Here/Now

by D. D. Lorenzo

  Here/Now

  Published by D.D. Lorenzo

  Author’s Edition 2014

  Copyright © 2014 D.D. Lorenzo

  Editing by Catherine A. Dietz

  Electronic

  ISBN-10: 0991235932

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9912359-3-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written permission from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the copyrights of Katahdin, Michelob, Goodwill, Uggs and Hershey chocolate.

  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by: Regina Wamba of www.MaeIDesign.com

  Stock man: www.Thinkstock.com

  Formatting: Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  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

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Dad, Uncle Bunky and Aunt Kats

  Who taught us the simple joys of

  a good chair, a cold drink,

  sand between your toes,

  and

  walking on the Boardwalk.

  “Indie” authors aren’t really all that independent. We get support from many different people. You’ve heard the saying “it takes a village…”? Yeah. It’s kind of like that.

  Mike ~ Thank you… for everything. You are an amazing man and I love you with all my heart.

  Mom ~ Thank you for your encouragement… and for making so many dinners. You are a special lady and I love you.

  My Family and Friends ~ Thank you for your love and support… and for telling so many of your friends about my books.

  My sweet little D’s ~ I love you a bushel, and a peck, and a hug around the neck.

  Cathy ~ Thank you for reading every single line… over and over and over. The wine helped too.

  Regina ~ Thank you for your amazing talent. If my books are judged by their cover they’re sure to be best sellers.

  Angie ~ Thank you for your advice and for making my words so beautiful.

  Paige ~ Thank you for stepping right in, and taking over.

  Elizabeth ~ Thank you for your friendship and for shouting out my name to the masses.

  Three Musketeers ~ Joanna, Lynda & Kim. Thank you for keeping me grounded and making me laugh at myself.

  Vegas Girls ~ Thank you for such a memorable event, and for the friendship and laughs we had there. Connecting with old friends and making new ones was amazing.

  DDs Divas ~ Thank you for your support, efforts and simply brightening my days. Your numbers are growing. It excites and humbles me.

  Sang Run Cemetery, McHenry, MD

  I’ve never liked cemeteries. There is an illusion of peace and tranquility, but I’ve never felt it when I come here. The headache I’ve had for the last hour is mixing with the upset stomach, and the result of both don’t resemble serenity at all.

  I’ve only been here once. The day after the funeral. My feelings on that day had nothing to do with sorrow, far from it. They were thick with anger and banged through my head like a ball in a pinball machine. At least they were emotions I could deal with.

  Hate.

  Injustice.

  Revenge.

  I didn’t talk to Lacey then. I just sat down on the dirt covering her. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I was pissed at her for leaving me. It was the only thing accompanying my helplessness. I couldn’t control anything at that time. I liked order and I’d lived to please Lacey.

  Now it was all gone.

  Driving here today, memories were messing with my head. It was either that or my brother’s accident. I’d done a lot of driving in the past few weeks. The quiet of the road gave me some time to sort through what I was feeling. Here was another thing I couldn’t control and it was changing my life. I felt bad for Declan—and Aria, for that matter. Once again, I was at a loss. The only thing I could do for my brother was to be there for him. It was something I was good at. Being there for people, I mean. Always being what they needed, when they needed it—and Declan needed me.

  I parked the truck and looked at the headstones as I tried to find her grave. Cody is right by my side. She misses Lacey too, I can tell. I’m not even sure why I came here. She isn’t here. I know it in my head, but my heart isn’t listening right now. I need to talk to her in person. I tried talking to her at the house… well, let’s just say I didn’t feel like we were connecting. So I came here.

  As I walk over the graves I’m careful not to step on them. Cody doesn’t know there’s something weird about walking on somebody’s grave. You feel like you’re disrespecting them somehow. None of it affects her though, she just runs.

  Up ahead I see her lay down. She found Lacey’s grave by instinct. Her chin is touching the bottom of the stone and as I approach she moves over like she’s making room for me. It’s as if she’s telling me her girl is here, but I know it all too painfully. Lacey’s resting under a tree, next to a tiny lake. She always liked the water. There’s a white gazebo. It’s filled with leaves and looks a little worn, but it’s pretty. She would have liked that too.

  I didn’t know what to pick for her so the headstone isn’t anything real fancy. It’s just marble, with some pink veins going through it.

  Kind of like her.

  Beautiful and strong.

