by Cheree Alsop
“Kelson, I need you here.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it for the space of a heartbeat. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t going to be easy. I gritted my teeth and hurried through the kitchen. “I’ve got to go to Maddy’s. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” I said to no one in particular.
I heard Mom follow me to the mudroom. She stood in the doorway as I pulled on my shoes. “Is everything all right?”
I shook my head and met her gaze. “Maddy was crying. She doesn’t cry easily. Something is definitely wrong. I need to go to her.”
Mom nodded. “Be careful. Do you want to take my car?”
“Thanks, but the four-wheeler’s fine. Her house is close.”
She gave me a quick hug, catching me by surprise. “What was that for?” I asked when she stepped back.
She hesitated, then shrugged. “It just seems like you’re always helping others. I wanted you to know that you have support here too.”
I smiled, touched. “Thanks, Mom.”
I left through the back door and jumped on the four-wheeler. Jake, the Ashbys’ Border Collie, fell in beside me as he always did when I went to Madelyn’s. I drove straight to the front lawn and barely took the time to turn off the four-wheeler before I made my way to the door.
Madelyn opened it before I could knock. She fell into my arms and sobbed against my neck. “My mom . . . she . . . she . . .”
I knew without her having to say the words. The heartache in her voice and the hollow, lost expression in her eyes echoed exactly how I had felt when I awoke to find that Zoey had never made it out of the fire. My heart clenched and I blinked quickly, struggling not to cry. I smoothed her hair. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, holding her tight.
The world fell away. It was just us. The girl I loved with all my heart had lost someone precious and dear to her, someone who could never be replaced. Her sorrow burned through me as her sobs racked both of us. My breath caught in my throat at the thought of an empty spot in the living room where her mother’s wheelchair had always been as she smiled at us with such warmth and gave her blessing to our relationship despite her husband’s misgivings.
Mrs. West was pure love despite all she had gone through. In the place of bitterness, she carried joy and gratitude for the life she still had. In the quiet moments of the few evenings I spent at their place, she made me feel welcome and let me into the tiny circle of their family.
I closed my eyes, remembering one such event.
Madelyn had invited me over to watch The Last Samurai, which was surprisingly her mother’s favorite movie. “You like sword fights and Tom Cruise?” I teased her.
Mrs. West replied with a spunky, “Who doesn’t?” Then her smile softened and she tipped her head toward Mr. West. “Actually, Joe used to look a lot like Tom in his younger days.”
I studied Mr. West, but couldn’t see the similarities. Madelyn’s dad gave me a grumpy glare as though he guessed my thoughts. I turned my attention quickly back to Mrs. West as she said, “But that’s not the reason I like it. Watch, and you’ll see.”
By the end of the movie, everyone had tears in their eyes. Mr. West held his wife’s hand and leaned against her chair from his place on the couch. The worn cushions told that they sat the same way a lot more often now. She blinked to clear the tears from her eyes and Mr. West wiped her cheeks gently with a handkerchief. I smiled at the sight of the handkerchief, remembering one of my first encounters with Madelyn.
“There’s something to that,” Mrs. West said quietly.
Mr. West nodded as though he knew exactly what she was talking about.
I didn’t want to break the soft hush that fell over the room, but it felt very important that I knew what she was talking about. “Something to what?” I asked quietly.
Both of them looked at me as though they had forgotten my presence. Madelyn’s fingers traced my palm fondly. I hoped her father didn’t mind.
Mrs. West’s eyes sparkled. “He says all the flowers were perfect. Earlier he mentioned that you could spend a lifetime looking for the perfect flower and it would not be a wasted life, and at the end of the movie he realized that all of them were perfect in their own way.” She looked at her husband. “It’s like life, I think. Each life is perfect in its own way, whole in its own way.”
