A Love So Deadly

by Lili Valente

  Isaac still brings pizza over for the kids and calls to check up on me, but things haven’t been the same since the night he confessed he wanted more than friendship, and I told him I would never see him that way. My heart belongs to Gabe, he was my first, my last, and my only, and that’s how it’s going to stay.

  “I can’t move to Hawaii,” Sherry says, wrinkling her nose.

  “Why not?” I roll down the window, letting in a too-warm breeze.

  “What about my job at the flower shop?”

  “They have flower shops in Hawaii, and Carla would give you a great reference.”

  “What about my sister and Bill?” Sherry protests, but I can see the excitement creeping into her bright amber eyes. “They say they’re going to try for a baby soon, and need me to help out.”

  “If or when that happens, you can move back,” I say, not wanting to say anything about another baby who might need her, not until I have a test in my hand to prove that the child I’m carrying isn’t wishful thinking.

  Sherry shakes her head so hard her curls seem to grow an inch longer. “This is crazy. You don’t want to share a room with me. I’m messy and loud, and what if you decide you want privacy? Like guy and girl type privacy?”

  I wince at the thought of any man but Gabe touching me, and Sherry squeezes my arm.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I know that’s not where your head is, at all. I’m just tired, and when I’m tired I run my mouth without thinking. It’s like verbal diarrhea.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, patting the back of her hand. “Just say you’ll come. I really want you to. I’ll even pay for your ticket.”

  Sherry shakes her head again. “I’ve got enough to pay my own way. I’ve saved a ton living with my sister for two years.” She pauses, pulling in a breath as her fingers slip from my arm. “I guess I’m really thinking about this.”

  “I’d say you’re more than thinking about it.”

  “You’re right,” she says, a smile teasing at her lips before her expression grows serious once more. “But I wish this adventure was happening for different reasons.”

  I nod and cast my eyes down to the floor mat, remembering the night I sat in the driver seat of Sherry’s car and Gabe sat next to me, teasing me, challenging me, asking me hard questions and refusing to settle for easy answers. I fell for him that first night, and I’ll never forget him, but leaving Giffney is for the best. He’s everywhere here, even in my best friend’s car. Memories of him might one day be the balm that heals all the broken things inside of me, but right now they’re just tearing me apart.

  Sherry and I are quiet on the drive back to where I parked the van. She turns on the country station, but she doesn’t hum along the way she usually would. Maybe she’s thinking about Gabe, or about the fresh start waiting for us on an island far away. I don’t know, and I don’t ask. I’m too busy promising myself I will be strong for the kids, for the memory of Gabe, and thinking about a little boy or girl with Gabe’s dark hair and bright blue eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Caitlin

  “Touch it: the marble eyes are not wet

  If it could weep, it could arise and go.”

  -Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  It takes three weeks and more paperwork than I’ve signed in my entire life, but finally the house in Hawaii is in my name, custody of the kids is finalized, the plane tickets are purchased, the kids’ clothes and toys are packed—I allow them one suitcase each, warding off whining with a promise to buy everyone a “welcome to Hawaii” toy or videogame as soon as we’re settled—and we’re on our way to the airport in Charleston.

  Chuck drives all the Cooneys in the family van. Sherry will be delivered by her sister, since there wasn’t room for Sherry and her three suitcases in the van. Sherry’s taking more luggage than Danny and me combined, but I don’t care. I’ve seen pictures of the house in Maui. The loft room Sherry and I will share is enormous, big enough for a king-sized bed, three chests of drawers, a home office in one corner, and a loveseat and overstuffed chair pulled up in front of the ocean-facing windows. There will be more than enough room for her stuff, my stuff, and, when the time comes, a crib and changing table.

  I took the test two weeks ago. I was only a day late, but the two lines popped up right away, bright and pink, like I’d known they would. I called an OB/GYN in Maui that afternoon, and scheduled my first prenatal appointment for two weeks after we land.

