by Wendy Owens
The Luckiest
Copyright © 2014 by Wendy Owens
**Smashwords Edition**
Cover design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Interior book design by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
(http://thewineyreader.com/champagneformats/)
Editing services provided by Madison Seidler of MadisonSeidler.com
Proofreading provided by Rare Bird Editing
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted, in any form without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
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Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
This book is dedicated to all the widows in my life.
You are strong and brave women.
You are loved.
I struggle to take a deep breath as the humidity overtakes my lungs; the pressure makes me feel as if I might drown. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try my best to block out all the sounds around me. The random coughs and whispering, the shuffling of shoes, rustling of papers, and in the rear of the room, the cries of a restless baby as the mother tries to comfort him.
There’s no movement to the air in the old stone building, and I can’t help wish to be anywhere else but here. There is a stench of sweat mixed with various perfumes hanging in the room, and I cover my mouth for fear I might be ill.
A hand settles on my arm. I know it’s my friend Monica; she hasn’t left my side all week. Her delicate skin on my flesh reminds me of a child—it reminds me of my Katie. I keep my eyes shut, steady my breath, and allow my thoughts to wander to Katie’s smile, then her laugh. She’s always had a joyous laugh, one that’s fully committed. One that when someone hears it they can’t help but smile.
I wonder if she is smiling now, wherever she is. Is she laughing? Is she making the people around her laugh and smile as well? I miss smiling. I wish she were here with me so I could remember what that felt like. I haven’t smiled in so long.
My breathing is so shallow, I wonder if I might slip into unconsciousness at any moment. Does anyone around me notice I’m about to completely disappear from existence? I don’t look—I can’t. If I look, I know I’ll see all the pity staring back at me. The eyes that tell me I’m alone now. The eyes that tell me I must have done something wrong, something that made my husband and daughter leave me alone in this miserable world.
As my heart begins to sink even lower, I’m consumed by the image of Travis’s grin. He’s waving to me. We’re on the beach, and it’s the summer right after our junior year in high school. His smile is so perfect. Suddenly, we’re on the soccer field, and it’s the day he first spoke to me, the day he changed my life forever. The day he took me from a wallflower, hidden from the world, and transformed me into a girl who everyone wanted to know, the girl who captured Travis Phillips’s heart.
Does he still love me like he once did? He married me as soon as we graduated high school; he’d told me he couldn’t be away from me another night. What changed? What did I do to make him leave me now? He can’t have loved me as much as he said he did and leave me alone like this. I know Katie loves me.
Swallowing hard, I swipe the tear away that manages to escape down my cheek. What if Katie is cold wherever she is? She needs her momma to tuck the blankets around her tiny body. My lips on her forehead each night are what push the good thoughts in, but who will do that? Who will read her a bedtime story?
I expel all the air from my lungs, and a calm settles over me as I remember she has Travis. He’s such a good father. He will never leave her side. He will keep her warm. He’ll read to her when I’m not there. He’ll make sure the nightmares stay at bay when Momma can’t kiss her goodnight.
“Mac? Are you ready?” I hear Monica’s tiny voice whisper in my ear. I don’t want to open my eyes. I know I need to, but when I do, time will begin to move again. I won’t be able to stop it. This new world will become my reality. I will be alone. Once my eyes are open, everything that is wrong will sink in around me, pulling me into the darkness with its black tentacles, into the pits of tar that await to steal the last bit of life I have left inside me.
I feel Monica’s forehead press against my cheek and her free hand cup the other side of my head, pressing me into her. The tender gesture sets off a reaction I can’t seem to stop. I scream at myself within my own head to pull it together, but all composure is gone. My body starts to violently convulse, and I heave a breath of air in and out. A steady stream of tears follows the single tear that escaped only a moment ago, rushing from both of my eyes.
Monica grips me tighter and, turning into my crumpled frame, she begins to rock me. A whimper flees from my lips as she begins to pat my back. My father is a row behind me. I can feel his presence, but he doesn’t reach out and touch me. He does nothing. He has done nothing to lessen my pain since I was twelve years old and my mother died. The cancer not only ate away at her body from the inside, but it didn’t stop until it had consumed every last bit of the relationship between my father and me.
Somewhere in me, I know it hurts him to see me in such a state, but I don’t have the energy to pretend everything is all right. If Monica were not here to hold me up, I know I would be in a ball on the floor—weeping and asking for mercy to end it. Daddy once told me it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all, but I know now he was wrong. So wrong. A pain like this is worse than death.
