Keep Me in Your Heart: Letting Go of Lisa / Saving Jessica / Telling Christina Goodbye

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Hearing him say the words was not nearly as satisfying as Trisha had imagined it would be. The sure knowledge hurt unbearably. As if he’d taken a knife and cut her heart open. She couldn’t stop the hot tears that stung and burned her eyes. “And the judge knew? Her parents knew? And they let you walk away from it?”

  “It wasn’t a secret,” he said. “I kept trying to pass the other car on the left—three, four, five times. Finally, the driver put the car in the center of the road, sort of like he was daring me to get past. I knew he wouldn’t expect me to go to his right. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did anyway. I would have made it too, except that when the tires crunched on the gravel on the shoulder, Christina panicked and grabbed the wheel. She turned it just enough. Then we hit ice and went airborne.”

  As he talked, the memories tumbled and fell on Trisha like lead pellets. She saw the boys’ startled faces going by her window. She saw Tucker’s hand on the gearshift, saw Christina’s arm dart across the console to the steering wheel, and heard her scream, “No! Don’t!” It was true. Everything Tucker said was true.

  “And you were never going to tell anybody what really happened?”

  “I wouldn’t have denied it if it came out, but I wasn’t going to go out of my way to spread it around either. ‘Hey, look at me, everybody—I killed my girlfriend because I made a stupid mistake.’ ”

  “You kept quiet to save face,” she said bitterly. “You’re a coward.”

  The muscles in his jaw worked, as if he were clenching his teeth. “Probably so. But you weren’t the only one who lost someone they loved that night, Trisha. You’ve been acting like you’re the only one who’s hurting. I lost the only girl I ever loved. And I have no one to blame except myself.”

  “And by not telling the truth, everyone feels sorry for you. ‘Poor Tucker,’ ” she spit out the words. “I know others are hurt. Her parents are ruined forever!”

  “Her parents said that ruining my life with a lawsuit wouldn’t bring her back,” Tucker said, ignoring Trisha’s outburst. “I blubbered like a baby, telling them I was sorry. They said they forgave me, but I don’t know how they can.”

  “And Cody’s life too!” she cried. “Look at all he’s lost. He’s not even the same person he was before the accident.”

  “You can’t say anything to me I haven’t already said to myself. Will it make you feel better if I stand up in front of the whole school and say, ‘I killed Christina’? Is that what you want?”

  She didn’t know what she wanted. She hurt so badly at the moment that she couldn’t think straight. “You used to bully her, try to force her to do what you wanted her to do. You were never very nice to her, Tucker. You tell me you loved her, but I know how much you made her cry.”

  “I know that too.” His eyes looked watery. “I’d give anything if I could see her again. If I could touch her and tell her how sorry I am … about … everything.”

  “You can’t turn back time,” Trisha said. “No one can.” It was too late for Tucker. And yet she knew Christina really loved him despite all his bad behavior. Her hate for him began to crumble. The burden of his guilt weighed far more than the pain of Trisha’s loss. His knowledge of all that he’d done before and after Christina died was a permanent scar on his life.

  Trisha walked away, but only got as far as the white-cross memorial. The cheerleading squad had kept its promise to maintain the memorial with flowers. A planter box had been erected around the base of the cross, and colorful pansies fluttered in the breezy twilight. She saw that someone had carved the initials CE and the date Christina had died in the center of the cross.

  Trisha dropped to her knees in front of the box. She fingered the petals of the pansies, then buried her face in her hands and wept.

  She felt Tucker’s presence as he crouched beside her. “I’m sorry, Christina,” he whispered. “So … sorry.” He touched Trisha’s shoulder. “Come on. Follow me back to town. Tomorrow you can tell people whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.”

  * * *

  Trisha went over to Cody’s that night and told him what had happened with Tucker. He shook his head. “I don’t remember any of it. It’s all a blank. But I feel sorry for Tucker, because he can’t ever get away from the memory. It’ll be his curse for as long as he lives.”

