Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  But he prayed for me.

  I’ve never prayed for him.

  I check in at the security desk on my dad’s floor, and the nurse directs me to his room. I haven’t seen my dad in almost six months. When I go in the room, my heart pounds. He’s lying in the bed, and my stepmom is sitting next to him. Cuts and bruises cover his face and his arm is in a sling, but he’s alive. He’s breathing.

  Annette sees me first and a small grin comes to her lips. “Chassidy,” she breaths out, almost relieved. She pulls me into a big hug, her bold blue eyes tinged red. “I’m so glad you’re here. It may look bad, but he’s doing so much better.” She takes my hand and walks over to the bed.

  “Chassidy,” my dad says. His voice sounds dry, but I’m relieved he can speak.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, taking him in. The big strong man with the kindest smile I’ve ever seen seems buried beneath the gauzes.

  “I fought with a semi truck… and won.” He chuckles.

  I laugh and kiss him on the cheek. Annette catches me up on the accident. Turns out a truck driver drifted off to sleep, knocking my dad’s car off the highway ramp. His ribs are broken, he has a fractured leg, and his eye is swollen, but no internal bleeding. She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of his car. It’s completely totaled.

  “He should have been dead. It’s a miracle he’s alive,” she says through tears.

  “Hey, Chassidy.”

  I turn to see Stephanie with two coffees in hand. I haven’t seen her in almost a year, since her graduation from college. It seems that in that time, she’s matured. Her hair’s pulled up in a top knot, a blue oversized sweater drapes over her petite frame, and she’s the spitting image of our father, down to the one deep dimple on the right side of her face. She sets the coffees on the table and pulls me into a tight hug.

  “He’s okay,” she mutters in my ear, almost as if reassuring herself.

  “He is,” I say.

  “We were so scared.” She pulls back.

  “You girls worry for nothing,” my dad chimes in.

  “You’re not Superman, regardless of how many times you dress up as him for Halloween,” Stephanie teases.

  “Get on a guy’s case when he was just in critical condition,” he spouts back, and we all laugh.

  Annette picks up the coffee that Stephanie brought her and takes a sip. Her face scrunches up. “Oh my gosh. Is this decaf?”

  “Yeah, it’s better for you,” Stephanie chides her lightly.

  “Oh no. I’ve been up for fifteen hours. I need the real thing. Walk me back down to the cafeteria?” Annette says, heading to the door.

  Stephanie rolls her eyes and smiles. “You want anything?”

  I shake my head and pull up a chair beside my dad’s bed as they leave the room.

  “How are you doing? Your mom’s been worried about you.”

  I look at him in disbelief. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed. I should ask you that first.”

  “I can’t say I’ve never been better,” he jokes.

  I sigh. “You and mom have talked about me?”

  “We do sometimes, here and there… only when her worry is on DEFCON level.”

  I laugh. “I’m okay, Dad. I want to talk about you.”

  “There’s not much to talk about. I’m alive, and I can’t ask for more than that. I’ll be able to walk again. That’s probably what I was most afraid of.”

  I gently touch the part of his arm that’s not in a cast.

  After a moment, he says, “It made me think about a lot of things too. You realize what’s important when things like this happen. I want us to all make an effort to be together more.”

  “Dad, you’ve always been great,” I assure him. He’s never been a workaholic. He’s always made time for his family.

  “After Logan…” His eyes search mine as if asking for permission to continue, and I nod to let him know it’s okay. “You sort of distanced yourself from everyone.”

  I sigh. “I know. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” I rest my face in my hands, then I feel his hand on my head.

  “It’s okay.” He strokes my hair and I gather myself together, trying to keep my emotions from flowing over. “Chassidy, we all make mistakes. It’s what makes us human. None of us are perfect.”

  I sit up and squeeze his hand.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says quietly, as if I’m six years old and just skinned my knee.

