The Fear of Letting Go

by Sarra Cannon

  He leaves the room and goes back to the couch and starts flipping through channels.

  I consider following him and telling him he's a real piece of shit, but take a deep breath and grab the keys to my truck instead. I pass through the living room, needing to get out of this place before it suffocates me.

  “Where you going now?” he asks.

  Daddy is still asleep in the recliner, and probably will be for another three or four hours.

  “Someone has to make funeral arrangements,” I say, not glancing back as I close the door behind me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jenna

  I somehow manage to survive until the funeral, but when the morning arrives, I have a hard time forcing myself out of bed. I want to pull the covers over my head and forget everything for a little while longer.

  I have never felt so lonely in my life.

  Instead of yelling at me, my father has spent the past two days in his recliner, staring at the television. My brother was gone when I got home from the funeral home, and I haven't seen him since. He's probably been off getting wasted with his friends. Do neither of them care that she's gone?

  And what right do I have to care as much as I do?

  I pull myself out of bed and go through the motions of getting ready. I pull my hair back into a messy bun and slide into my plain black dress. I feel numb, as if life has no meaning anymore.

  Daddy is waiting for me in the living room. He's managed to squeeze himself into his one decent pair of slacks. His tie is crooked, but I can't bring myself to get close enough to him to fix it.

  “Come on, then,” he says. “Let's get this over with.”

  A tear rolls down my cheek as I follow him to his truck. I wipe the tear away, afraid that if I allow them to fall in earnest, they may never stop.

  We don't speak on the ride to the funeral home, and I'm glad for the silence. I have nothing to say to him, anyway.

  When we get there, the room is nearly empty except for a few of my mother's long-standing clients and a couple of ladies I remember from her bowling team. My mother didn't have a lot of friends.

  I walk to the front of the room and sit down in one of the brown folding chairs. There is no casket. My mother's wish was always to be cremated, and what remains of her lies encased in a brass urn sitting atop a table in the front of the room. My father sits next to me, and when his leg accidentally brushes mine, I move away as if he's burned me.

  I want to tell him this is all his fault, not mine, but it feels useless to pass blame now.

  After a few minutes of silence, Dylan walks in and sits beside us. He's wearing jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt. He's obviously hung over or high, and it takes everything in me not to tell him to leave. If he can't at least show a little respect for our mother now, then he shouldn't be here at all.

  The funeral director comes in and expresses his deepest sympathies to the family, but there is no real emotion on his face. We are nothing more than a job to him. A duty that must be performed. My mother was no one in this community, and no one has come to say goodbye.

  But before the man begins the ceremony, the double doors in the back open. I turn to see Preston, Knox, and Leigh Anne enter the room.

  The tears I've been trying so desperately to hold inside all morning come rushing forth at the sight of them. A choked sob escapes my throat, and I stand on shaky legs as Preston throws his arms around me.

  I thought it would be easier to do this alone, but I was wrong. I didn't realize how much I needed them here until they walked through those doors.

  I lean against him, my tears soaking the black coat of his suit. Leigh Anne puts her hand on my back and whispers something to me. I'm crying too hard to hear her, but I feel her words in the deepest part of my heart.

  The funeral director begins to speak, and I leave my father's side. I take a seat on the other side of the aisle, my friends gathered around me as I say goodbye to my mother one last time.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Preston

  After the ceremony, we walk out into the parking lot.

  “Thank you for coming,” Jenna says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I can't believe you drove all this way.”

  “Sorry we were late,” I say. “We took a few wrong turns on the way in.”

  “It's okay,” she says. “It's not like there were a ton of people here, anyway.”

  The only funeral I've ever been to was my grandfather's when I was seven. I remember the church being so full there were people standing all along the back. I don't know what I was expecting today, but seeing only a handful of people there to pay their respects to Jenna's mom broke my heart.

  “Do you want to get something to eat? Is there anything we can do for you?” Leigh Anne asks. She takes Jenna's hand.

  “No, I don't feel like eating,” she says. “I don't feel like doing much of anything, to be honest.”

  “That's understandable,” Knox says. He lost his own mother when he was younger, so out of all of us, he probably understands what she's going through the most. “It's going to take some time for things to feel normal again.”

  Jenna shakes her head and dabs a tissue at her eyes. “I thought I was done with this place,” she says. “Like I'd moved on and moved past it, but the second I pulled into town, it all came rushing back.”

  Her brother and father walk out of the funeral home. Her brother barely glances our way, heading instead for an old worn out Dodge. He drives away without a second glance. Her father, though, heads right for us.

  “Are these some of your fancy college friends?” her dad asks. He's bigger than I imagined him. Tall and fat. I try to picture him throwing a punch at Jenna, and wonder what kind of person beats up on his wife and children.

  “Daddy, this is my friend Leigh Anne and her boyfriend Knox. And this is my other friend Preston.”

  I ignore the hurt of being introduced only as a friend. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  I hold my hand out to him, but he doesn't shake it. There's nothing about this man that's a gentleman, and the way he narrows his eyes at Jenna makes me worried. I feel the overwhelming urge to get her out of here as fast as possible, as if the air around us has turned rancid.

