by C. M. Lally
He breaks down crying and shaking. His shoulders convulse as his cries wail out his grief. He’s a broken man tonight and it’s all my fault. Why didn’t I stop pushing him? I tackle hug him, laying my body over his to get him to calm down. I whisper his name over and over again, shushing him like a mother would a crying baby, but he’s silent in his guilt and grief.
I get up and go to the makeshift bar looking for napkins or tissues, but find none. I rip open the stacked boxes that are packed away one by one, finding glasses and bottles of alcohol at first. Finally, I come across some napkins, grabbing a handful for Frank. When I turn around, he’s gone. I drop the napkins where I stand and watch the breeze blow swirl them up and into the air, floating across the mezzanine, carrying them away in the bay breeze. I race down the stairs, tripping and sliding several times and having to grab onto the banister to stay upright. I stop on the second floor and undo the straps quickly, kicking my heels up and into the air, before running barefooted after Frank.
I get to the front entryway and push open the main doors, only to watch the Moore Flowers van speed away.
Chapter 23 – Frank
I left every single piece of my being up on that mezzanine with her.
She’s the only other soul that knows my truth and pain, and I can’t deal with the consequences of it. I’m done. We’re done.
Chapter 24 – Isabella
He spilled his heart and soul out to me because I demanded to know how bad his story was. And now I’ve pushed him away.
He’s gone without a word, and won’t turn on his phone. He’s done. He’s run off to hide his heart and protect it from the tarnish I caused.
Chapter 25 – Frank
“It’s been a week and I’m getting sick of watching your sorry ass use my house as a moping hideaway,” Jim barks at me. “I don’t ask anything of you, but aren’t you getting a little old for this nonsense?”
“Nonsense?” I ask, picking up the TV remote and turning down the volume on the race. “And I’m not hiding. I’m mulling over my problems and coming up with a solution.”
“So that’s what this is? Thinking and planning your next move in life. I see,” he chuckles before he leans forward and knocks my feet off his coffee table. “Your plan doesn’t look promising so far. What the hell are you really doing, Frank?”
I pick up one of the decorative pillows from his couch and adjust it behind my back, before sliding my feet back up onto his table. He’s staring at me, waiting on my response with the patience of a mule. Jim and I’ve been friends for a long time. We don’t have mushy, emotional talks and we rarely give each other advice, but I must be bothering him since he’s mentioning it.
“Just spill it, old man. Tell me what’s on your mind,” I chastise him. “We’ve been friends...hell, brothers, for too long now for you to hold back on me.”
“You’re running again. Just like you did when Olivia died,” he observes, pointing his bony finger, accusing me. “Running away from living. You’d rather be with the dead. I suspect you’re running from a woman because I don’t know what the hell else you’d be running from. But c’mon, you’re getting too old for this shit.”
“I’m forty-five,” I hiss. “You act like I’m dying today.”
“Well, aren’t you?” he replies. “I’ve watched you shrivel up and do everything but die over the past twenty-two years. Listen, Frank. I love ya just like you actually were my brother. I held my tongue when Livvy died because you deserved the chance to mourn the loss of your wife. Just because you hadn’t exchanged vows doesn’t change it in my book, but I can’t watch you go on any longer and not be happy. Livvy wouldn’t want that, and you know it.”
“I can’t stop seeing her in everything I do,” I confess through the large ball of emotion damming up in my throat. Those words hurt to say aloud.
“It’s because you put her there. You want her there, but she can’t be there,” he spits. “You need to start replacing some of your memories with new experiences and new people. Livvy is always going to be a part of you, but you didn’t die damn it. Stop acting like you did.”
We sit in a long stretch of silence, thinking about our conversation, and I can’t take it anymore. Twenty-two years of guilt and self-loathing are taking their toll. It’s finally crushing me, and I can’t breathe.
“Jim, I killed her. I’m the one that killed Olivia,” I confess, choking on my own words and gulping air to breathe. The room spins with my confession, and I lay my head back against the wall. He’s sitting on the arm of the couch and his head drops in disbelief.
“Not that shit again,” he spouts. “You ramble that story every time you get too drunk. I know the story...it’s bullshit. You did what you had to do to make her comfortable. She probably would have died the minute they separated the two cars. It’s. Not. Your. Fault. Frank.”
My thoughts ruminate over his last words. It is my fault. Yes, she might have died anyway, but I dealt the final blow when I removed her seat belt. I’m a fucking race car driver. I know to leave the halo harness on to protect the neck, but I fucking panicked to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t keep conscious enough to strap her back in.
“The doctor says I have survivor’s guilt,” I explain. “I continue to function outside of depression and anxiety by ignoring it, shoving it deep into my mind. It’s as buried as she is. I do everything humanly possible not to think about it. I avoid my living room. I don’t drive. I don’t date. I don’t talk about it period. Lately, though, I can’t escape it. Isabella has me turned upside down and strung out like a junkie. Feelings and memories are rushing forth, and I’m swatting them away like a swarm of hornets is on my ass, but the sad part is I want to be stung. I just want to stand there and take her all in, absorbing every nuance of her.”