  BELOVED WIFE

  LACEY KARAS SINCLAIR

  8/30/80—4/30/12

  The grass is nice since I was last here. It doesn’t get much sun under this tree, but I can still see how it’s grown since the funeral. The only thing I can touch which has any connection to her is the stone which has her name on it, and it’s cold. It reminds me that, no matter the appearance, this is still a place of death.

  “Hi, Lace. Betcha didn’t think you’d see me, huh?”

  Stooping down I run my fingers over her name, as if it somehow makes her more real.

  “I need to tell you something, baby. I don’t think you’re gonna like it, but you probably already know it. Declan’s been hurt. He’s been hurt really bad, and I need to stay with him.”

  The dust from the stone is on my hands, but just like her it flies away. I don’t want to look at the carvings anymore, and I hate coming here. It’s too final. No matter what, I have to say what I came here to say.

  It’s uncomfortable, leaning my back agains
t the stone. At least I can stretch out my legs. I’m sitting as close to her as I can get. The only thing which separates us is dirt… and air… and a heartbeat.

  As I lean my head back I can see there’s a squirrel above me on the branch, jumping like he’s an acrobat. It’s probably the happiest thing I’ll see today, and for a minute I feel myself smile. The rest of me feels dulled. I really need to get this over with…

  “Lace, I think I’m going to be gone for awhile. I’ve seen him. He’s in bad shape and really needs help. I know if you were here, you’d want me to be the one to do it—help him. So it’s what I’m gonna do.”

  The thought of leaving the house hits me and it’s just one of those things you wish you didn’t have to do, you know? If I leave I feel like I’m breaking my connection with her. To most people the house looks the same, and the lake hasn’t changed. The only thing that’s changed since the day of her death is me. I feel abandoned. I feel resigned.

  It just is what it is.

  I brought this crumpled piece of paper with me. She was always trying to get me to “step out of my box”. I think she meant something like this. Something I wouldn’t normally do. It was something I wrote to her right after she died. The words came one night when I wasn’t angry… just lost.

  “You’ll like this baby,” I say as I prepare like a first grader to read to the teacher.

  “I wrote it for you.”

  I pull up my knees and lean my arms on them to make me more comfortable to do something uncomfortable, if you know what I mean. The first thing I see is my awful handwriting. I had to put my glasses on just to read it.

  “You were always better than me with words, Lacey. Just bear with me, and know it’s for you.”

  I don’t know why I’m edgy… maybe it really is like reading to the teacher.

  “Here goes…”

  If I’d only known…

  Our last kiss would have been sweeter

  Iced tea would’ve been how you liked it

  If I’d only known

  An hour before…

  I would have made a phone call

  Told you a joke so I could kidnap your laugh

  If I’d only known

  If I’d only been aware…

  I’d have made love to you longer

  I’d have preserved your tears

  If I’d only known

  A moment before…

  I’d have stood in your place

  Murdered what killed you

  If I’d only known

  In the time after…

  Days are fragments

  Regrets useless

  If I’d only known

  Forever…

  I’ll feel inefficient

  Wished I’d done things different

  If I’d only known.

  Shit! My eyes are tearing up. I don’t cry, and I don’t want anyone to see me like this so I drop my head to my chest. I don’t know why. There’s nobody around. I’m not sure what it is I’m feeling, but it hurts like hell. I just need to leave.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back, Lace. I know you’re not really here, and you don’t need me anymore. I can’t figure out what to do with myself since you left. This thing with Declan, well, I could be there for awhile, and maybe it’s a good thing.”

  I kiss the top of the monument to the woman I thought I’d be with forever. I’m not planning on coming back for awhile, if I ever come again. I hate it here. It rips the Band-Aid off the misery of losing her every time I think about it—but it’s all I think about. No matter what I do, no matter how much I tell myself this is a nice, pretty place for her, it just doesn’t register.

  “I love you, sweetheart. I always will.”

  How do you say goodbye to the half of your heart that’s lying in the ground?

  It’s time for me and Cody to go. As I open the door she jumps in, and once I get in something starts to gnaw at me…

  …I’ll never move forward if I keep looking back.

  The ripple effect.

  As he mulled the term over in his mind, he rotated a silver dollar-sized stone in the palm of his hand. Sitting at the edge of the pier, Carter’s long, jean clad legs dangled over the edge, the tip of his worn Katahdin boots grazing the surface of the water. The soft breeze ruffled any semblance of order in his hair. One thing was certain; he would never be a pretty-boy like his brother. It suited him just fine. Declan was the good-looking one, and he was the rough and dirty one. The differences between them only served to strengthen their relationship. They weren’t competitive in any area.