A tear fell on my hand. I glanced over to see Madelyn watching her mother. The trail of a single tear showed on her cheek. I doubted she even knew it fell. The silence that filled the room was a warm one, a welcome one. Madelyn’s fingers tangled in mine and we listened to the movie soundtrack weave its way subtly within the silence, creating a bubble of peace and contentment I wanted to live in forever.
Now she was gone. I took a shuddering breath and the tears broke free, soaking into Madelyn’s hair. An angel was gone, and I could feel the void she had left in the house. I didn’t want to go inside and see her gone. I wanted to pretend she was there even though I knew she wasn’t.
The door pushed open and a lady with mascara streaks down her cheeks gave me a watery smile. “You must be Kelson. Please come in,” she said.
I didn’t want to. The house was dark and emptier than it had ever been when Mrs. West was alive. I didn’t want to step into the bare reminder of her absence. I could feel Madelyn’s reluctance as well and knew she felt the same way. We both needed whatever comfort we could find from the starlight shining down and bathing the dark grass. “Can we sit on the porch?” I asked. I sounded like a child and hated feeling lost again, looking for a way to avoid the hollow place in my heart that was filled with sorrow and loss.
“I would like that,” Madelyn whispered.
The woman nodded. “It’d probably do us all good.” She sniffed. “I’ll bring some lemonade.”
It was a strange comment. Madelyn sat down and when I settled next to her, she gave me a small half smile. “That’s Aunt Masey, Mom’s sister. She can’t ever sit still.”
“I’m glad she was here with you,” I said.
She nodded and tears filled her eyes again. I couldn’t think; I didn’t know what to say. I rubbed Madelyn’s back with numb fingers. Her mother was gone. I held her close, wishing I could take away her pain.
The moonlight fell on our shoulders, warming us with silver grace that failed to penetrate the pain of loss. Eventually Madelyn’s sobs slowed and she merely leaned against me, tears still fresh on her cheeks and her face turned to the stars.
Masey’s footsteps sounded and the door opened with a quiet creak. She flipped on the porch light and it bathed the area around us. The sound of glasses chinked together before she set a tray down and sat near us on the stairs. We watched in silence as she poured from a glass pitcher with pictures of strawberries on the outside.
“That’s Mom’s favorite pitcher,” Madelyn said softly.
Masey nodded. “I know. That’s why I used it. It would make her happy.”
Madelyn nodded in agreement and accepted one of the glasses. She took a tiny sip, then held the glass in her hands, watching the drips of condensation run down the outside.
Masey handed me one, then poured a glass for herself as well. She sipped it, then made a sour face. “A bit more sugar next time. I’ll have to remember that.” Her voice cracked when she continued, “Silvia used to make the best lemonade.”
Madelyn nodded again and I realized Silvia was her mother’s name. I had never heard anyone say it before.
“I’m so sorry about your sister,” I said, my voice scratchy from crying.
Masey sniffed and wiped her eyes as fresh tears spilled over. “We didn’t expect it. They thought it was pneumonia and wanted to keep her for observation.” Her words choked off and she sobbed, then continued, “But her heart stopped and they couldn’t revive her.”
Madelyn turned her head into my shoulder and cried. “I should have been there,” she said.
I smoothed her hair gently. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t hav
e known. It’s not your fault.”
Masey nodded. “We came home because Madelyn had school and Sylvia was stable. They had no idea . . .” Her words trailed off, leaving a painful void in their wake.
“It’s not your fault,” I told them both.
Madelyn shook her head against my shoulder. “I’ve always been there for her.”
“And she knows you would have been there if you had known,” I replied in a soft voice.
We drank the lemonade and cried, three people lost in a night that felt like it would never end. Madelyn eventually settled on my lap and fell into a restless sleep. I swallowed my reluctance to enter the living room with the signs of Mrs. West so recently gone; Masey held open the door while I carried Madelyn in and settled her onto the couch. She stirred and fresh tears showed when she looked up at me. I sat beside her and pulled her close. A shuddering sob shook her shoulders before she fell asleep again.