  “So, I guess you're too good to even sit with your own father during his time of need, huh?”

  Jenna swallows, her jaw tensing. “This isn't about you, Daddy,” she says.

  “Oh, well, excuse me for thinking I had a right to mourn your mother,” he says, his face turning red. “If I remember correctly, it wasn't you taking care of her the past few years, was it? No, you made it clear you didn't care about any of us when you left. You should have stayed gone.”

  I put my hand on Jenna's shoulder and try to walk her toward my car, but she pulls away.

  “Taking care of her? Is that what you call it?” she shouts. “You let her drink herself to death, Daddy. That's on you, not me.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn't you staying up with her all hours of the night, making sure she was still breathing after going on one of her binges,” he says.

  “No, I got the hell out of your house,” Jenna says. “The way Momma should have done years ago. If it wasn't for you, she'd have at least had a chance at happiness.”

  “You watch your tongue, little girl,” he says through clenched teeth. “You always did think you were better than all of us, didn't you? Biding your time until you could leave us in the dust. But don't think I can't see straight through you. You might clean up nice, but underneath it all, you're a whore just like your mother.”

  Anger like I've never known rips through me, and I step in front of Jenna, shielding her from her father.

  “Sir, I think maybe you ought to just head on home now,” I say. “It's been an emotional day for everyone.”

  “I wasn't talking to you,” he says, stepping forward until I can smell the sweat pouring off him. “But I bet you know better than anyone how much of a little whore she really is, don't
you?”

  Jenna puts a hand on my shoulder. “Preston, just walk away,” she says. “He's not worth it.”

  But I can't walk away. Is this the trash Jenna's been dealing with her whole life?

  “I feel sorry for you,” I say, not backing down an inch. “I feel sorry that you're too blind to see the person she really is. The person she's become in spite of you.”

  “You have no idea who you're talking to, boy,” her father says.

  “Oh, I know exactly who you are.”

  “Preston, please,” Jenna says. “Don't do this.”

  But I am so angry, I can hardly hear her. All I can think of is every mean word that must have come out of this man's mouth when he spoke to his little girl. How he taught her never to trust a man. The thought of him ever putting a hand to her makes me insane with rage.

  “Is this how you've been putting yourself through school?” her father asks, his lips snarling up to show decaying teeth. “How many guys like this you got lined up, just waiting for a piece? Cause that's the only way I can figure you made it this far.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  I can't help myself. My hand curls into a tight fist, and I slam it into his face. He's tougher than he looks, because I expect him to fall from a hit that hard. But he doesn't. Instead, he throws a punch straight at me, catching me off guard as my eye explodes in pain. I fall back two steps, my fists ready to fly again, when Knox grabs my arm.

  Jenna steps in front of me, pushing me toward the car. “Just go,” she says. “I can't believe you would do this, today of all days.”

  My stomach tightens into knots. “I couldn't stand the way he was talking about you,” I say. I wrench my arm from Knox's grasp, but Jenna backs away when I move closer. “You don't deserve that and you know it.”

  “No, but I don't need you to fix my life for me, Preston,” she says, her voice raised. “I don't need you to be some knight in shining armor, come to sweep me off my feet. And I certainly don't need you to go punching my father in the face on the day of my mother's funeral.”

  I struggle to catch my breath. I look over at her father, his fists still clenched and sweat pouring off his brow. “Jenna, I'm so sorry,” I say. “I just—”

  “You just need to leave,” she says. Tears well up in her eyes and she shakes her head. “There's a McDonalds around the corner. Go get some lunch or something and wait for me there. I'll meet up with you in a little bit.”

  “Jenna—”

  The cold disappointment in her eyes stops my words in my throat. Leigh Anne pats my shoulder and leads me back to the car.

  “Just give her some time,” she says. “It'll be okay.”

  But the light is missing from Jenna's eyes, and I'm terrified it will be never be okay again.

  Chapter Forty

  Jenna

  I ride back to the house with my father, Momma's ashes sitting between us on the seat.

  He's furious and sweaty, and if I cared about him at all, I'd be concerned he was getting ready to have a heart attack. His neck is beet red and he can't seem to catch his breath.

  There is so much I want to say to him, but I want to grab my things first. I want to be ready to go when I say what I have to say to this man who has taken so much from me over the years.

  It only takes a moment to pack my bags. I had organized most of it before I drifted off to sleep last night. And as I carry my duffel bag into the living room, I also take the urn with Momma's ashes, cradling it in against my hip like a baby.

  “What do you think you're doing with that?” he asks. He's already thrown his cheap tie to the floor and is reclined in his chair, feet up. I have a feeling I'll imagine him like this for the rest of my life, too worthless to even stand and say goodbye to his only daughter.

  “I'm taking it with me,” I say. “She never had a day of peace in this house, and I think she deserves some now.”

  He breathes out hard through his nose. “What do I care, right? I only dedicated my entire life to her.”

  I imagine what it would feel like to loop my hands around his neck and squeeze. “Yeah, you did real good by her. By all of us,” I say. “Number one Dad.”

