by L. U. Ann
A lady comes out to greet us, and asks us follow her into a room with a large conference table. Why is a table like this needed at a funeral home? Sitting down, I wonder if this is where the morticians fix up the dead people. There might not be room anywhere else in this building. I know it's not the case and it's gross, but my morbid thoughts are what are keeping myself together at this very moment.
Lane and I settle everything in regards to the cremation, the urn, the prayer cards, and whatever the hell else there is. I'm on autopilot right now. Lane pays for everything. Later, we'll go to the florists where Devon and I will buy the flowers. Mom's life insurance policy should cover the funeral, and hopefully, Dad will reimburse Lane. It's very selfless of her, and if I were in my right mind, I would ask Devon's parents for help. But I'm not. I'm not here.
The only thing left to do now is say goodbye before she leaves for the crematorium. The kind lady leads Lane and I back to another set of doors.
"Are you ready?" she asks.
No!
Lane nods.
Doors open to a large room where my mom is laying in the middle of a table with a white sheet covering her. The lady walks behind us and lowers the sheet from Mom's face. I stand by, not knowing what to do. Do I touch her? Am I allowed?
"I'll leave you to say your goodbyes," the lady says before walking out.
I pull out a vial of my grandmother's holy water and bless my mom. Afterwards, my arms and head collapse on her.
"I'm so sorry Mom! I'm so sorry," I cry and hear Lane's sniffles. "I'm so sorry I didn't check on you. I'm so sorry for keeping Evan from you. I wish I could go back. I wish I could save you. I'm so sorry for the pain you faced and didn't have Evan's love to help you through."
Lane rubs my back, trying to comfort me. She ends up making me feel even shittier because here I am crying all over Mom, and it's my fault she's here in the first place.
Standing to put myself back together and moving out of the way for Lane, I give her time to look Mom over and to say her goodbyes.
Devon’s insistence that I get into the car is the only reason I am here. I would never do this on my own. He's had Becca visit. He’s had Lane come by, but she's grieving just as much as I am. The only thing getting me through my day is Evan. I hold him as much as I can. Making sure I shower, brush my teeth, and do the daily chores, I've been able to hide my constant, mental battle with guilt. Unfortunately, Devon has caught on and is taking matters into his own hands.
How fucked up is it that your father says he's taking your mom’s ashes and spreading them out on the water by himself because it's something he needs to do alone? I just cannot comprehend why my mom stayed married to such a self-absorbed man. Does he not think of us? I’ve begged and begged, but have lost the will to argue anymore. Lane couldn't take time off to make the trip. He should have waited for when we all could go. I hate him!
"Lacey, Sweetheart, I'm sorry to be doing this. I know you don't want to go. But it's been a month and you're losing serious weight and you need to talk to someone." Devon says over me.
I admit that I don't eat much, and when I do, well... And then I sleep a lot because I can hide in my dreams. I don't need to relive my last conversation with my mom, the way she looked in the hospital. I can escape my reality in my sleep. Unless I dream about it, and then I wake up in a deep sweat, with a tear stained face, and I pace the apartment for hours. I understand his reasons. I just do not want to be here.
The waiting room is cold. They use dark blues, trying to make it somewhat comforting. Yeah, not happening. Devon is holding my hand, with the other wrapped around my back.
"Please talk to her, Lacey. Evan needs you back, Baby. I know this is so hard and I have no idea what it's like, but please try to talk to her. Can you try for me and Evan?"
Devon is trying so hard to be my rock. I feel horrible for putting him through this, but I just can't get it together.
An uppity therapist opens the locked door between the 'therapy rooms' and the waiting area. I guess they've had a number of people not like what they've had to say and come back to give them a piece of their mind.
"I'll see you soon, Sweetheart," Devon whispers, before planting a kiss on my cheek.
"Lacey?"
I walk up and shake her hand.
"Hi there, it's nice to meet you. I'm Debi," the uppity therapist says.