When Mom died, it was like the wind was knocked out of me. What I feel today is so much worse. It’s like the air has been stripped away, and I’m not even left with the desire to take in another breath. There’s no fight for survival. There’s no desire to see the sun set again. There’s nothing but the pain and the hope it will end soon.
I hear the pastor’s voice as a hush falls over the crowd. My back stiffens, and I manage to quiet myself for a moment. I need to hear every word. I know it will be like torture, but I have to. I’m here, and it’s what I deserve for being here.
As if a switch shut off, the tears are gone, and I’m left wit
h only damp cheeks and swollen eyes. Pushing myself upright, I inhale, the air shaking as it passes through my teeth. Monica’s hand slides down and tightly grabs mine. I want her to release me. A desire to be completely isolated in this moment creeps in, but I don’t pull away. I need to place my focus on what is about to happen, and I won’t be able to do that without her supporting me.
“I want to thank everyone for coming out today. I’m sure I’m not the only one whose heart is breaking from this tragedy,” the man standing at the front of the room begins.
I don’t look at him. My nostrils flare in disgust; he doesn’t know the first thing about a broken heart. I think he should be ashamed for even saying such a thing. His words string together into one meaningless token after another, until they fade into a dull murmur in my ears as my gaze falls onto the boxes only feet away from me.
Looking at them, it doesn’t feel real. How can they be inside of them? They seem so small. They can’t be comfortable, and even though I made sure the lining was soft and plush, I don’t see how anyone could be comfortable inside. The outside of the casket is a pearl color. I have to fight the urge to stand and open the lids. The funeral home staff told me it would be best to keep them closed for the service. I understood why; they didn’t look like themselves due to the impact of the accident. I was scared to say it at the time, but now I’m quite sure there could have been a mistake. If they don’t look like themselves, then maybe it’s because it’s not them.
Though I’m trying to fight it, my mind wanders to that night. I wasn’t conscious afterward. Maybe they took Travis and Katie to another hospital. Maybe they woke up and they’re searching for me. I don’t know who is in the boxes in front of me, but I can’t believe it’s them. I know if it were my Katie, I would feel it. I’d have to, wouldn’t I?
The preacher my father hired is still talking. I try to stand, but Monica’s grip on me is too tight. I look at her, my brow narrowed. I want her to release me, why won’t she…
She is looking directly at me. She shakes her head no, and her eyes are glistening. I clutch my chest. I can’t breathe. The room is spinning. I want to pretend—why can’t she just let me pretend? Maybe she sees it too. I don’t deserve to pretend. I lived and they did not. I need to feel every second of life as I know it ending. The entire room sees it. They see that my innocent daughter was robbed of her life while I’m still here, still breathing, in and out. I want to tell them all that I wish I could take her place. Or even more, I wish I could take Travis’s place. I’m jealous of him. Jealous that he gets to be the one to take care of her forever. He was always the strong one; he should be here, not me.
I’m smiling now, but I don’t understand why. Perhaps out of fear that if I don’t I may slip into an eternal madness. Married at eighteen, mother at nineteen, widowed and alone at twenty-one, I’ve lived enough pain for ten lifetimes. The smile slips from my face, and I’m again reduced to tears. Roller coasters of random emotions render me into a trembling mess. And in this moment I know there was no mistake. I’m alone. Alone on the brink of madness, left with only my dreams of once again holding them in my arms.
Three Years Later…
The sound of the television stirs me from my restful state in the reclining chair. Buttons, my dachshund, is licking the last of the crumbs off the front of my shirt. I don’t have the energy to stop her, or perhaps it’s that I don’t particularly care.
I can hear that the rain outside has stopped, but it doesn’t seem to lessen the gloom that has settled over my living room. I glance at the drawn curtains and consider opening them, but with a sigh, I shift my attention to my rumbling stomach.
Even though I know I should eat something for sustenance, all I can think about is ice cream. Not just any ice cream, but my favorite from the local ice cream shop, Graeter’s, called Buckeye Blitz. I push myself up, but Buttons doesn’t budge. She stakes her territory on my face. Shoving her off to one side, I stand and cross the room to the kitchen.
Pulling open the freezer door, I peer inside but soon discover what I seek is not within. Then I remember I finished off the last of the blissful dessert the night before. Leaning against the counter, I decide sulking is the best course of action at this point. I glance down at the yoga pants that I’ve now been wearing for two days and my stained T-shirt. The idea of changing my clothes seems exhausting.
My breath catches in my throat as the cell phone on the counter begins to vibrate wildly. I grasp it firmly in my hands and look at the caller ID, seeing Monica’s number. I swipe my finger across the face and take a deep breath. Exhaling, I gasp, “Hello?”
