“Mr. and Mrs. Hyams, this is William Johnson, and his client Brad Johnson,” McGuire introduces. We all simply nod in recognition as McGuire, my father, and I take our seats. Looking at us, he asks, “Would you gentlemen like anything, coffee perhaps?”
“No. We’d like to get down to business.” My father’s answer is precise and stern.
McGuire’s posture adjusts from hospitable southern lawyer to match my father’s. “My client is asking for damages for your client’s part in the death of their one and only daughter, Rebecca Hyams.”
“With all due respect to the family, this claim is absurd. It’s well documented that the young woman had a history of mental problems. To even imply that my client is responsible in some way is ludicrous.”
“Maybe you should take a minute to read the note Rebecca left just before she took her own life.”
As the note slides across the shiny dark wood, I can feel my pulse pick up. It’s more than the final thoughts of a troubled young woman. It represents my regrets, my shame, and my guilt. I take in a deep breath before allowing my eyes to fall on it.
“You didn’t have to tell me you loved me, but why did you have to be so mean about it.”
“When you walked out of my door everything went with you—my breath, my heart, and my strength.”
I finish reading the note, but my gaze remains fixated on the paper. Reliving the events of that night is like looking at a stranger. I’m so far away from the person I was back then. I keep my head down and avoid making eye contact with Mr. and Mrs. Hyams, pretending to scan Becca’s words one more time. But it’s not her words or even what took place that night in her room that causes me to freeze in this position. What happened after the door closed two years ago is why I can’t bring myself to look across the table at them.
My father’s voice sounds distant as he tries to discredit the note. “You can’t be serious, McGuire, using the words of a mentally unstable girl, right before she kills herself, with a known history of attempting suicide.” I sense movement next to me as he shifts, aiming his attention toward the Hyamses. “Look folks, I’m sorry for your loss. Truly, I am. I don’t know what your ambitious and arrogant lawyer has told you…”
“Excuse me,” McGuire says abruptly.
“The fact is, my client and I could walk out that door right now, no discussion, no settlement, and be completely done with this. There is no judge in this country who will allow this case to go to court. You’ll just be wasting your time and money pursuing this any further. I realize you’ve had a loss, but it’s been two years now. You need to get over it and move on with your life.”
The audacity of my father’s words has all eyes in the room turning in his direction, dumbfounded. The rough clearing of a throat breaks through the silence in the room. Mr. Hyams’s voice is low and despondent. “He’s your son, right?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Hyams nod his head indicating me.
“Yes.” My father’s voice strains as if he’s having a hard time admitting the fact.
“How would you feel if one day you got a phone call telling you that the son you dreamed about having, the one you taught how to catch a baseball, or took on camping trips, was dead? That death was more appealing to him than living because he was so broken inside.” He pauses, trying to swallow a sob before continuing. “How would you feel knowing that because of your choices your child suffered his entire life? When Becca was about twelve her doctors recommended we place her in a treatment facility where she would live. We didn’t even consider it. It felt as if we’d be abandoning her. She was our little girl to raise and protect. If we hadn’t been so selfish, maybe she’d still be here today. I don’t know how to get over the guilt and heartache of losing my little girl.”
Little does Mr. Hyams know that my father never dreamed about having me and would probably get over that phone call in record time. The tension and silence in the room is suffocating. I force my gaze up toward Becca’s parents. Her dad is desperately trying to hold on to his composure while her mom has a steady stream of tears running down her face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but then my voice gets stronger and louder. “I’m so sorry.”
My father leans into me and mumbles, “Shut up, Brad.”
Ignoring him, I direct my attention solely to Mr. and Mrs. Hyams. “The night Becca died, there was something in her eyes that told me leaving was going to devastate her. The last time I looked at her she was crying. She wasn’t making any noise, tears just ran down her face. When I walked out and closed the door, I waited to hear her scream or yell. They all screamed or yelled at me.” My chest heaves up and down heavily as I try to contain my emotions. “I never heard Becca. All I heard was silence. I should have been a friend and gone back in.” A few tears manage to escape my eyes. “Instead, I left her to go be with someone who never even wanted me to exist.” I inadvertently glance at my father, who’s staring straight ahead, expressionless, and having no intention of making any eye contact with me. “Your daughter impacted my life more in one month than those who’d been around me since day one. She made me want to be a better person. I am a better person because of Becca. I’m sorry I wasn’t better for her. I’m not to blame for Becca’s death, but I’m not blameless, either. It’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life.”
Warm and compassionate eyes meet mine as Mrs. Hyams raises her gaze to me. “We don’t blame you, Son.”
“Susan,” Mr. Hyams mutters. There’s a warning tone to his voice.
“Mrs. Hyams, please,” McGuire interrupts.
“Susan, we need this,” Mr. Hyams says in a low voice.
Becca’s mom places her hand on top of her husband’s and turns to him. In a soft soothing voice, she says, “She’s not coming back, John, and no amount of money is going to change that.”