Once I'm settled into the chair, not the offered sofa, she begins the 'so tell me, how are you' and 'what brings you in here?' questions.
"You know why I'm here."
"Yes, but I want to hear it from you. It needs to come out of your mouth to help with the healing process," Debi says, trying to persuade me to talk.
"Okay, my mom died."
"How did your mom die, Lacey?" Debi asks.
"She killed herself because... She killed herself."
"You were about to say something. Why is it you think she killed herself?" the uppity therapist asks, intrigued.
I wring my fingers, giving me strength.
"Because I kept my son from her. She dealt with a lot of physical and emotional pain. My son helped her cope, and being the selfish person I am, I took that little bit of joy away from her."
"Wow, Lacey, that's some really big guilt to bear," she replies.
I only stare at her.
"You do realize suicidal patients usually succeed regardless of what we do, right?" She comes back with that?
"Excuse me? Are you telling me that patients who have a mental illness and are suicidal, we should just give up on them because they are going to kill themselves eventually?" I spit.
"Calm down, Lacey. You are a survivor of suicide. I'm trying to explain to you that it's not necessarily any one's fault.”
"Well, I disagree. It's mine. She always got better when my sister and I had her admitted. She always came out of treatment better. How can you sit there and tell me it’s not my fault? I knew... I knew she needed help. I told my father she needed help. He told me he would get her help. He didn't and that's MY fault. Never has he EVER gotten her help in the past. Why would this time be any different? I put my mom's life in his hands. That is MY fault. Therefore, I am guilty of my mother's decision to end her life. You cannot tell me any different.
And please don’t tell me I’m a survivor of suicide because I’m not. I understand obituaries and all that so-and-so survived by crap makes me a survivor. But no one calls the spouse whose husband died of a heart attack a survivor of heart disease or whatever. I’m not a survivor. I killed my mom because I didn’t do what I should have all along, and that’s to NEVER trust my father. I’m NOT a survivor because my mom didn’t live!!" I cry, sob, whimper, and scream.
I can't take this. How dare someone tell me I’m a survivor and that she wouldn't have gotten better? Bitch!
"Okay, let's move on. Can you assure me that you are eating?"
"Yes, I'm eating." This is not a lie. I am. I just don't keep it down. Food is nourishment and something I don't deserve anymore. I'm starving and I like the feel of it. It reminds me of the pain I’ve caused. When I eat, because I have to live somehow for Evan, guilt immediately consumes me, and I can't concentrate on anything other than ridding myself of the vile contents that will replenish my health. No one knows what I do. I can't tell.
The clearing of her throat brings my attention back to the confined walls of her office. The walls were white, but there is so much dark wood that the space feels smaller than it truly is. She has decorated the room with oversized chairs positioned just in front of a large sofa. And then there is her chair. Clearly, I can tell it is hers by the shawl draped over the back, and her coffee mug resting on the table next to it along with a notepad and pen. Houseplants are strategically placed to give an impression of healing in this room. I don't feel healing. I cannot wait to get this over so that I can leave the claustrophobic confines of these walls.
I need the endless air found just beyond the windows. There are three windows. In the three windo
ws, there are five sets of dark faux wood blinds. As if the lady is trying to bring a little natural light into her room, she has the blinds drawn a quarter of the way up. I can't help but fixate on the one that is raised a little bit higher than the other four. I always notice the one that is different. I'm curious as to why the one is pulled to an obvious uneven height. Did she not realize this when raising the blinds? Did she pull them haphazardly? It’s so obvious that you'd think she'd fix it.
That's exactly the problem. It's obvious that this is bothering me, and she has no freaking clue. My mom was depressed, but no one took care of it. Was she just a little bit off, like the blinds in this office, so no one paid attention? What the hell is wrong with people? I spelled it out to my father. He was supposed to take care of it. I knew my mom. I knew her well enough to know when I should be concerned. Why the hell didn't my father? Did he not care? Or was he able to ignore it because it wasn't as big of a deal as the blinds are that I'm staring at?
