by Sarah Denier
Several small scratches and cuts cover my torso. Most are surface wounds but some bleed. I grab the towel hanging from the shower, shake it out, wrap it loosely around me and unlock the door.
“Kimber, you’re bleeding! Don’t move, I’m calling nine one one.” She rushes out of the bathroom.
The sudden throbbing of a headache makes for more discomfort than the shards of glass. Maybe it’s the whole trading one pain for another. I sit on my bed and listen as Amber tells the emergency operator I had an accident and need medical attention.
When the ambulance arrives, I refuse treatment from a male paramedic named Max. Since I was naked when the glass cut me, I needed to be somewhat naked when examined. Max kindly sends in his partner Nicole.
I lay on my bed watching as she pulls a tweezer like tool from her big red emergency bag. Her hair is auburn and high on top of her head in a bun. She appears to be in her early twenties but the stress of her job shows on her tired face giving her a more middle-aged appearance.
“How’d this happen?” Nicole asks looking me over. She starts pulling what little glass there is from my body and places a disinfectant solution over each cut.
“I slipped and tried to grab the towel hanger. It came free and hit the mirror.”
Nicole’s brows rise in a questioning manner. She knows I’m lying by the look of the bathroom alone.
“I know who you are. You’re the daughter of the murdered State Defense Attorney, Marie Knowl.”
“Yeah and?” I snap. I didn’t realize paramedics specialized in self-help. What is next? Is she going to accuse me of self-mutilation?
“I’m sorry for your loss. I read the funeral is today. Would this have anything to do with that?”
Even if these questions are a part of her job description, I am not mentally stable enough to bite my tongue for much longer. I’m not surprised she knows who my mother and I are. The story was all over the news hours after my mother went missing. The fact that she was a Defense Lawyer for the State of Florida had everyone thinking some disgruntled ex-client had her killed. That might have been true if not for one huge factor. My mother was the best at what she did. She never defended someone she thought was guilty. My mother always said it was unjust to only look at things one sided and that everyone needed a voice.
“Are you done yet?” I ask with heavy sarcasm.
“You did quite a number on yourself. Hold still a few more minutes.” Nicole replies retaining her professional demeanor. When she is finished, she follows Amber out.
I look in my bedroom mirror, pleased the glass had not cut my face. Pleased that no one other than Amber, the paramedics and I would know about the glass.
“Should I remove that one before you break it?” Amber quips from the bedroom entrance.
“It was an accident.” I know she won’t buy it but I say it anyway.
“Break it, burn it, freak out if you need to, but don’t lie to me. You’re not ok. Talk to me.”
I run my hand through my tangled hair. “I just want to put this day as far behind me as I can. I want to be able to think of her without it ripping me apart.”
Amber takes me in her arms holding me so tight I could break and part of me does. I wrap my arms around her, burry my head in her shoulder and sob. I try not to snot on her black button down blouse. I hold onto her until the tremors stop and I’ve eradicated a modicum of inner pressure.
“You’re not alone. You’re never alone.” She glares at me until I except it and nod in response. “Is it safe to leave you alone?” Amber asks skeptically. I nod, promising to behave.
I walk to my closet pulling from it a black designer pantsuit with matching jacket. It’s form fitting and very businesslike. It reminds me of something my mother would have worn to court. I open my ballerina jewelry box and retrieve the necklace I gave her last Christmas. A solid white gold heart shaped charm hangs from a delicate white gold chain. TOGETHER ALTHOUGH APART, inscribed on the back. I close my fist tightly around it, wishing it were her neck I’d fasten it around. I run some anti-frizz cream through my chocolate brown hair and let if fall loosely against my back. I forgo another run in with a mirror, preferring to walk past it, avoiding the girl I wish I had not become.
I walk downstairs and find Amber vigorously wiping down the kitchen counter and closing the newly emptied dishwasher.
“What are you doing?”
Her body involuntarily twitches from the unexpected sound of my voice. Seems I’m not the only one on edge.