  I haven’t told Sherry or the boys yet. I want to warm myself with the secret a little longer. It makes me feel closer to Gabe, being the only one who knows about our baby, the son or daughter who will be born on an island in the sun and never know what it feels like for a snowflake to melt on his or her face.

  We’re never coming back to Giffney. I told Chuck he’d have to come to us if he wants to see the kids, and even he agreed a clean break was for the best. He told me to go and grab at my new life with both hands, and he’d come to visit when he could. He probably won’t, but that’s okay. After the past few weeks of generosity and cooperation, I’m feeling closer to Chuck than I have in a long time, but not so close I’m going to mourn the loss of an unpredictable alcoholic in my life. Our past is too long and twisted to be smoothed out so easily. Our relationship has left calloused places on my heart that make it impossible for me to feel anything too deeply where he is concerned.

  Not that I’ve been feeling much lately, anyway. Since the night I found Gabe’s ashes, I’ve only rarely been completely present in my body. It’s as if my soul is keeping its distance from my skin and bones, realizing it might do damage if it gets too close. I’m not finished mourning Gabe, not by a long shot, but right now protecting the health of our baby is the most important thing. I can’t indulge the heart shattering grief that’s hovering in the wings, waiting for a chance to sweep in and take center stage and destroy any chance of remaining functional. I must continue to function, and eventually thrive, for my son or daughter and the rest of the kids, if not for myself.

  “Well, here we are.” Chuck pulls up to the curb at the airport, a grin on his face so wide you’d think he was the one moving to Maui. But then, Veronica is pretty damned excited about moving into a bigger house, even if it is a dump like ours. Tonight, she’ll probably make Chuck an extra spicy batch of her famous meatballs, they’ll have ten or twelve beers each, and Chuck will feel like a king in his castle.

  Everybody wins. Everybody except me and Gabe, who were doomed before we even got started.

  “That’s the last of it,” Chuck says, heaving the final suitcase up onto the curb, where Danny grabs it and loads it onto the luggage cart.

  “Thanks for everything, Dad.” I unbuckle Emmie and scoop her out of her car seat, balancing her on my hip as I lean in to hug Chuck goodbye.

  “Take care, Caity Did.” Chuck kisses my cheek, then Emmie’s. “Hope the island life treats you right.”

  I watch as Chuck hugs Ray and Sean, then settles for a handshake from Danny, who is still suspicious of the move and swears we’re going to land in Hawaii and find out the house is a scam, no matter how many times I’ve assured him that the lawyers are legit and I’ve triple-checked all the paperwork.

  But I understand why Danny’s holding back on believing in our family’s good fortune. There’s nothing more painful than believing in something you want so badly, and then having it ripped away. It’s like pouring acid into a wound you thought had healed, a hundred times worse than if you’d never let yourself believe in the first place. Danny’s simply protecting himself, refusing to let hope in until it’s standing on the step, pounding at the door.

  I’m the same way. I’ve made all the plans, but I won’t believe it’s going to work out until I sleep my first night in the house in Hawaii without it crumbling down around me. I learned my lesson about believing in the impossible that night in Deborah’s office, when I held Gabe’s ashes in my hands. The invitation to his funeral—and the letter from Gabe’s father sug
gesting it might be best if I didn’t come—came the next day.

  “Can you walk for me, doodle?” I ask Emmie as we start into the terminal to wait for Sherry before we get in line for security.

  “Yes,” Emmie says, taking my hand as I set her on her feet. “I big.”

  “You are big,” I agree, though Emmie’s small for a nearly-three-year-old.

  Still, I’m not sure I should be carrying anything over twenty pounds while I’m pregnant. It’s better that Emmie gets used to not being carried as much. We can get our snuggle time in while we’re sitting down. In fact, I’m counting on it. On bad days, when missing Gabe is like a knife shoved into my heart, Emmie snuggles are the only things that get me through.