I so want to tell this lady what is in my head, but words escape me. I cannot get them to form on my lips. I only know I failed my mother in her time of need.
I feel like I'm under a microscope here. I can sense her eyes on me, observing me.
Oh God no! I feel the tears start to tickle the back of my eyes. Please don't cry. Please don't cry anymore. I don't want to show my weakness. The lady might start prying for more answers, answers I don't want to give right now. Maybe never. I quickly scan the office. There has got to be a box of friggin tissues in here. For God's sake, this is a damn therapist's office! Relief fills me when I find them on the table next to me.
I need to get out of here!
Chapter Thirteen and a Half
"Lacey, you need to wake up!"
I hear a hollow sound, like it's coming from a tunnel.
"Lacey!"
"Hmm...”
"Where is Evan?"
"What do you mean where is Evan? He's right...”
I look up at Devon's panicked face.
NO!
“No, Devon! Please tell me no. I just lost my mom, and now my baby boy," I say in an exhausted frenzy.
"Lacey, I just walked in from work and found you on the floor. Tell me what happened when you came home."
"I don't know!" I yell. "I put Evan to bed, and then I tried making myself some tea. I lost it when I saw the box of Sleepy Time Tea. I don't really know what happened next. I was going to wait for you on the sofa. I know I didn't leave the door open. How could someone kidnap my little boy?"
"Lacey, it wasn't just anyone!" Devon shouts in anger.
"What? Who was it?" I ask, completely confused.
Devon tosses a piece of paper toward me. He's so angry.
"Devon?" I question.
"Read it!" he says, in a short and curt tone.
I flinch, never having heard him speak to me like this before. It doesn't really matter. All that matters is my son and finding him.
I pick up the torn piece of paper. It seems as though it was written in haste and... No! I look up at Devon, and once again, tears pour out of my swollen eyes. He leans over the counter, with his hands over his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I begin to read the familiar handwriting.
Dear Lacey,
There are so many things I want to say, and finally, finally, I have the chance to say everything and I know you'll actually listen.
I'm sorry your mom died, but let's face it, she had an irrational way of thinking. Look at all the problems your family caused in our relationship. I was and still am willing to overlook all of that if you do as I ask.
I need to explain, so let's go back to the night you ran out of the club. When I saw you on the ground, I thought you’d died. I wanted to die. A life without you is not a life I want. I couldn't-and still can't-live without you. I promised myself I would make everything up to you once you woke up. I wanted us to finally have what we both need and what we both deserve, to be together.
I swear I never wanted to have sex with that girl at the club. I wanted you and only you. You felt so fucking good. I was afraid I would explode having your body up against mine. You are so fucking beautiful, Lacey. I wanted to throw you up on the wall and fuck you right there.
I knew I couldn't do that though because we were trying to fix things. I want you so bad and to make things right between us. I want the family, Lacey. I want YOU! But you don't want me. You divorced me and married him. I don't know how I'm going to move on. I've tried and have been unsuccessful. The only thing that might help me get through each day is having a part of you with me.
I close my eyes, scared of what I might read next. NO! Oh God, please no! He wouldn't, would he? I shake my head to rid myself of the growing fear I have, afraid of what he might be telling me next. I think back to the harsh words he spoke to me over a year ago. "The fuck you aren't going. And don't ever tell me Evan won't go. He's my son, and I'll take him Lacey. With or without you! I'm fucking twenty-two years old. You aren't going to tell me what I will and will not fucking do."
Oh no! He can't. He can't! The tissue Devon wipes my tears away with brings my attention back to the letter. I need to finish it. Once I read it, once I know what it says, there's no going back. Will I survive more heartache?
When I learned your mom died, I thought it was the perfect opportunity for you to rethink our bond. With your mom gone, there's one less person to interfere with our relationship. I want you, Lacey, and I know the only way to make you listen is through Evan. I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned, the adoption process is over. I will not relinquish my rights now that we have a chance. This was God's plan all along, and you need to divorce your current husband and come to Maine where we can finally be together like we should be.