  She told her parents too, and they were sorry but philosophical about it. “Maybe Tucker wasn’t trying to hide the truth,” Trisha’s dad said. “He was probably just trying to get out from under the burden of it for a while. Knowing he caused someone to die and two others to be hurt so badly must have been a heavy load to carry.”

  “So you’re telling me that you’re not mad at him?”

  “I’m furious with him.” Her dad stroked her hair. “If it had been you who died, I’d probably have taken him apart with my bare hands. But I understand how Christina’s parents feel too. Ruining Tucker’s life by insisting that he go to jail for a lapse in judgment won’t change a thing. It won’t bring Christina back. And she did grab the steering wheel—not that I’m blaming her. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn’t done that?”

  In the end, Trisha didn’t tell anyone at school. She was surprised, however, when Tucker did. He told one of his closer friends, who told another, who told another. The story spread through school, but not like malicious wildfire. It went from group to group to group like water seeping beneath a dam, touching everyone. Tucker’s revelation changed nothing at school, since most kids felt sorry for him. Others considered it ancient history and said it should be put in the past—that the future was what mattered. Trisha had thought that having everybody know the truth about Tucker’s real role in the accident would make her feel different, maybe even better. But it didn’t.

  Two weeks before graduation, Cody called Trisha to say, “It’s official—I’m not going to graduate with our class.”

  Twenty

  Trisha couldn’t believe Cody’s bad news. “That’s not fair! You’ve worked so hard! How can they do this to you?”

  “I had too much stuff to relearn. I couldn’t keep up with the new material. I’m at least half a year behind. And I missed too many days to qualify for passing.” He sounded dejected.

  “You should go before the school board. Your mom can persuade them to make an exception. None of this was your fault.”

  “I think my parents are relieved. They hate having me out of their sight—especially Mom. So now I have to stick around instead of going off to college. Remember how we were going to go to IU together? It’s not going to happen.”

  “Well, that settles it. If you’re staying here, so am I. I wasn’t crazy about leaving in September anyway. I filled out the forms because my parents begged me to, but I don’t have to go away if I don’t want to.”

  “But what about college? You should go. You’re smart and you’ve planned for years on going to college.”

  “I’ll go to the community college,” she said. “And I’ll live at home and see you every day until you earn your diploma.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “You bet I will. No matter what my parents say, I know this is what I want.”

  The graduation ceremony was held at the civic center at the end of the first week of June. Trisha put on the bright yellow robe and smiled for her parents’ camera, but a part of her felt detached. It wasn’t the senior year she’d planned or dreamed about. For years, she’d planned to make the walk with Christina and Cody. Yet now she was making it alone. Christina was gone and Cody was sitting in the audience with Trisha’s family.

  At the ceremony, the administration paid tribute to Christina’s brief life by placing a blowup of the two-page memorial from the yearbook and a folded cap and gown on a chair onstage. Every senior who walked across the stage to receive a diploma passed the memorial. Many tossed mementos—flowers, school pennants, pom-poms, varsity letters—every kind of small token. Trisha passed the chair with tears in her eyes, pausing long enough to kiss th
e tips of her fingers and touch the mortarboard. “Goodbye, Christina,” she whispered.

  With summer upon her, Trisha found a job as a cashier in a store not far from her home and continued working at the nursing home in her off hours. She dated Cody and saw Abby whenever she could. When she heard the news that Tucker had gone to live with relatives in another state, she felt a deep relief. It helped to know she wouldn’t see him around.

  One night in July, Trisha’s mother shook her awake. “What’s wrong?” Trisha squinted from the glare of the bedside lamp. Her digital clock read 1:35 A.M.

  “The nursing home called,” her mother said. “They asked me to wake you to let you know that Mr. Tappin is dying.”

  Trisha hurried to the home, hoping and praying that the old man would hold on until she arrived. When she got there, she found Mrs. Kimble sitting by Mr. Tappin’s bed reading a book.

