked on. “Thank you! You’re so sweet!” My heart warmed in my chest. “Mommy needed that.”

  One more kiss and then I watched as she scampered off to the living room to finish watching her show. I was close behind and placed her in her playpen so I wouldn’t have to worry about what she was getting into while I got myself ready.

  Once inside my bedroom, I stared at the dress I’d laid out. It was a few shades deeper purple than Rissa’s outfit, but I wanted us to match tonight. Not because it really mattered all that much, but because Javi used to love when she and I would take pictures with our clothes coordinating. It’s funny how simple details like that stick with you.

  “Ready, sweetie?” I said, shutting the television off before taking Rissa from her playpen. She protested for a moment when the screen went black, but stopped when she saw me grab her diaper bag. She was smart enough to recognize that doing so meant we were leaving. She loved car rides and settled down immediately.

  I locked up and then took to the stairs. With each step, I was dreading the upcoming hours. I wasn’t ready—wasn’t ready to see Javi’s pics plastered everywhere, wasn’t ready to face his family, wasn’t ready for all the tears, and definitely wasn’t ready for the finality of it all. This vigil, for all intents and purposes, was his funeral. Because there was no chance of a burial, this was it. This was how Javi’s story was going to end.