“Oh. Um. It doesn’t seem like something you should worry about. And now you don’t have to worry about the place if people come over.”
“Why would anyone come over?”
“Well, Dad said sometimes after funerals everyone goes back to one place to reminisce and tell stories.”
Immediately I decide against it. There is no closure to be made. My mother was stolen from me and murdered. Receiving her ashes does not provide an ending. If people want to reminisce, they should do so after they discover her murderer and prosecute the person.
“No.” I answer as I scan the living room for my purse. I can’t remember the last time I had it. I look around the large square glass coffee table, black leather wrap around couch and in the cubbyholes of the tall black book cases that stand on either side of the plasma TV. I walk to the foyer and find my purse on the narrow wooden table.
As I turn back into the living room, I’m struck with an odd sensation. A panicking pulse spins my stomach. Forgotten. What am I forgetting? I center all my energy on pushing through the question and to the answer. Instead I find myself swaying to my left. I heave air into my lungs and brace myself against the couch. You’re finally losing it, I think to myself.
Amber comes to my aid with a bottle of water. I feel stupid for being so weak. Why can’t I pull myself together?
“I’m sorry you’re babysitting me.”
“”Don’t. I’m totally here for you and if it makes you feel better Tommy, Joel and Luke said they would be your body guards today.”
I’d laugh if I had it in me.
I’ve had the same group of friends for most of my life and I know well enough that Tommy, the motorcycle enthusiast rebel, and Luke, though never looking for a fight but willing enough to finish it, would be good bodyguards. Joel on the other hand is anything but a violent bad boy and was currently going through an indie chic fashion phase. I have always thought of Joel as the level headed one that keeps Tommy and Luke from doing anything, nine to life, stupid.
I know my friends are aware of the media attention my mother’s mysterious murder stirred up. Even though her memorial is invitation only, I know walking in will be no simple task. I’m grateful for my friends support.
Before I feel ready to, I hear the honk of the limousine’s horn. I literally feel my face becoming pale. I look to Amber hoping she will tell me this has all been a horrific dream, a dream I desperately wish to wake from.
I lock the door behind us and duck down into the limo through the door the driver holds open. I could have been crawling into a coffin. The dark tint on the windows keeps almost all of the sun light out. The leather seats are cold to the touch. Even with Amber and I being the only two in the six passenger limo I feel claustrophobic. My hands become clammy, my breath quickens and my heart beats against my ribs. Fear, panic, and flashes of heat smother my skin.
“Kimber, you look like you’re going to be sick. Are you ok?”
My throat tightens. I could try to speak but I know nothing will come out. I shake my head vigorously.
“Take a deep breath. Focus on my voice. Look at me and focus.”
I do as she asks.
“You remember our ninth grade gym teacher, Coach Cole?” I nod. “You remember the senior Jake Long and the prank he played his last day of gym?” Not seeing where Amber is going with this but feeling less tense from the sound of her voice I nod. “Tell me what he did.”
I close my eyes and think back to the last day J
ake and I shared in gym class. Jake was sick of Coach Cole and how he thought everything Jake did was wrong. He harassed Jake his whole high school career. If it was because he really thought Jake wasn’t worthy of his time or only wanted to push him to excel I will never know. Nevertheless, four years of relentless taunting had put the taste of revenge in Jakes mouth.
“The last day of senior year while everyone was at lunch, Jake snuck into his wood shop class and grabbed a can of adhesive. He went into the gym and sprayed down the rope that hung from the ceiling as far up as he could reach.” I say.
Jake did it because Coach Cole told him he would make him climb the rope on the last day of school probably with the intent to humiliate Jake one last time. Jake was not the nerdiest of the nerds but he was an easy target for the muscle jocks. Coach Cole, you could say, was the leader of the stupid muscle jocks.
“Two periods later when we had gym Coach Cole attempted to show Jake how climbing the rope was properly done. As he jumped up, grabbed the rope and wrapped his body around it he found himself suddenly stuck to it.” I chuckle for a moment at the visual of Coach Cole beat red and furious.