  “How is he?” Trisha asked.

  “His breathing is labored,” Mrs. Kimble said. “It won’t be long now.”

  Trisha collapsed into a chair. “I’m so glad I made it in time.”

  “You didn’t have to come, child.”

  “Yes, I did. You see, I promised him I wouldn’t let him die alone.” As she said the words, she realized how dumb they must sound. Mr. Tappin had Alzheimer’s—he knew little of the world of reality.

  Mrs. Kimble put her book aside. “I’ll go down the hall to check on Mrs. Anderson while you wait.”

  When Trisha was alone, she picked up Mr. Tappin’s hand. His skin felt dry and flaky. In the dim light from the wall lamp, he looked very old. His skin was pulled tight across his face, his eyes sunken in their sockets. His mouth was open, and his breath came in spurts with long stretches of silence in between. Trisha wanted to cry for him, but she couldn’t. Death would free him from the prison of his diseased mind. Death would release his frail body from the shackles of age. His soul would be free to rise to heaven and wrap around eternity. She couldn’t feel sorry for him. “Say hello to Christina when you see her,” she said to him.

  He lived another two hours. When his last breath came, Trisha squeezed his hand and laid it gently on the covers. She walked to the nurses’ station, told Mrs. Kimble, and waited while another nurse went in to pronounce Mr. Tappin dead and to prepare his body for the funeral home. “How are you, my dear girl?” Mrs. Kimble asked.

  “I’m not as sad as I thought I’d be,” Trisha confessed. “I’m glad he’s not suffering any longer. He’s free now.”

  “You’re free too, Trisha.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to see you around this place, as much as we love your help.”

  “But why?” Trisha hadn’t expected Mr. Tappin’s death to end her involvement with the nursing home.

  “Because Mr. Tappin was the last tie you had to your friend Christina. It’s over now. You can stop feeling bad that you’re alive and she isn’t.”

  Trisha flinched. “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  “Oh, dear girl … you been wishing for months that this old world would stop turning and let you get off. It’s been plain as day. But tonight a chapter has closed. Tonight you are free to go on living.”

  Tears filled Trisha’s eyes as she grasped what Mrs. Kimble was telling her. With Mr. Tappin’s death, so many parts of her life with Christina were over. “I miss her so much.”

  “Ain’t no shame in missing her. Ain’t no shame in living without her. She’s gone. You’re here. Those are the facts.” Mrs. Kimble leaned across the desk and took both of Trisha’s hands in hers. A smile split her wide face. “Besides, there’s something waiting on the side porch for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your future.”

  Trisha discovered Cody sitting in the dark in a rocker on the east-facing porch. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t hide how glad she was to see him.

  “Your mother called mine and told us about Mr. Tappin. I’m glad your mother isn’t upset that you’re sticking by me. I thought I should come and take you home when it was all over and she agreed. I didn’t want you to be by yourself.”

  His thoughtfulness almost made her cry. “Thank you.”

  He pulled her into his lap. “You all right?”

  “I’m all right. Since Mr. Tappin was so old and so sick, it wasn’t as hard to face this death. I think he’s with Christina in heaven now.”

  “While I’ve been sitting here, I’ve been doing some thinking. A lot of thinking, really.”

  “About what?”

  “About how you stuck by me this year. About how you helped me make a comeback. I couldn’t have done any of it without you. My parents, of course, are the greatest, but you—you made me want to hurry up and heal.”

  She laid her cheek against his shoulder. “I love you, Cody.”

  He kissed her temple. “And I love you. I may not remember many things from before the accident. I may never remember all of my life from before. Truth is, I don’t even try to remember it all anymore. I’m just taking it day by day. And the best part about every day is finding you in it.”

  Goose bumps raced up her arms, and her heart filled to overflowing. “Well, get used to it. I plan to be around for a long, long time.”

  “Forever?” he asked.