She squeezes his hand once before shifting an apologetic gaze in my direction. “When someone you love dies, especially your child, you want answers. You convince yourself that once you know the reason, peace will come, and fill that empty space in your heart. You need it so badly, that you will latch on to anything that comes close to an explanation. But an explanation doesn’t bring peace. The only thing that does is realizing she’s happier now than when she was with us. The more you love a person, the more you miss them, and the longer it takes to accept that they’re gone.” She looks back at her husband. “Let’s go home, John.”
Mr. Hyams hesitates for a moment before pushing his chair away from the table, stands, and helps his wife up. The rest of us follow suit. As the Hyamses reach the door, Mr. Hyams turns toward McGuire, extending his hand. “Thank you, Mr. McGuire, for everything. I’m sorry if we wasted your time.” McGuire shakes the man’s hand, but doesn’t say anything.
The couple is almost out the door when Mrs. Hyams stops and steps closer to me. Looking up with the eyes of a loving mother, she says, “I’m glad my daughter was a positive influence in your life. You be that for someone, so that all of this might make a little more sense.”
“Yes ma’am. I will.”
She rejoins her husband and takes his arm, before leaving the room.
“Well, McGuire, better luck next time,” my father quips, victorious sarcasm coating each word. He grabs his briefcase, throwing me a quick glance, and walks toward the door. “See you back at the office.”
McGuire heads back to the table. “Well, this day is completely fucked and it’s not even noon.”
“Where is Mabry’s office?” I ask while he gathers up his files.
“It’s the fifth door on the left, down the first hallway, but she’s not here.”
“Do you know what time she’ll be in?”
“I don’t think she’ll be coming back after the little stunt she pulled today.” My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “She was supposed to be in early this morning. We were to go over the details of a case she was taking over for me, because I was stuck in here at fucking Forgive Fest. She never showed and nev
er called.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention as a prickling sensation covers my skin. The strange feeling that has been with me the entire morning intensifies. It’s not like Mabry to blow off a commitment, especially a work-related one.
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“She was here yesterday. And to think, I stuck my neck out for her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I get a text from her one night, asking me if she could come over. I think, finally, I’m going to get what I’ve been wanting. All she wanted was help getting a job here.” He shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “I talked her up, big time too.”
The idea of Mabry going to this prick for anything causes my body temperature to rise. My fingertips dig into the palms of my hand, coiling into tight fists. I can feel the spurts of air, coming from my nostrils, wash over my lips as my breathing accelerates.
Walking to the door, he mutters, “She was such a waste. I didn’t even get a blowjob out of the deal.”
I charge toward him, grabbing a handful of his shirt, causing his files to take a nosedive to the floor. Kicking behind me, the door closes as I shove him up against the wall. I get right up in his face, teeth grinding when I threaten, “If you ever refer to her as a waste again, I will fuck you up so badly, you won’t have a dick left to blow.” I leave him nodding his head in silent agreement.
I rush across the waiting room. Passing the receptionist, I shout, “Stairs?!”
She simply aims her finger in their direction. I swing the door open and fly down them, taking two at a time. I run across the lobby while texting Sylvie.
Me: Call Mabry. C if she’s ok.
My phone buzzes with her response by the time I reach my car. I shrug off my jacket, throwing it in the car as I read her text.
Sylvie: Why?
Me: DO IT NOW!
Several seconds pass before I get a response.
Sylvie: Straight 2 vmail.
Me: Meet me @ Mabry’s NOW!
Sylvie: Something wrong?
Me: I don’t know.
In one continuous movement, I jump in my car, turn on the ignition, and peel out of the parking lot. The ache in my heart spreads across my chest. My lungs feel as if they are filling with cement, making it harder and harder to breathe. I raise up a trembling hand, undoing my tie and the first two buttons of my shirt. As I weave in and out of traffic, sweat trickles down my forehead and into my eyes. I rake the sleeve of my shirt over my face and force my lungs to pump oxygen into my body. It feels like it’s taking hours to get to Mabry’s, everything is moving in slow motion.
Finally, Mabry’s place is in sight. Her car is parked in the driveway, so I know she’s at home. Sylvie isn’t here yet. Bringing my car to a screeching halt, I jump out, not bothering to turn it off. I run up the steps to the front door and start pounding. My fist makes contact with the door several times before I stop to listen for any movement. Even if she gets pissed off and yells at me, I’ll at least know she’s not hurt. Everything is quiet inside.
“Mabry!” I yell, accompanied by another round of rapid pounding. “Mabry, open the goddamn door!”
Silence.
I run down the steps and search around the outside of the place for a window to look in to. Mabry owns the downstairs condo of a converted historical home with sizable crawl space. All the windows are too high above ground for me to reach. I text Sylvie one more time, asking where the hell she is, as I head back to the front door. I pound a few more times and still I’m met with silence. I place both hands on either side of the door frame to brace myself. I step back as far as possible without removing my hands and ram my foot into the spot just under the doorknob. I’m so obsessed with getting inside I don’t hear Sylvie come up behind me.
“Brad!” she shouts, as she touches my shoulder.
I whip around to face her. The second she sees the look in my eyes panic floods over her.
“Open the door,” I choke out.