I tucked her hair behind her ear, then brushed the tears from her cheeks with the backs of my fingers. There was nothing I could do to ease her pain. I knew that from harsh experience. When a loved one is ripped from your life, there is no way to fill the void. It hurts like a raw, aching wound and there is nothing that can stop the pain because they are gone. The only thing that would end it is if they came back. The hardest part is realizing they never will.
I could feel the emptiness where Mrs. West’s electronic wheelchair used to sit beside the couch. Once in a while a sob would tear from me, waking Madelyn. I stifled my pain, pushing it down so she could get whatever rest she could manage.
Masey settled a blanket over us and gave me a grateful smile. The sounds of her bustling around the kitchen were long to fade, echoing Madelyn’s assessment that she never kept still. When she finally went to bed, I settled back and pulled Madelyn closer to my chest. She leaned her head on my shoulder, tears drifting down her face even in sleep. My heart ached that she would awaken and realized that the pain of her dreams was real and sharper in its permanence.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I worked it out carefully so I didn’t wake up Madelyn, and glanced at the text.
Hope everything’s okay—Mom
I clenched my teeth to keep my emotions in when I wrote back, Maddy’s mom died. I’m staying with her tonight. Hope that’s okay.
Mom quickly wrote back, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?
I blinked and texted, I don’t even know what to do.
You’re doing it, Mom replied. Take as long as you both need.
Thanks.
I was about to put the phone away when it buzzed again. I looked down and read, Are you okay?
My breath shuddered in my chest. I typed Yeah and was about to send it, but the truth was more complicated than that. I stared at the word on the screen for several minutes before I erased it. With hesitant fingers, I wrote, Not sure. Guess I’m more shook up than I thought. She was a great person. The word “great” was far short of what she really was, but describing her would take far more than the tiny screen allowed.
Mom’s reply took a few minutes, and when I got it I realized why. I could hear her heartache through the words. I didn’t cope well with Zoey’s death. I had never lost anyone like that, and to know my daughter was gone took away my stability. I felt like the world crumbled under my feet.
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. I sent you away instead of us getting through it together. I needed you, but didn’t realize it until you were gone, and you seemed to do better without me. I’m so sorry.
The guilt in her words ate at my aching heart. I needed my mother and she sent me to Sparrow because the sight of me reminded her of Zoey’s death. She blamed what happened on me, one of the reasons I had carried the guilt so close. Madelyn had helped me overcome it. Madelyn was my place of peace, and she was the one who was hurting.
I kept reading. Be there for her like I should have been there for you. It will help you both through it. You are so much stronger than me. You help so many people because you can. You never let the world tell you that you are beaten, and that is why you are so much better than me.
I wanted to protest, but another text appeared before I could write her back. I am proud to have such a son. Thank you for the example you have been to me. You have carried me through even when you didn’t know it, and you are strong enough for Maddy. She is so lucky to have you. I am so lucky to have you. I love you, Kelson. Hang in there.
I stared at the last few words. Something lightened in my soul to hear the depth of my mom’s feelings. Her belief in me helped me believe in myself. I could help Madelyn through this because I had survived losing Zoey, even though there were times when I lost myself. Madelyn had found me, and I would be her place of peace.
I pulled Madelyn closer and she slept wrapped in my arms, her breath a warm brush against my cheek and her hair tangling along my arm. “I’ll take care of you,” I whispered.
A few hours later, the front door opened. I sat up slowly at the sight of Mr. West entering the house. He met my eyes, his gaze bare and empty. He had ridden home in a van that usually carried his wife, but now was as vacant as the living room. The worn places where the tires of her wheelchair usually rested near the couch reflected in his expression.
I was about to rise when he surprised me by motioning for me to stay and not disturb his daughter’s rest. He crossed to the armchair on the other side of the television and collapsed into it. He buried his face in his hands and sat there in silence. After a few minutes, he spoke in a muffled voice, “I used to think it would be easier if she died.” He let out a loud breath and scrubbed his face with his hands, then buried his face in them again without looking at me. “It’s not that I wouldn’t miss her—it’s just that we both felt so trapped sometimes. Now I hate myself for those thoughts.”
