by Louise, Tia
Silence surrounds us. It’s so loud I can feel it on my skin. It’s like the hissing in my ears after my concussion. It only lasts a moment.
“What did you say?” Carl’s voice is a machete cutting the night air.
When I turn to face him, his eyes blaze hotter than the fire. “Mr. Harris.”
He throws the tumbler against the brick wall, and Drew lets out a little yelp. “Tell me what you just said about my son.”
“I said… I was—”
“No.” Drew steps forward again, closer to me. “You loved Danny just as much as we all did. The men from Washington said it was an accident. You’re not responsible.”
She touches my hand, but my eyes never leave her father’s. I’ve seen hate in peoples’ eyes before. I saw it in the eyes of the man on the side of the road just before the explosion. I see it blazing at me from the depths of her father’s soul.
“Get your hands off my daughter.” It’s a low growl, but it quickly grows louder. “Get your hands off my family.”
“Daddy, stop!” Drew tries to come between us, but he grabs her arm and steps in front of her, blocking her from me with his body.
“Get out of this house.” He’s shouting now. “Get out of this town. You never belonged here. You never should have come here.”
Every word is like a whip against my skin, ripping me open, and leaving me to bleed.
“You’ve taken everything from me. You’re not taking my daughter.”
“Daddy!” Drew struggles to get out of his grip.
I can’t stand to see her this way. I know how much she wanted to help him, and my presence is tearing them apart.
I take a step back, but he’s right on top of me screaming. “Danny was the hero, not you. You should have died in the desert. Not him.”
My vision clouds like the smoke from the blast. Still, I’m not afraid. The emotions burning my chest are different from before. This time, I feel like he’s right. He’s repeating the words I’ve said to myself so many times.
For all his faults, Danny was the star of this town. He was the heir to his family’s good name. I’m guilty. I’m broken.
I make my way to the exit, Carl screaming behind me. “I never want to see your face in my house again! I never want to see you in my town. GET OUT!”
Chapter 29
Drew
Sunday comes, and I still can’t find Gray.
My dad is locked in his bedroom, but it’s difficult for me to care. I know I should try to care. I know he’s sick and broken, but I can’t forgive what he said to Gray. I can’t let go of my anger.
After Gray left, I tried calling him, but my calls went to voicemail. I jumped in the Jag and drove to the garage, but he wasn’t there. I drove all over town, but he wasn’t anywhere in Oakville.
For two days I’ve been calling and sending texts. I only got one answer, late last night.
Gray: I have to go away, Drew-baby. Take care of your dad. Help him like you always wanted to do.
Of course, I texted back as soon as I saw it.
Me: Please come back. Let me help you.
He never replies.
By Monday morning, my heart is in my throat and guilt is heavy on my shoulders. I finally break into my dad’s room, and whiskey bottles are strewn all over the floor.
“How did he even get these?” I step over the discarded bottles, racing to where he’s laying against the wall. “Dad?” I shake his shoulder.
His head lolls to the side, and he slurs my mother’s name. Even through my anger, my heart breaks a little seeing him this way. He’s too heavy to lift, which means I have to call 911 to get him to the hospital.
He’ll be humiliated and furious when he comes around, but I can’t worry about that now. It’s a matter of life or death.
Driving behind the ambulance, I call Ruby and ask her to cover my appointments for the next few days—or reschedule them if the clients don’t feel comfortable talking to her.
Pacing the waiting room of the hospital, I’ve never felt so alone. Dad is the last family I have… apart from Gray. My phone is in my hand, and I send another text.
Me: I need you here.
It’s like the lost year, that dark year, all over again. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I crouch in a corner in the far end of the waiting room, closing my eyes as the tears fall.
I’m afraid he won’t come back. Everything my dad said to him beats in my brain like a cruel drummer.
You never belonged here. You never should have come here. Danny was the hero, not you. You should have died in the desert.
I squeeze my arms tighter, seeing Gray’s face as my dad shouted these words at him. With every syllable, Gray’s expression grew darker. It was as if my dad were pounding him with his fists instead of lashing him with his tongue.
I tried to make it stop, but my dad was stronger than I expected, or pure rage gave him power. Years of built-up frustrations.
I know how guilty Gray feels. I know how much he blames himself, and with the PTSD, it just makes it all worse. At the same time, my anger at my father is difficult to sustain.
How can I hate this miserable, broken man? His words were cruel, but they came from his pit of a soul, worn thin by the alcohol he used to survive for so long.