  “You are such a little piece of shit, you know that?” he says. He presses the bar that holds his feet up and attempts to stand. He's getting so big these days, it takes him a couple of tries before he finally gives up and decides to lecture me from below. “You never did appreciate a single thing we sacrificed for you. Your mother, God rest her soul, worked two jobs just to put clothes on your back, and what did you ever do for her, except leave?”

  “She wouldn't have had to work two jobs if you would have been able to stay in one place for more than a month,” I say. “But no, there was always some excuse with you, wasn't there? Always some reason you couldn't pick yourself up and help support your family. My whole life, you've sat in that damned chair, telling all of us how worthless we are, but I think you know the truth. You had to keep knocking us down because you were terrified if we ever got out of here, we'd realize just how terrible you really are. Well, I did that Daddy, and I want you to know I see you. Say what you want about me, but I've made something of my life. I'm not going to let you destroy that.”

  “If you think that boy is going to stick by your side, you're crazier than I thought you were,” he says. “He may seem all head-over-heels in love with you now, but there will come a day when he will see you as you truly are. He'll leave you in the dust so fast, it'll make your head spin.”

  “You're wrong,” I say, swiping at the tears rolling down my cheeks. But as hard as I try to shut his words out, they soak into my skin, turning my heart to bitterness.

  He cranes his neck around me to get a better view of the TV. I'm tempted to kick the damned thing in with my heels, but I don't. I stand and take one final look at him, realizing nothing I say will ever make a difference to him.

  “I'm leaving,” I say. “And this time I'm never coming back.”

  “Go on, then,” he says. The first hint of tears well up in his eyes, but he can't seem to find it in him to look at me.

  I'm grateful for those tears. For this one moment that shows he's at least still human inside there. That a part of him does love me, even if he has the worst ways of showing it.

  I lean over and kiss his forehead. “Goodbye, Daddy.”

  He doesn't say anything as I turn and walk out the door.

  **

  Preston, Leigh Anne, and Knox are waiting for me back at the McDonalds in town. I wave to them through the window, but don't get out of my truck.

  I know what's coming, and I don't want to pour my heart out in the middle of all those people.

  Preston understands. He leaves the others inside and brings a hot coffee out to me in the truck. His eye is already turning purple from where my father hit him. I don't envy him for how that's going to feel in the morning.

  We sit in silence for a moment, sipping our drinks. I feel so drained, I can hardly keep my head up. I want this day to be over. I want to go back to my apartment and sleep for a week.

  “Jenna, I'm so sorry about what happened back there,” he says. “I couldn't stand to hear him say those things about you.”

  “I know you were only trying to protect me, but you have to know that with my father, there's no winning. He will never back down, and he will never admit he's wrong,” I say. “I kept telling you I wanted to just go. Why didn't you listen to me?”

  “All I could hear were the words coming out of his mouth,” he says. “Is that what you grew up with? I know you tried to explain it to me before, but Jenna—”

  “Don't, okay?” My teeth grind together, and I breathe out through my nose, trying not to cry again. I'm so fed up with tears. I've cried so much the past few days it feels as if they will carry me away like a wave. “This is why I didn't want you here in the first place. I didn't want you to see me here, because I was terrified you'd realize just how much I don't belong in your world. But maybe it'
s better you saw this for yourself.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying this is who I am, deep down. No matter how far I run, I'm never going to escape this, can't you see that?”

  “Jenna, don't let him mess with your head,” Preston says. “Why do you care what your father thinks of you? He's a piece of shit who has no idea who you are.”

  “He's right, though,” I say. “I may not be a whore, but I'm not exactly daughter of the year, either. I left her, Preston. I knew she was in trouble. That she was drowning in her own addiction, and when things got too difficult for me, I abandoned her. I left her here with a man I knew was going to keep abusing her day after day. When I walked into my father's house a few days ago, it was so disgusting, I could barely walk through it without stepping on filth.”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I can no longer hold them back.

  “That wasn't my mother. I didn't see a single sign of her left in that house,” I say. “That's all my fault, Preston. I put my own life above hers, and now she's gone. She died unhappy and alone, thinking no one in the world cared for her.”

  “You did what you had to do to survive,” he says. “If you had stayed here, what would have happened? You wouldn't have been able to save her, Jenna. She was going to make those same bad choices regardless of anything you said or did. All she would have done is drag you down with her.”

  “You don't know that,” I say. “I could have helped her through rehab. I could have helped her find a good job afterward, encouraged her not to give up.”

  “You can't blame yourself for her death,” he says. He places his hand on top of mine, but I pull away. “Parents are supposed to take care of their children, not the other way around. You got out of there. You survived. I'm sure that meant something to her.”

  The tears are falling in earnest now, coating my cheeks. My throat is sore from shouting. I just want this to be over.

  “Even after four years, I still haven't escaped from this place. Not really,” I say. I can hardly find the strength to speak the words, but I know this is the only way I can move on. “You're going to realize that eventually, Preston, even if you don't see it now. I think it's better for both of us if we just stop pretending this was ever going to work out.”