He glanced at Madelyn to make sure she was still asleep, but was careful to keep his gaze from meeting mine. “She hated that she couldn’t dance or run like she used to. She missed walking with Buck, and the trips we used to take on our bikes in the canyon.” He ran a hand wearily across his nose and mouth, then looked at the ceiling. “I told her I would never ride a bike again because she couldn’t.” He sniffed. “I think she hated that most of all.”
He looked at me, meeting my gaze with a directness he never had before. “I thought it would be easier for her if she died because then she would be free, but I never thought about the empty shell I would be when she left me behind.” He sighed. “It’s different when you lose your wife. She was a part of my soul, the best part of me. Her accident made me bitter toward God and anything to do with heaven, even though she kept reading the Bible and holding on to her faith like it was a lifeline for both of us.”
Sorrow cracked his voice, but his eyes remained red and free of tears as though he had cried them out before he reached home. “I guess she knows now if she was right.” He looked at the ceiling. “I just wish she could tell me where she was.”
The defeat in his words ate at me, tearing at the scars Zoey’s death had carved into my heart. It didn’t matter than Mrs. West was his wife and Zoey was my sister. Loss was loss, and the emptiness of heartbreak hurt the same. I bowed my head. “When my sister died, it almost killed me. I didn’t want to live and I didn’t want to breathe because she was gone. I never realized how much of my life she filled until she was no longer in it.”
Mr. West sat in silence with his shoulders hunched and his gaze turned in the direction of the space his wife’s chair used to occupy, but it was obvious by his expression that he wasn’t really looking at anything. The lines of his face were carved deep and he looked as though he had aged ten years overnight.
I swallowed and continued, unsure if my words even made an impact. “The only thing that got me up was a reminder that because I was the one who had survived, I had to live for both of us.”
The silence was so thick I stopped talking. I smoothed the blanket around Madelyn’s shoulders, my own thoughts spiraling around the path
my journey had taken me.
“So you live for her by stopping those who hurt other people?”
I looked up at Mr. West in surprise. The thought brought a small smile to my face. “Something like that, though I’ve never thought about it in those terms.” I looked down at Madelyn. “Sir, you’ve got a beautiful daughter who loves you very much. You both need each other now more than ever.” My voice lowered. “Take it from my experience. The first thing a child needs after losing someone is the support of loved ones.”
He glanced at me. “Why did your mother send you away?”
His question struck me with a pain I tried to hide. It grabbed at my breath and made my heart pound in my chest. I forced the feelings down as deeply as I could and gave him the truth. “Because she blamed me for Zoey’s death.”
“Was it your fault?”
The rational side of me put the frankness of Mr. West’s questions toward a need to change his train of thought from the dark spiral losing his wife had taken him into, but after everything he knew of me, that question hurt worse than the first. The conversation Madelyn and I had in the park about her guilt for her mother’s accident and my own regarding Zoey surfaced. I sighed and shook my head. “No. It wasn’t.”
He nodded as though the answer didn’t matter, but it did to me. I brushed a strand of hair from Madelyn’s face, grateful for the girl who gave me the truth about myself and helped me survive.
A few minutes later, Mr. West rose and crossed behind the couch on his way to the stairs. His hand rested on my shoulder for a brief moment. “Good night, Kelson.”
I hid my surprise at the sign of acceptance. “Good night, Mr. West.”
He paused by the base of the stairs and whispered, “Thank you.” The words were so soft I wondered if I imagined them as he trudged slowly up the steps away from the quiet living room.
THE NEXT DAY BROUGHT fresh tears and sorrow as dreams and heartache from the night before surfaced into reality. I held Madelyn and comforted her the best I could. Mr. West wandered aimlessly through the house avoiding the living room while Masey cleaned everything she could think of.