Jake become a hero that day.
“I heard someone snapped a picture with their cell phone and it’s somewhere on the internet.” Amber says doing her best impression of Coach Cole.
It’s not until now that I understand the reason for such an odd memory. I’m grateful and calm when I feel the limo come to a stop. Amber had distracted me and in the process pulled me right out of my near panic attack. With a smile, I lean over and wrap my arms around her.
“Thank you.”
“Just doin’ my job.” She smiles but it fails to light her face up.
As promised, Tommy and the boys have arrived early. They stand waiting for Amber and I. Tommy opens the door before the driver can. With a warm smile on his face, he holds his hand out to help me from the limo. I step out and get a full look of Joel and Luke.
“Wow! Who knew you guys could clean up so well.” It’s a lame attempt at a joke and the pity laughs confirm it.
The boys nearly match in their all black suits and white tuxedo collared shirts. Their ties are the only thing to set them apart. Classic Joel went for a black eighty’s skinny tie. He even gave up the short spiky red hair for a more tamed, faded forward look. Tommy traded his normal jeans and tight shirt for a black suit with a black and white pin striped tie. Luke looks ever so handsome in a black suit that falls perfect against his slender muscular build. His light brown hair styled messy in a tamed casual way.
In the breast pocket of all their jackets is a yellow rose. My mother’s favorite. I reach out and touch the full petals on Luke’s chest.
“We all miss her. She was a great woman.”
Looking into Luke’s blue eyes, I smile. “This means more than you know.” Is all I manage to say before my voice weakens.
“Great you’re on time! We just checked everything. It’s all set up and looks beautiful.” Tiffany says as she walks into view with Robin.
Amber and I met Tiffany in Home Ec, eighth grade. She is spontaneous, full of life and fit right in with Amber and I from the get go. Robin, who is Joel’s fraternal twin, had become the final member of our friend family. Robin has always been shy, a little under spoken and would give up a hot Friday night date to keep her GPA up.
I notice Robin dressed like Amber and I. Long black dress and her red hair pulled up in a bun. Tiffany opted for a short black dress that is considerably longer than her normal attire. To Tiffany less is always more. I have always admired her free spirit. Today in all her black, she looks almost gothic. Black dress, black hair falling down around her shoulders and her brown eyes outlined with black eyeliner.
“Guys, bring it together!” Tommy calls out as my friends form a hugging circle around me.
Together we stand as Luke speaks. “Today Kimber isn’t the only one who says goodbye to a family member. Marie may not have been blood but she was as much of a mother to us as she was to Kimber. We will always think of her and miss her dearly. Today we gather around as a family to show our love and support for Kimber.” To lighten the heavy sadness in his speech Luke ends with, “Kimber on three!”
“One! Two! Three! Kimber!” Everyone yells out.
We all laugh but it’s short lived. Together we all head toward the large gathering of mourners and news crews. My friends surround me and keep me safe from the reach of microphones labeled with the logos of their news channel.
Walking through the mob of reporters is not as difficult as having to listen to them scream questions at me over one another. Not to mention the dizzying strobe light effect of their flashing cameras.
“Kimber! Fox News! Can we get a statement?”
“Kimber! Channel Eight News! Any new leads in the case of your mother’s death?”
“Kimber! Channel Four Reports! Do you feel the SPPD (Saint Petersburg Police Department) could have done more in your mother’s case?”
“She has no comment!” Luke and Tommy call out as we ascend the steps of Wood Lawn Memorial.
I notice upon entering a small white stand at the end of the entrance hallway. A book that requested friends and family to sign in sits on top next to a pile of prayer cards with my mother’s name, date of birth and date deceased on them. I reach down and grab the black pen with a large black feather sticking out of the end. I am the first and the only one to sign under the family side of the book. My hand does not stop from shaking as I try to make my name legible. I pass the pen off to Luke.