  The nurse comes in and explains that she’s there to administer some pain medicine. Soon, Annette and Stephanie come back. As Dad rests, they catch me up on their happenings. Annette’s real estate business is really picking up, and Stephanie will start teaching full time in the spring. My dad is already talking about how he can work from home, and Annette scolds him for even thinking of working in his condition. But there’s a sense of relief in the air. Everyone realizes how this day could have gone so differently.

  As that realization dawns on me, I excuse myself from the room and walk down the hall, trying to get service on my phone. The entire hospital is pretty much a dead zone. I walk all the way outside and call Bryce. It goes straight to voicemail. I call back five times.

  “Please call me, Bryce. I have to talk to you. Please call me.”

  As I’m walking back to the room, I pass a chapel, where my legs feel as if they become cemented to the floor. I look at it, staring at the cross at the front for several minutes. One part of me is drawn to it, and the other wants me to turn around and never look back. Even after everything that’s happened, my stomach still feels restless when I think about God. After several minutes of hesitation, I go in and sit in one of the pews near the front.

  “I don’t really know how to do this,” I say quietly.

  I look toward the door to see if anyone is coming in. I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy, but maybe in this setting, it’s okay to speak out loud. I do know that people pray silently, but I don’t think I can do that without my own thoughts drowning out what I want to say.

  “I don’t know any scriptures or anything.” My voice cracks and my throat starts to burn. “I guess, I guess I should say thank you. But it’s hard, you know. I am thankful, grateful for you saving my dad. For you allowing him to live, but… I’m still angry. I’m still angry and I’m still hurt about my children, but if you have angels… I can’t believe I’m saying this…” I chuckle through tears. “If you have more like Carter up there with you, then I know our babies are in good hands. Can you… please show me how to let this go. I don’t know how to not be bitter and angry and hurt, and I don’t want to be anymore. I don’t want to cherish my pain. I’m tired of fighting you, of running, of hurting. I know it doesn’t just hurt me, it hurts the people I love.”

  I stop to catch my breath. My throat is tighter than it’s ever been, and my vision is so blurry that if Carter was standing right in front of me, I wouldn’t even be able to tell.

  “I’ve really messed up. I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve been terrible to my best friend and Bryce. I’m just so scared it’s too late.” I fill my lungs with more air. “You sent Carter to me because Bryce prayed for me.” I wipe away the tears that keep taking up residence in my eyes.

  “Can you fix me for him? If not for myself, for him? Please, take the pain away. I can’t handle the weight of it anymore.” My heart is racing, and I can barely breathe. I get on my knees. “Please… please help me..”

  I’m crying so hard, my whole body is shaking. I cry until my eyes are dry and my throat is sore, until all of the tears have been shed.

  But when I finish, I feel lighter. I push myself up and sit on the bench again.

  I’m in awe of the peace washing over me. I don’t feel anxious or angry, my chest isn’t tight, and my mind doesn’t feel foggy. It’s so surreal that I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  Before leaving the chapel, I look back at the cross.

  I stop by
a vending machine and grab a water bottle before heading back to the room where my family is, and I thank God for them. My dad and Annette have drifted off to sleep.

  “Hey, Chas,” Stephanie asks, looking at me. “Did you go smoke a joint?”

  I laugh at her. “No, why do you ask that?”

  “You just seem lighter. Sort of high.”

  “I guess I sort of am.”

  I don’t know what brought me here. To California, to that hospital, to that chapel. I can only describe it as a restlessness in me.

  After leaving the bar, I stared at Lucy’s card for two hours. Her words replayed in my head, and as I stared at it, I contemplated her proposition. It all made sense. If I slept with Lucy, I’d feel better, vindicated. Then Chassidy and I would be on a level playing field. I’ve never thought about cheating on Chassidy before—I’d always known it would never be worth it—but Lucy was more than tempting and what she offered seemed too good to be true. But thinking about her didn’t make me feel good, it made me feel tense, angrier.

  And then there was the bartender. He’d gotten inside my head. I hadn’t talked to him long, but there was something about him and the things he said… he seemed to really believe it. I’ve talked to a lot of bartenders in my time, but they don’t talk about that sort of stuff. Why did he even feel comfortable talking to me about it… heaven and hell, God and the devil? It was so weird! He didn’t seem crazy. He seemed normal, saner than I was.