Never in a million years did I think I was going to do this, but you've left me with no other choice. I wanted you and Evan to live with me. We are supposed to be a fucking family whether you want to admit it or not. The only way I know how to get you back is to take Evan with me to Maine.
The letter falls from my hand and I start to look around. What do I need? No, who the fuck cares what I need? What Evan needs is his mother. He needs me now. Not that scum bucket. I grab my midsection, falling to the floor screaming.
"Noooooo! No, he took MY baby!"
I'm enraged that he's hurting Evan to get to me.
Hands gently wrap around me.
"Lacey, Babe you need to calm down. You're scaring me."
I can't listen to Devon. I've got to find my baby.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know you've been through so much."
"Caine can't do this. He just can't." I stand up and begin to pace the kitchen floor. "He came in here and stole my son. Wait, maybe..." I run into Evan's bedroom looking for his blanket... "NO!" I cry, running back to the family room looking for toys. "Oh my God, NO! He took him. He really took him!"
I fall into Devon's arms as he's trying to reach me. I am in so much fucking pain from not being a good daughter and losing Mom, but it doesn't come close to anything like the pain of losing my baby to Caine. Devon moves behind me, wrapping me in his comforting arms. I don't know how long I cry before Devon picks me up and carries me into the family room. I'm weak, and shut myself up inside my head. He lays me on the sofa, and I come out of my dragging state and begin to get up.
"Lacey, stop. We'll figure it out together. I'll get our son back. Please, just take a deep breath while I can call the police."
"Wait, no! You can't call the police, Devon. Please!"
"Are you out of your mind, Lacey? Caine just took our son. You have full custody and the adoption proceedings have begun. There is no way someone will think the bastard’s innocent."
"No, please," I cry. "What if he tries to hurt Evan, or goes back on the adoption? He said it in the note! The adoption is off and he wants me! We can't call the police. I need to think. I need to figure out the best way to get him back."
I return to pace the kitchen floor, u
naware of anything Devon is doing. Evan is my sole focus right now.
"Lacey, Honey, I need you to sit down. If we don't call the police, something could happen."
"No, that's just it, Devon. He won't hurt Evan if he knows I'm coming for him. If the police show up or something, it could get ugly. I need to go to Maine and get him myself. I'll play dumb, hoping Caine will buy it, and we'll snatch Evan back and be home in no time. That's it."
He shakes his head in disagreement.
"I don't like it, Lacey. I don't like it at all." He steps in front of me, securing a strand of hair behind my ear. "If you think it’s safer for us to go ourselves, we can try it. I'm not making any promises once we get there. Let me call my father and see if we can use his jet."
I give up fighting because the pain is too great for me to argue. Devon helps me lie back and covers me. I faintly remember him bending down to retrieve the letter at some point while I lay here. I'm startled by Devon yelling ‘Fucking bullshit’ into his cell phone. It doesn't last, and I fall into darkness, the darkness that is my soul without Evan, without my mom.
I wake, startled from my dream. There is no fucking way that dream is real. Fluffing my pillow to make it more comfortable, I feel Devon's warm body behind me on the sofa. No! He woke me. I read the letter. Oh my God, it wasn't a dream. The uncontrollable water works begin again. I throw the covers off, waking Devon by accident. How could I fall asleep with my son possibly scared? I'm a horrible mom!
"Lacey?" he says in a sleepy voice.
"Devon, I need to find him. I can't just lay here. I can't, Devon. Please don't ask me to stay here when my baby is somewhere out there. I don't know if he's content or if he's scared. I need to bring him home." I cry. "Please."
"Lacey, you think I can stand it?" he asks. "My father has another jet we can use and owns property where we will stay while we try to figure this shit out. I will take you to him. I will help you return Evan to where he belongs. I'm scared too, Baby, but we need to be smart about this."