  Staring ahead at the water, he mindlessly chucked the rocks he’d grabbed on his way down to the pier. One by one he pitched them, sometimes skipping a stone across the lake’s smooth surface. It was a boyhood habit, something he did when he couldn’t think clearly. As he threw them he listened for the Ker plunk sound and watched the tiny waves created by the disruption. He’d finally come home, and there wasn’t a soul there to disturb him.

  The place where he’d built the lake house was secluded and quiet. Too quiet in fact. When Lacey was alive he used to slip away from the world, and from her, to come down here to the pier and wind down. Although senseless, this silent, mundane task soothed him while he sorted whatever troubles were on his mind. Like many things he used to do, this small habit didn’t hold the same appeal for him now that the house was empty. He hadn’t realized how many of the little things made him happy until they no longer did. “Happy” was the last word he would use to describe what he felt today, and he knew the reason. He was home facing what was left of his life, and he knew it was a good thing—but it didn’t feel like it. He tried to avoid anything that had to do with the details.

  Avoidance had been his survival technique, but he couldn’t avoid driving on the road where her bike was plowed down. The problem was he had too many scenarios running through his head which had to do with the time between when she got hit, and the time she died. Thoughts like was she conscious, and if so how long was she?

  The worst was wondering if she was scared. If he kept himself occupied long enough, he didn’t think about those things and what his life had become without her. Each day became just another twenty-four hours… one thousand four hundred forty minutes…eighty six thousand four hundred seconds of breathing in an airspace that he no longer shared with Lacey.

  She was the last person who challenged him to be the best he could be… and she was also the last person who’d given him a reason to breathe.

  He’d spent over a year trying to motivate himself to do something, but it wasn’t in his constitution to do anything he hated. Facing her death had become something he made himself do, it was part of his daily life. Was death ever something you wanted to face?

  He’d decided he would focus on the good things. At least, it was the goal. He was a better man because of her, but he wasn’t an honest man. He lied to himself and everyone else by being someone other than himself, but this was the truth he faced…

  In order to live without her he could no longer live for her.

  Another thing which would change was how busy he wouldn’t be. Lacey loved an active life, so he lived an active life because he loved her. She was vivacious and energetic, always living life to the fullest. Now that he was home he couldn’t expect himself to have the same kind of schedule he had when she was alive. Then, typical moments of peace were a luxury which never happened—or, at least they’d been few and far between. Life with her was always in constant motion. They kept a crazy schedule. They were on the go, constantly busy with her social calendar. Carter remembered checking the fridge for the scribbled notes scheduling where he and Lacey would be going and what they would be doing. Not a week went by without them having someone over for dinner, going to a party, or participating in activities with the kids from school. Weekends alone? Forget it! Never happened.

  He was always an introvert; Lacey was the outgoing one. It would be interesting for him to see exactly how much o
f a hermit he was. He was always screwing up in the social department, so he let Lacey take the lead. When he appeared unapproachable, she knew better. In social settings, she reminded him who to talk to, gave him a hint of what to say, or told him to “take the cop hat off” because he was intimidating. He didn’t have anybody to complement him now—no yin to his yang.

  Sharing her was something he tolerated. It constantly felt as if they were grabbing at moments of intimacy because their life was so full of things to do. She was a walker, a hiker, and a biker. All of it came to a halt when he got the call telling him she was dead, just ten minutes away from their house. She was riding her bike. It was a hit and run accident. He couldn’t help himself from wondering if she had been a little bit more of a homebody would she have been on the road that day. It had never occurred to him Lacey would die before him. He just assumed it would be him. He was the cop. He had the dangerous job; she had the safe one. She was a teacher. The biggest problems she faced every day were either homework or disciplinary. In his job he faced confrontational idiots which could mean death at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, dammit! He missed her—and he was pissed off at her for leaving him. Those kinds of thoughts made him feel guilty. As a result he had a toxic cocktail of negative thoughts beating him in the head every day—but things were about to change.

  Deep Creek Lake was where he wanted to live. Declan asked him to find a house at the beach so he could be close, but he wasn’t ready to fully let go. This was where they lived in their perfect little world. Although nothing had been the same since, he still loved life in the mountains. The only thing he didn’t expect was the loneliness. He’d become mutilated and raw, then numb. He pretended to feel for others, but right after she died he couldn’t feel—not even for himself. Days were just a blur of different tasks and activities that, sometimes, required him to be present. No matter who was in the group, or what was going on, he couldn’t feel anything. He was becoming quite the actor.