“I knew it was a woman,” he laughs, slapping his hand on his knee, and almost falling over onto the floor. “They’re the only creature that can drive a man that insane.”
“You got that right,” I agree.
“Frank, I don’t know what to tell you to do. Hell, my own life is a lonely mess,” he admits, “but I know for damn sure that your life is gonna keep going on until it just doesn’t anymore. You might as well fill it with good times, laughter, and the love of a beautiful woman. Go have some children— pass life on. From what I understand, that’s the point of all this breathing and beating heart stuff that happens in your chest.”
For once, he makes sense. “For a crotchety motherfucker, you make a damn good therapist,” I tease.
“I figure I’ve seen you through the fog. Now get your ass outta my house and go find your sunlight,” he swats my feet off his table again. “You’ve got one hour to get the hell out of here.”
Not less than thirty minutes later, I arrive home. He drops me off at my front door, the bastard. I feel like a stranger entering my house this way. My keys jangle as they turn inside the lock and the door creaks as it swings open. A million memories flood my senses as the stark silence of the piano calls to me. My bags drop to the floor and echo off the walls. This house is so fucking empty it breaks my heart.
I stand and look at every single, visible item in the room, remembering where every piece came from and each moment within the pictures. They are all good memories, but that’s just it— they’re memories. It’s time to let them go and make new ones. Even if it’s not with Isabella.
I carry my bag to the bedroom and put everything in its place. There’s no sign of her here. I’ve blocked it all out just to function and protect what little bit of life I afforded myself. It’s time to follow the philosophy of Fall Out Boy and “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying”, and I’ve already been dead.
My cell phone rings and it’s Derek calling. I slide the bar across my screen.
“Hello, Derek,” I say. He’s already at the bar because I can hear the heavy metal music playing that Isabella hates.
“Hey, Boss. You coming in tonight?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’ll be
there. Did we get a liquor delivery yesterday?” I ask.
“Sure did. Put it away myself,” he boasts.
“We still got the boxes?” I ask, knowing his lazy ass doesn’t like to do any kind of extra work, like preparing them for the baler machine.
“Yeah. They’re stacked up in the storeroom. I was gonna break ‘em down tonight,” he says.
“Don’t. I need them. I’ll see ya soon,” I advise, and press end to hang up.
TODAY IS A HARD DAY, but maybe that’s because I let shit slide on by me as I took stock of my upcoming week. My bar is a mess and it’s all my fault. I’m the one that abandoned her for a week, and now I’ll have to work my ass off to fix her up. Aran’s wedding is this weekend. I’ve got one week to make her gleam and shine for a few hundred guests, not to mention a few celebrities. My to-do list is growing with each step I take and each task I write.
Family to the rescue. My niece, Jenna, is hosting Aran’s bridal shower today on the patio. Before it starts, I send her a text to come over to my house when it’s over and to bring some of the boxes from the storeroom. Like the perfectionist mother that she is, she’s never late.
“Knock, knock, Uncle Frank,” she hollers into my back door.
“I’m in here,” I shout back, giving her a voice to follow to the front room. “Bring those boxes in here.”
She comes into the door overloaded with about ten boxes stuffed under both arms, flattened, and a few still holding their original shape for alcohol. Her tiny grip barely containing them. She opens her arms and lets them fall to the floor.
“Whew,” she chuckles. “And I thought carrying a child was heavy. What are the boxes for?”
“I’m finally moving on,” I admit. “I’m gonna start living again.”
She smiles and those bright blue eyes light up my world like they always have.
“I’ve got some time before I need to pick up the kids from Mom. Do you need any help living again?” she asks, picking up a box and removing the lid. “I’m great at living life to it’s fullest. Just ask Nick.” She shifts her weight to her left hip and gives me one of her femme fatale rocker chic looks. She’s all brass and sass, and I wouldn’t change a thing about her.
“As a matter of fact, I’m gonna need you, your mother and maybe your dad too,” I advise. I give her a quick rundown of my to-do list for the week, and she springs into action, picking up her phone and calling in favors that she has stored up with friends. Family and friends, yes— this is what it’s all about. Like Jim said, ‘that breathing and heart beating stuff in your chest’. God love Jim.
I start packing up everything in the living room that reminds me of Olivia. I couldn’t let Jenna do it, so I sent her on her merry way to start on my list before she picks up my great niece and nephew. Before the clock strikes 8:00 pm, I head over to The Beer and Brood to start closing her down for the night.
Bekah does a beeline for me as soon as I enter the door, letting me know she needs to talk to me about inventory and some other things before the end of the night that she blabs on about. I expected her to walk away already but she’s just standing there. She goes quiet all of a sudden and clears her throat before speaking. “Umm, Frank. That wedding planner has been here since the bridal shower waiting for you, but you just missed her,” she says. “I think she gave up and left. I told her you’d be here before closing.”
“Well, I’m also a few hours late. I was taking care of some personal business,” I admit. “It’s alright, Bekah. Thanks for letting me know.”