“Mac!” Monica exclaims. “I was about to send out the National Guard to search for you.”
“Huh?” I groan, my mind still not able to fully process her words.
“Are you all right?” Monica presses when I don’t answer. She raises her voice. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Damn it, Monica,” I snap. “Can you please be a little quieter? I was napping.”
“Of course you were.” Her snarl puts me off.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind.” I hear her huff, and instinctively I want to press her, but decide I already know what answers lie at the end of that line of questioning. Answers that will only lead to a discussion I don’t really feel like having. “I was worried about you, that’s all. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I answer matter-of-factly. I already know she isn’t going to accept this as my answer, but it’s worth a try. I regret even picking up the call.
Her voice is now somber as she says, “He was still your father.”
I feel an ache in my chest, and I want my ice cream. “I promise, I’m fine.”
“Have you seen Priscilla since the funeral?”
“No, but I’m not really sure why I would though. I didn’t see her much while my dad was alive.”
“She is your stepmom,” Monica says, as if it should mean something to me.
“Percy and I have never been close; you know that.” A corner of my mouth lifts, attempting a smile at the nickname. Priscilla hates when I call her Percy, which means I’ve been calling her that since my dad married her when I was thirteen.
“When is the estate settlement meeting with the lawyers? I’ll take off and go with you,” she offers.
“No need, it was today.”
“What?” she gasps.
I realize I’m rolling my eyes and immediately stop myself. Being away from people for the past few years has made me lack in basic manners, but this is a fact I’ve come to terms with. “Yeah, it’s really not a big deal,” I assure her.
“Not a big deal? Mac, I hate to be the one to burst the fairytale bubble you’re living in, but your father’s estate is very important. It’s all you’ve got, sweetheart.” I cringe at her fairytale comment. Everything in me wants to hang up at this point. My life is as far from a storybook as one could imagine.
The first few months after my Travis and Katie were taken from me, the apartment was filled with visitors who were always bringing gift baskets overflowing with tasty goodies. Then the visitors began to slow, and after the first year I was left to fend for myself with the occasional call from a friend or family member. I suppose those only checked in to satisfy their conscience.
The second year was when I discovered that all of the food my visitors had been bringing me had been filling the empty void in my life quite nicely, so I found my own ways to fill it with tasty treats. As long as I was snacking on some delectable treat and distracting myself with episodes of mindless television about the pointless lives of celebrities or bratty children wearing crowns, I wasn’t thinking about the complete hollowness in my own life.
The third year was probably the worst though. It wasn’t enough that my entire reason for living had been torn away from me. No, now I had everyone who claimed they were just looking out for me telling me that I had mourned, but I was still so young, so it was time to move on
. In fact, one of the last conversations I had with my dad was about just that. It wasn’t like him to meddle in the emotional side of our relationship, though, so I’m quite confident the talk was at the prompting of Percy.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re still dealing with losing your dad, too,” Monica adds.
“People die; it’s life.”
“Wow…” I can tell she doesn’t know what to say, a rare thing for my friend. I’ve known her since she started attending the same elementary school as me in second grade; Monica is rarely short on words or advice. However, she has always been the one person who is always there for me, even though I know I don’t always return the favor.
“I’m not saying I’m glad he’s gone,” I attempt to clarify.
“I know you’ve lost a lot, sweetie.”
A lot? I want to scream. A lot? I would say that is putting it mildly. My mother dies from cancer when I’m twelve years old. No little girl should have to watch her mother be robbed of her youth and beauty by such an unforgiving disease. Then I find my one true love, and I marry him, and we have a beautiful baby girl. But can I find happiness? No. God decides I get to be the only one to survive a car crash. Forgive me if I don’t crumble into a blathering mess when my father has a sudden heart attack, but I’m a pro with death by this point.
“I’ll be fine,” I say instead.
“Do you need me to come over and go to the meeting with you?”
“I’m not going,” I explain. “I told Percy to just let me know what happens, and she can give me anything I need to sign.”
“What did she say?” I can hear the disappointment in Monica’s voice.
I sigh. “You know, same old stuff. She started to launch into her lecture that I need to learn how to take care of myself, but I told her I had to go.”
“She’s just worried about you, hon.”
“Please, she is the last woman in the world who needs to be giving me that lecture. She’s only ten years older than me; I know exactly why she married my dad. Don’t even get me started on what it was like to have a twenty-three year old stepmom as a kid. Back then she wanted to be my best friend, and now she wants to play the part of the wise older woman. I don’t want any part of it.”