  Then there was the thing about me not being drunk when I left. I should have felt out of it, but I didn’t. My head wasn’t heavy, my legs weren’t wobbly, my thoughts weren’t jumbled or drowned out; they were crystal clear, and louder than ever.

  My wedding vows replayed in my head, alternating with Lucy’s words of wisdom. Chassidy’s smile collided with Lucy’s body. It was too much. I felt suffocated in that room in that hotel. I had to get out of the state, and the only place I could think of was California.

  When I saw a flight was leaving in less than an hour, I booked it, and once I got to California, I realized it’d only make sense to check on Richard. It wasn’t Richard’s fault what happened between Chassidy and me.

  Once I was in the hospital and couldn’t get the bartender’s voice out of my head, I felt drawn to the chapel. I didn’t know what I would do there—talk to a pastor maybe—but I definitely didn’t expect to see Chassidy there of all places.

  I almost turned to leave, but then I realized that maybe Richard had passed. I couldn’t leave her if that’d happened. But then I saw her smiling and heard her say she was glad her dad was alive. I felt like I was intruding, but she was speaking out loud.

  When she said I’d prayed for her, I couldn’t move. How could she know that? I’d never told anyone about that. I watched her break down and apologize for things I didn’t know she was sorry about. She cried so hard her entire body quaked, harder than when she lost Logan. It made me realize how much pain she’s been in, how much she’s been holding back from me, keeping it all in while carrying the burden all on her own. I couldn’t move. I shouldn’t have been there, but hearing her took me back to when I first heard her speak the words I fell in love with.

  She got up off the floor after what seemed like forever, and she was smiling as though a weight had been lifted off her.

  I didn’t want to ruin it, so I called an Uber and had them take me to her parents’ house. Since then, I’ve been sitting on the steps, waiting for her. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say when I see her, because even before what happened in New York, we’d been in a weird limbo, married but almost separated, distant, circling each other like familiar acquaintances in an intimate setting. We haven’t recognized each other for who we are since our tragedy struck.

  So as I watch a car pull up in the driveway, I don’t know what my next move is or how this is going to go. But I will tell her everything that I have to say. I’ll be as honest as she was when she was talking to God. I just can’t promise I’ll be as forgiving.

  Chassidy

  “Is that Bryce?” my sister asks as she nudges me.

  I know I have to be dreaming, because Bryce wouldn’t be here. So I don’t even bother to lift my head.

  Then she lightly punches my shoulder. “I really think that’s Bryce. He didn’t tell you he was coming?”

  This time my head shoots up. Her question isn’t urgent or surprising, since I haven’t told them that Bryce and I are having issues, but I suspect they know that’s something’s up. Under any other circumstances, nothing could have kept Bryce from being at that hospital with me. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and low and behold, Bryce is sitting on my parents’ steps with a suitcase beside him. My heart starts to race. She pulls the car into the driveway, and my entire body tenses, elation colliding with panic.

  He’s here.

  That’s good—or is it? I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid to find out.

  “Are you okay?” Stephanie asks.

  I nod. She looks perplexed but grins before getting out of the car.

  “Hey, Bryce,” she calls happily, oblivious to my emotional turmoil.

  I hear their muffled voices outside of the car. Stephanie is upbeat. I try to gauge Bryce’s mood, but since he’s talking to Stephanie, I can’t tell much about his feelings toward me. He’d never be rude or disrespectful to my family, regardless of how mad he was at me.

  “He’s doing well. It was a miracle. The wreck was so terrible, but I’m sure Chassidy will catch you up on that…” She glances back at me with a puzzled look, probably wondering why I’m still in the car.

  I swallow my nerves and get out of it. My feet feel glued to the ground as I approach them.

  “Hi,” I say quietly, afraid to look at him.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice soft but unreadable.