  Danny leads the way through the ticketing area, pushing our overloaded luggage cart with an ease and confidence that makes me aware of how much he’s grown. Ray and Sean follow not far behind, arguing about a video game they’ve been trying to beat and shoving each other every few steps, but I don’t yell at them. I’ve been so tired lately that I save my yelling for Code Red misbehavior.

  “Sherry!” Emmie jumps up and down, tugging at my arm as she points toward the women’s restroom, where a tall redhead with curls almost as kinky as Sherry’s is bent over getting a drink.

  “No, not Sherry,” I say. “But she’ll be here soon. Let’s go find some breakfast, and I’ll text her to see how far away she is.”

  “Sherry!” Emmie insists, a whine creeping into her voice, making me hope she’ll be able to nap on the plane. I had to get her out of bed at five a.m. to get her ready to go, and Emmie isn’t her usual sweet, easy-going self without a solid twelve hours of sleep.

  “That’s not Sherry, sweetie,” I repeat, digging into my purse with one hand, searching for my phone. “But we can call her in just a sec.”

  I paw through my purse, but no matter which pocket I wiggle my hand into, I can’t find my phone.

  “Hey, Danny, wait up,” I call out. “I can’t find my phone. I want to make sure I didn’t leave it in the van before Chuck gets too far away.”

  Danny stops the cart and leans against our mountain of luggage with an eye roll that makes it obvious how frustrating I am, and reminds me that my oldest brother isn’t much better than a three-year-old when he’s sleep deprived. I drop Emmie’s hand and use both hands to dig through my purse. I finally find the phone buried beneath my wallet and pull it out with a relieved sigh. “Okay, I’ve got it. We’re good.”

  Danny starts pushing the cart toward security again, and I reclaim Emmie’s hand before tapping Sherry’s name on my phone. It rings twice before she picks up.

  “Sorry!” she says, before I can get a word in. “The truck was almost out of gas when we left the house. We had to stop at the Mobile near the highway. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “No worries,” I say, glancing down at Emmie, who is tugging on my arm again. “We’re going to---”

  “Gabe!” Emmie says, pointing back behind us, sending a shockwave of misery zinging through my chest. This isn’t the first time she’s said his name since he died, but it’s the first time she’s mistaken someone else for Gabe. She does this a lot—she seems to have a hard time telling grown-ups apart—but for some reason it hits me hard this morning, making my throat so tight I can’t answer the first time Sherry says my name.

  “Caitlin?” she says again. “Are you still there?”

  “Ye-yes,” I stammer, tightening my grip on Emmie’s hand when she repeats Gabe’s name and tries to pull away. “Just having a little trouble wrangling the savages on my own. We had to get up early to get going, and everyone’s cranky.”

  “I’ll be there to help wrangle any minute,” Sherry says. “Hang in there, soldier.”

  “Will do. See you soon.” I end the call, shove my phone into my purse, and reach down, scooping Emmie into my arms. I kiss her cheek, ignoring the fussy sound she makes, and blow a raspberry on her neck. Her whine transforms to a high-pitched giggle that makes it impossible not to smile.

  “Gotcha,” I say, laughing as I press another kiss to her forehead. She pats my cheeks with her warm, sticky hands and I smile again. There is pain and grief, but there is this, too.

  There is still love in the world, and from now on I will never take a single moment of it for granted.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Gabe

  “Tis in…memory….”

  I watch the little girl with the blond curls pat her young mother’s cheeks, then kiss her nose. The mother laughs, the smile on her face so warm and full of love seeing it makes my heart feel like it’s going to rip free from my chest.

  For the first time since the surgery, I experience a pain worse than the pain in my head. For the first time in weeks, the fog that has clouded my every thought lifts and I experience a moment of clarity—sharp and brutal, like a knife slipped between my ribs.

  I want that. I want to treasure someone that much. I want someone to look at me the way that mother and daughter are looking at each other. They are both so beautiful, feeling so much, holding nothing back. It’s painful to watch them embrace, the little girl hugging her mom’s neck so tight, the mom kissing her daughter’s curls with a tenderness that makes it clear they are everything to each other. They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying, but I imagine that it’s something sweet.