“She wasn’t herself, that’s for sure,” she murmurs. The look of concern on her face is apparent. “Are you two alright? Are you fighting over the wedding decorations or something?”
“Something like that,” I admit, she follows me over to the bar and waits while I order a beer from Derek. I don’t want to have this conversation with her right now, or ever. “Hey, listen. Aran’s wedding is this coming weekend and I’ve got a long list of shit that needs to be done. If you’re up for some overtime, let me know. And spread the word amongst everyone. They just need to let me know when they can be here. Even if it’s early or late. Okay?” She nods her head and finally leaves me to drink my beer.
What was Bella doing waiting for me? I’d have given anything to have been here earlier, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to rush past the memories that were overwhelming me.
It’s probably good that I missed seeing her. I’m not a whole man tonight, but I’m on the mend.
Chapter 26 – Isabella
It’s usually fun watching ladies swoon and go crazy over another woman in love. Everyone loves the thought of being in love and telling stories of being in love. Isn’t that the beautiful part of a bridal shower? It hurts though, like a massive gaping wound, when your love has barricaded himself away from you.
Jenna has a hell of a party planned for Aran and all of her friends, especially since she opted to go without a Bachelorette Party. That woman should be an event coordinator or a party planner because she’s got mad skills for getting a crowd revved up and having fun. You can tell she’s a performer at heart.
She and Aran are including me in everything since I only know them, but ‘Fun’ Isabella isn’t feeling it tonight. I’m trying hard not to let it show, but that damn women’s intuition is ruling. They both ask me several times if I’m alright. I nod and smile cheerfully, lying straight through my chubby cheeks.
Aran finally gives up and corners me while we’re eating cake. “Alright, sister,” she elbows me in the hip. “You need to tell me his name and we’ll make him pay for this hurt he’s causing you.” She points her fork at my chest with each word that passes her lips.
“Love can suck sometimes,” I mumble, not wanting anyone to hear the wedding planner saying that.
“Yeah, it can. Especially when it’s uncertain,” she agrees. “But you’ll know it when it’s real. You want to fight for it, don’t you? I can tell.”
“With every cell in my body,” I breathe. “But he’s got issues.”
“Don’t they all?” she asks. “I haven’t met a man yet that doesn’t have issues. They just don’t like to appear weak in dealing with them, so they don’t deal with them at all. Until a woman comes along and makes them deal with their shit. If...IF they deal with it, you know it’s love.”
“And if they run and hide?” I ask.
“Then let them run and hide. They’ll do one of two things— one, they’ll only hide for so long before they miss you and realize what an ass they’ve been, or two, they’ll bury more of their shit, only deeper this time, and that’s not the kind of love or life you want anyway. So then you thank your lucky stars they ran and you get to move on, for your real love to come along.”
“How’d you get to be so well-versed in love?” I ask, hugging her tight.
“I’ve been around nothing but troubled men: Nick, Kyle, Frank, and more than a few old boyfriends,” she admits. “It’ll all work out in the end. Frank will come around.”
I tilt my head and raise my eyebrow in surprise at her guess. “Your eyes gleamed when I said his name,” she whispers. “Plus the wait staff around here are gossips, and it’s a very small town.” She winks at me as if to say ‘welcome to Knightsen’. She pats my arm and saunters off when someone calls her name to start opening gifts.
After the party, I wander out to the bar to see if he’s arrived yet but don’t see him. Our booth is empty, so I take a seat. Our booth...I let the melancholy take over sitting here alone.
Damn it. I’m just a wedding planner, not a therapist. I can’t fix him. I’m stubborn and bull-headed. I’m pushy and loud; sassy and argumentative. His life won’t be dull with me around, but I guess that’s why he ran back to the peace and solitude of his lonely existence.
The broken man that left me will probably take a lifetime to heal, and I don’t have that kind of time. I want to live now. Be with him now. Love him now. I don’t care if it’s a slow-burning love that I have to stoke the em
bers every day. I’ll do the work. I’m not afraid, but he won’t give me the thing I need most— his time.
An hour passes and he doesn’t show. The waitress stops by to check on me and I ask if she expects Frank this evening. She says yes, but doesn’t know when. I nurse my glass of wine, knowing I have to drive back to San Francisco tonight. While waiting, I start decorating the barn rafters with wedding lights in my mind. The tables and chairs get mentally re-arranged into bride and groom rows. These are the games I play with myself to pass the time.
Another long hour passes. I continue to abstractly construct several huge wedding tents for the reception out back, taking up most of the lot. His heavy metal music plays on tape over the speakers, and for the first time ever, it doesn’t bother me. My foot taps absently to it, while I continue to plan our wedding. Something I’ve been doing since I was a little girl. I just never knew who the groom was. Now I can put a face and a name to my dreams.
My phone rings, causing me to jump. I scoop it up quickly, but it isn’t Frank’s name on the screen. It’s Vanessa Chambers. I haven’t spoken to her in over two years. Not since her fiance died in battle a few days before his return home from deployment.
“Vanessa, sweetheart. How are you?” I squeal with excitement.
“I’m getting married!” she squeals in return. “Can you believe it?”