  I look at Stephanie, who is watching both of us.

  “I’m going to head in. I’ll leave the door open for you guys,” she says, excusing herself from the uncomfortable arena we’ve just created.

  “Thanks, Steph.”

  Bryce and I stand around awkwardly. I finally peek at him, taking in his face. His golden-brown hair is disheveled but gloriously so. His ice-blue eyes lock on mine, and goose bumps prick my skin when I see his eyes don’t hold the disgust or hatred they did earlier. He seems nervous, his hands stuffed in his jeans, and I wonder what caused this change. He looked as if he wanted to hit me earlier, as though if he never saw me again, it’d be too soon. I’m elated that that attitude is gone, but I’m worried. What devastating thing has happened for his attitude to change so drastically? I want to immediately tell him how sorry I am and that I miss him and ask if we can try again, but I realize there’s so much else that needs to be said.

  “I’m glad your dad’s okay.” His voice comes out shaky but gruff.

  I smile. “Thank you.”

  Silence passes between us.

  He runs his hands through his hair and lets out a long breath. “We need to talk.”

  My stomach falls. I don’t think there are any worse words to hear. I nod.

  “Is out here okay, or do you want to go inside?”

  It’s warm, the air perfect with a cool breeze. Such a contrast from Chicago right now. I feel like I need the air, because if he asks me for a divorce, I just might suffocate.

  “Out here is okay,” I say, my voice sounding like half of itself. “Let’s go on the deck.”

  He nods. We’re both at a standstill, and he finally gestures for me to go first. We have to walk through the house to reach the deck. At the door, Bryce grabs his bag and follows me, and my heart skips a beat. If he’s bringing his bag, that could be good—it means he plans on staying. Then I remember that he just flew in from New York, so of course he’d have a bag. But the optimistic part of me says that he could have left it on the porch if he planned on this being a quick chat.

  Or maybe he just didn’t want to leave his bag outside.

  It’s quiet in the house. Our foo
tsteps echo on the bamboo floors. I slide the door open to the patio deck and wait for him to pass, fighting the urge to touch him. I look around the large deck for the remote to light the fire pit so we’ll have some warmth if things get cold. An upholstered bench surrounds it, and he gestures for me to sit first. He sits on the opposite side.

  I wait for him to speak but get the sense that I should speak first. I try to think of what to say, the right thing to say. I’m a writer, but when it comes to telling him how I feel, the words never seem right. I’m lost as to where to start. So I tell him that.

  His arms rest on his thighs and his attention seems to be on his hands, but that makes me less nervous than I’d be if he was looking directly at me. “Start where you think you should.”

  I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. “I crossed the line with Davien.” The words burn my tongue and tears fill my eyes, especially when I see his body become stiff and rigid.

  His gaze meet mine, and his eyes are hard. But it wouldn’t be fair to tell him anything else without telling him that. I pause to see if he’ll say anything, but he doesn’t. His already clenched fists tighten.

  “I didn’t have sex with him,” I continue, but he doesn’t flinch. “But things went further than they should have…”

  I try to fight my tears. I don’t deserve to cry right now, but when I see tears in his eyes, it takes everything I have not to let my own fall. How could I have done this to him, made him hurt like this? I did the exact thing I wanted to avoid. There’s a long silence as I try to breathe to keep from sobbing.

  “Davien was an escape. I felt trapped in my life, in our life. Not because it was bad but because it was good… so great. I felt like I didn’t deserve great. How could our life be great when we lost something so good, so precious?” My voice cracks, and I suck in air.

  “It’s no excuse for what I did. I just wanted to be someone else, to get away from myself, my thoughts, my past, my loss…” My tears are coming now, and I can’t fight them anymore. “I was a fool for not realizing that getting away from those things meant getting away from all of who I am, who we were; my family, my values, my love for you. I could have lost… I might have lost you, my best friend in the whole world, my future…” My voice breaks, and my tears cloud my vision. “I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me, but if you do, I promise to never ever take your love for granted a-again. I am so sorry.”