I walk over to a small table covered in pictures I had lent the funeral home. I trace the framed picture of my mother on her graduation day from law school. I have seen this picture a trillion times before but its significance is so much greater now. My mother, with her incandescent smile, completely oblivious of how it all would be taken in such a short amount of time. I slump my shoulders, take my head in my hands and comb my fingers through my hair.
“You’ll be ok. Maybe not now but soon and tomorrow, it’ll hurt a little less.” Luke whispers to me. I don’t believe in his words but they are all he has. I turn into his arms that offer safe seclusion while the grief overwhelms me. Physically my body aches and breathing becomes a luxury I cannot afford. Silently I scream into Luke’s chest. He fastens his arms tighter around me.
Finally the sobs escape me, rushing up from my lungs, flying past my tongue. “No— let—let it—be a dream.” I hiccup like a five year old having a fit taking in gasps of air unwillingly. I moan from the pain in the empty space my heart once filled.
I have all but forgotten that Luke and I are not alone when a hand from behind me begins stroking my hair.
“Kimber?”
“Robin, give us a minute.” Luke’s tone boarders being annoyed.
“I know, I’m sorry Luke. I’m not trying to rush. It’s just that, well, Kimber there’s a man in the viewing room asking for you. He says he’s your father.”
My father and I were once thick as thieves. I was daddy’s little tomboy princess. We did it all together, from fishing to football. I never cared to wear the frilly dresses or pink lace skirts my mother would buy for me. I always opted for jean shorts and a sport related shirt. Eventually my mother started buying me pink jerseys.
I was nine when my father pulled the rug from under my mother’s feet. My father had been the junior editor at our local newspaper. When his normal nine to five became nine to ten, my mother suspected he was having an affair with his secretary. She never confronted him on the matter. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it. Either way, my father had stolen the love and life out of her.
On that day, at that moment, I screamed and begged him not to go as he closed the door behind him. A part of me died that day and I swore I would never be my father’s daughter again. No matter how many times the pain of his absence cried me to sleep, I know I hated him as much as I did because I had loved him even more.
“None of us know what he looks like so I
thought I would tell you.”
“Should I ask him to go?” Luke questions.
I turn back to Luke, shaking my head. “No.”
I walk up through the hallway lined with pictures of nature and flowers. The viewing room is soft pink, the lights are dim and chairs are arranged in two rows of five. The room is half full with older women in dark dresses and men in business suits. Whether they are co-workers or ex clients, I will never care to know.
I scan the room looking for my so-called father. I find him in the first row third chair in.
“Kimber, you see him?”
A man turns at the sound of my name, looking over his shoulder. When he finds me, he pushes up from his chair and walks down the aisle to me. Seeing my father fills my mind with long ago memories. Every time my mother held me while I cried myself to sleep was because of him. All the times my mother cried and questioned herself, thinking I could not see it, was because of him. It’s all there fresh in my mind.
I tense as he comes closer. His arms extend out to me. He can’t be serious if he thinks I’ll hug him, I think to myself. Our time apart has not healed the wounds he inflicted upon me.
“Kimber, sweetie!”
I step back out of his reach. My father does not look the same as he did the day he left. Time has not been kind to him. His hair is deep brown and speckled with gray. His face is worn and his bare ring finger tells me he most likely regrets the fling with his secretary. I try to keep my voice low to not draw attention.
“Get out.” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I’m here to pay my respects to Marie. I’m also here for you. I can’t imagine how hard this has been on you. I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
Any fool could see that my father’s attempt at being caring was lacking true emotion. Only my mother and I knew this man. My father had no heart. Otherwise, he would have picked up the phone every time I called him in my weak moments when I longed to hear his voice.
My mother never did agree with the way I felt about him. She always encouraged me to have a relationship with my father. Never, despite the bad things I would say, did she ever put him down to me or in front of me. Maybe it would make her smile now if I granted her wish and took comfort in my father’s arms. Maybe it would but since my mother never forced me into submission, I can’t imagine she would be too upset with me.