“What’s going on?”
“Open the goddamn fucking door!” I scream.
With a shaky hand she slips the key into the lock. I don’t wait for her to turn it before I burst through, Sylvie following close behind.
My eyes dart around the living room. “Mabry!” I yell.
“Brad, please tell me what’s going on?”
“Check all the rooms!” I demand.
I head straight for Mabry’s bedroom. There are clothes flung around, the comforter is crumpled into a heap on the bed, but no Mabry. I hear a soft whimper come from the direction of the bathroom. I run over, my body comes to a grinding stop in the doorway. It takes a second for my brain to register what I’m looking at. Mabry is on the floor, in front of the sink, laying curled up on her side, with only a towel wrapped around her. She’s perfectly still except for the twitching of her eyelids. Her hair falls over the side of her face and there’s a trail of blood leading from the back of her head, across the tiles, and up to the sharp corner of the countertop. I lunge toward her, dropping to my knees. I slide my hand across her cheek, brushing her hair off her face and then run them over her, looking for any other injuries.
“Mabry, wake up, baby. Please,” I shout.
I adjust my body, so that I’m sitting down, and cradle her in my arms. Grabbing a towel from the floor, I put it behind her head, trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. I place my shaky index finger to her neck to check for a pulse. It’s weak.
“Oh my god!” Sylvie yells. “Is she…?” Sobs take her over before she can finish the sentence.
My eyes stay completely focused on Mabry. “Call 911.”
I hear footsteps as she runs to the other room to make the call. I shift Mabry slightly. Blood covers the towel and my sleeve where her head rests.
Lowering my lips to her cheek, I place a soft kiss, and whisper against it, “Sweetness, can you hear me?” Tears pour down my face as I heave out sobs. My lips never leaving her skin. “Mabry, wake up. You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
I hear a strangled sob from the doorway. “The ambulance is on its way,” Sylvie says gently.
I trail soft kisses along Mabry’s cheek until I reach her lips, my tears falling down her face. “I love you, Mabry,” I breathlessly whisper against her lips.
“Brad?” I feel the movement of her lips before I hear her voice. Her eyes struggle to open.
I don’t want our lips to lose contact, but her voice is extremely soft and quiet, making it hard to hear. I angle my head so that our cheeks are together, placing our lips at each other’s ears. “I’m here, Mabry.”
“He’s dead,” she breathes.
“Who, Sweetness?”
“Daddy. He killed himself, just like Momma.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m just like them. I don’t have a chance,” she says, groggily. I know it’s wrong, but at this moment, as I feel her breathing slow down, I curse Mabry’s parents for doing this to her.
“I got you, Sweetness. Everything’s going to be okay.” I lift my head to look at her beautiful face. I try desperately to hold my sobs in, wanting to convince her that I’m telling the truth, but they bursts out of me uncontrollably.
“I love you, Brad.”
“I love you, Mabry.”
I place another gentle kiss on her lips and watch her eyelids close as the roar of the siren fills the air.
Everything’s frantic; my movements, my breathing, my heartbeat, and my thoughts. The only thing that’s in slow motion is getting an update on Mabry. I’m going out of my mind. It’s been a half hour since we arrived and still not one doctor has come out to give us any information. Sylvie and I followed the paramedics to the hospital in her car. I was told I couldn’t stay with Mabry because I wasn’t a family member. I started to put up a fight, but realized that wasn’t going to help Mabry. I stayed by her side, letting her know I was there and wouldn’t leave her, right up until they closed t
he ambulance doors.
The image of her lying on the floor bleeding is in constant rotation in my head. My shirt is soaked in her blood. One of the nurses brought me some scrubs to change in to, but I haven’t done it yet. I know it’s sick, but having this shirt on reminds me of how it felt to hold her in my arms. Today was the first time I’ve held her in two weeks. I’m not ready to let go of that sensation yet.
In the empty waiting room, I continue to pace back and forth, while Sylvie sits quietly, staring down at the clipboard covered in hospital forms that was shoved at us when we arrived. I try to convince myself that no news is good news, but I’m struggling. My mind keeps moving in that dark direction. I force myself to concentrate on the positive. We got to her in time and she’s at one of the best hospitals in the state. If I consider the alternative, it will completely destroy me. I have to keep it together for Mabry. She needs me to be strong for her. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sylvie’s head pop up quickly. Her face is completely void of all color.
Following her gaze, I turn my head and spot the ER doctor standing in the doorway. When his words finally register I understand Sylvie’s reaction.
“Who’s here for Mabry Darnell?” he asks.
The moment I’ve been impatient for, the one that seems to have taken a lifetime to arrive, the one that will answer my question, is finally here, and I can’t move or speak. I want to freeze this moment now. I don’t want to go any further. In this moment, Mabry loves me and is alive. In this moment, I still have the feel of her body in my arms and her lips on mine.
“We both are.” I hear Sylvie’s trembling voice answer.
As the doctor approaches, I feel the air being sucked out of the room and a low hum swirl in my ears. Sylvie stands next to me, looping her arm around mine tightly to give us both support.
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