  “Are you ready to go, Gabe?” Olia, my private nurse, returns from the bathroom, taking her position at the back of my wheelchair.

  I shake my head. “One…minute.”

  I don’t want to go yet. I want the little girl to look at me again. I want her mother to turn my way and see me, even if I am a wasted, faded version of myself. Even if I am in this chair with a nurse escorting me home, a woman who, until a week ago, had to help me wipe my ass. Olia still has to help me onto the toilet, and pull up my pants when I’m finished like I’m no bigger than the toddler in the young woman’s arms.

  I know I’m no prize, and that the woman is probably married, anyway, but I still want the blonde to look at me. I want to see her eyes. Somehow, I know they will be green. They will be the pale green of that milky green stone…

  What’s the name? The one they used to carve figurines and chess pieces a long time ago…

  I curse beneath my breath and give up searching for the missing word. I can’t remember the damned stone’s name.

  There are so many things I can’t remember, words and phrases and months of my life lost along with the tumor they whittled free. The surgeon said I might never see those memories again, but Bea, the nurse who watched over me before Olia, promised there was hope.

  In the early days, when no one was sure if I would pull through, Bea would talk to me while she changed my various tubes and checked my beeping machines. She said that brain surgery is like an earthquake. It shakes things loose, transforming the landscape of the mind, but not destroying as much as it might seem at first. The missing pieces are still there, buried beneath the rubble, or exiled on the other side of the chasm surgery leaves behind. She said there could come a day when I’d find a way to those memories, and reclaim the things that I’ve lost.

  But it will take time. At least a year. Maybe more. Endless days I will spend lost in a fog of pain, struggling to reconcile who my parents insist I was before the surgery with who I am now.

  Sometimes, listening to them talk, I think the doctor may have cut away more of me than Aaron and Deborah can imagine. I don’t feel like the happy, well-adjusted, driven pre-law major they insist I was before. There is darkness inside of me, a rage and sadness that is bigger than post-surgical depression. Sometimes I get so angry it frightens me.

  The things I want to do, the things I imagine…

  They aren’t pretty. They aren’t sane or healthy, and, until this morning, I was beginning to think that my soul was a broken, twisted thing. Whether the surgery was to blame, or I was always a monster hiding behind a handsome face, I didn’t know. I only knew that I was fu
ll of hate and misery and there was no room for anything else. I felt no gratitude to the doctor who saved my life against all odds; I felt no affection for my parents. I haven’t even been happy to be alive, because what good is life without something to live for, something other than this emptiness that has threatened to swallow me whole?

  But now, looking at this woman, this girl—she can’t be much older than I am, even if she is a mother—I feel something. There is a softening inside me, a bruised place on my heart that makes my ribs ache and my throat tight. A wave of longing sweeps through me, making me shake with the force of how much I want.

  I want to love someone. I need to love someone. I need to love someone the way I loved…

  I close my eyes, chest lurching as a ghost of a memory dances through my head. It’s a wispy, transparent memory, with graceful arms, a wicked smile, and perfect, moon-shaped toes. I see chipped nail polish and bare feet against concrete steps. I hear a throaty laugh in the darkness and feel hot breath on my lips as arms pull me down onto a lumpy bed. My head spins with the sense memories of nails digging into my shoulders, the tang of sweet, salty sweat in my mouth.

  For a moment the pieces of the mystery struggle to come together, but then they’re gone. The memory slips through my fingers, turning to smoke in my hands.

  By the time I open my eyes, the beautiful woman and her daughter are walking away, moving toward the security line, a redheaded woman now by their side. I watch them go with a ridiculous sense of loss, hating myself for not calling out, even if the blonde is a stranger. I should have said something. I should have told her thank you for giving me hope that I am more than a monster, that there may still be good left inside of me.

  But I didn’t, and the moment is gone.