  “Forever,” she answered.

  They sat curled in each other’s arms and watched dawn spread rosy fingers through low, gray clouds and the sun slip over the horizon to begin a new day.

  Letting Go of Lisa

  Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.… On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit.… And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.

  Revelation 22:1–2 (NIV)

  The motorcycle cut in front of Nathan Malone just as he was pulling into the high school parking lot. He slammed on the brakes and blasted the car’s horn, but the rider on the back, dressed in black leather and a streamlined helmet, flashed him an obscene gesture as the cycle’s driver sped off with a roar. Nathan took deep breaths. Another car snaked past him and a voice yelled, “Hey, buddy, park it someplace else! You’re jamming traffic.”

  Startled, Nathan put his foot on the gas and shot forward, almost running over three girls crossing the lot. They shouted at him. He stomped the brake and clamped the wheel, his palms clammy, and inched forward, searching for the parking space assigned to him in his Crestwater welcome packet. His friend Skeet had warned him that the first day was gridlock. Maybe Skeet was used to the bedlam, but Nathan wasn’t. Years of homeschooling hadn’t prepared him to spend his senior year in one of Atlanta’s biggest public high schools, but here he was—ready or not. He shouldn’t let the two idiots on the cycle determine his mood.

  He found the space, marked by a bright yellow painted number, and pulled in, careful to park between the lines. His car was new—well, not new new, but new to him. His parents had given him the keys just a few nights before, part of his seventeenth birthday gift, but also a way to make up for shoving him into a public school from the relative shelter of his homeschooling experience. Not that Nathan minded. He’d wanted to be a regular kid for a long time. And being regular meant attending public school. “A cesspool, my man,” Skeet had always said. “Not for the faint of heart.”

  Nathan shouldered his book bag and headed off for the entrance and the common area, where Skeet had sworn he’d be waiting for him. He’d better be! Nathan already felt tight as a string on his guitar, and that was before the incident with the cycle.

  The halls were packed and so noisy Nathan wanted to cover his ears. How did people think, much less study, in this decibel purgatory? One good thing about his home classroom—it was quiet. Or it had been quiet until the twins, Abby and Audrey, were born in July and his mother realized in a panic that she couldn’t juggle two babies and teach Nathan’s senior class load. Not with college looming. At fir
st he’d felt euphoric, like he’d been let out of a cage, but now, in the teeming hallways, he felt dwarfed and lost. What every other kid in the school knew as normal, he saw as extraordinary.

  “Nate!” Skeet’s voice cut through the noise. “Over here!”

  Nathan worked his way over to Skeet, who was sitting on a short wall. The wall surrounded a monolith of concrete and brass: Crestwater’s mascot, a rising dolphin balancing on its tail. “Hey, man.”

  “Find your space?”

  “Yeah. But not before a cycle almost plowed me down. Aren’t they illegal on school property?”

  “Not so.” His brow puckered. “Who was driving?”

  “How should I know? There were two of them. The rider on the back gave me the finger when I honked.”

  Skeet grinned. “Odds are it was Lisa Lindstrom.”

  “A girl?” Most of the girls Nathan knew were homeschooled like him, younger, all giggly and silly, and they didn’t ride cycles and flash rude hand gestures.

  “Was the cycle black and silver with a big red heart painted on the tank?”

  “I didn’t take that close a look. It almost creamed me. I was just trying to get out of the way.”

  “Not a guy in the school who wouldn’t give up his car speakers to get a tumble from Lisa. She’s a knockout—transferred in as a junior last January. Keeps to herself, though. I call her ‘a heartache on a Harley.’ ” Skeet pressed his hand over his heart.

  “She sounds like a conceited pain.”

  “No … she just doesn’t give a damn. I know, hard to believe, but she seems to be totally unimpressed by Crestwater’s movers and shakers. She’s my hero.” Skeet leaned closer. “She’s the one who stood up Rod Stewart for the junior-senior last year.”