I sit for hours in a mix of families at the hospital, waiting, desperate for different reasons. HGTV keeps us all from going crazy, as we watch people fighting over house flipping, crying over home makeovers, debating whether they want to convert a garage into a master suite.
After what seems like an eternity, a nurse calls my name through the waiting room. “Andrea Harris?”
I raise my hand and go to her.
“A doctor will meet with you now.” She leads me to a small room.
I step inside and close the door for privacy. A woman with dark hair and kind black eyes gives me a sad smile. “Your father was extremely dehydrated. Based on his blood work… I’m afraid he might have liver damage. It’s possible he even damaged his heart.”
My chin drops, and I exhale deeply. “He’s been abusing alcohol since I was a girl. Since my mother died.”
She nods. “His body can’t keep this up.”
“I’ve tried everything to get him help. He only fights me.”
She exhales, leaning back. “The good news is we have him here now. We can start him on diazepam. We can get his nutrients up. Some of the damage will be irreversible, but perhaps we can break the cycle. Prevent further damage.”
By the time I get home, I’m not sure I can keep going. My head is spinning, and the one time I was able to see my dad, he wouldn’t stop saying Danny’s name. I don’t even take off my clothes before collapsing on my bed.
“Drew… Drew? Anybody home?”
My bed bounces gently, forcing my eyes to open. Ruby hangs over me, her long black hair touching my cheeks.
“She’s alive!” She flops beside me, resting her head against mine. “I was worried about you. You okay?”
I don’t even answer. I roll onto my side with my back to her.
In one fluid movement, she rolls behind me, curling her body to mine, her chest to my back as I cry for I don’t know how long. It seems like forever. She only waits until I’m quiet again.
“Ma said for you to come eat with us. She actually said for you to come live with us. You know she wishes you were her daughter. Interested?”
Reaching out, I pull a tissue from the box on my nightstand. I figured it was just easier to leave it there.
“Your mom is one of the few people he likes.” My voice is a wreck.
“Dude. Everybody loves my mother. Can you imagine how hard it is for me trying to fill her shoes?”
She’s doing her best to make me laugh. I wish it would work.
“He left me, Rubes.” The crack in my voice almost starts my tears again.
“We’re going to have to use names. These male pronouns…”
“Gray left me.” God, the pain in my neck is
so intense. I try swallowing it away, but it’s no good.
A quick inhale. “I don’t believe it.”
“He did.”
Pain radiates from the hole in my chest through my shoulders, down my arms, up to my head. My best friend’s arms around my waist are the only thing holding me together.
“I’m sure there’s a reason. I know he wouldn’t…” Her voice trails off, and for a moment the only noise is my shaky breathing. Finally, she asks softly. “How’s your dad?”
Several steadying breaths later, I manage to answer. “He’s stable. His doctor is actually pretty amazing.”
“That’s good!” She gives me a squeeze, a little rock. “One mountain at a time.”
“What happened today at the clinic?”
“Hunter is doing amazing.” She gives me another rock. “I’m going to nominate you for therapist of the year for that one.”
“That’s not a thing.” I loosen out of her hold and roll to face her. The pain in my chest is relentless, but my brain can at least be distracted. “Why?”
“I mean, he’s still convinced Richard Nixon is coming to get him.”
“How is this progress?”
“Well, I was looking at your notes.” She’s lying on her back now. “You’re on the right track with helping him find ways to feel less like an outsider. He and old lady Green are getting to be friends.”
I sit up slowly. “What did he say?”
“He’s helping her with her yard ornament restorations.” She pushes up beside me. “You know she does it for pay, but she also does it guerilla style. She fixed my Dachshund, and I never even knew.”
Sniffing, I nod, inhaling deeply. “There’s some really nice people in this town.”
She smiles warmly… a smile I know I’ve used myself. “I think it’s the people who hurt the most who inflict the most pain.”
For a second, I think about what she’s saying. “That’s not bad, Rubes. Maybe you should do calendars.”
“Are you being shitty again?”
“No!” I start to laugh, and more tears come. “I’m serious. You say really nice things sometimes.”
“Sometimes.” She’s still being dismissive, and I curl into her.
Skinny arms go around me. It’s not Gray’s warm, muscular embrace, but you know what? It’s still pretty damn good.
Chapter 30
Gray
“She’s peaceful. That’s the best we can hope for at the end.” Sister Constance is beside me, watching Aunt Genevieve slip in and out of consciousness.
I give her a tight smile, as the old woman wavers between this life and whatever comes next.
My chest is still open and bleeding from the verbal laceration at Drew’s place. I left knowing every word Carl Harris said was true. Drew’s tears ringing in my ears were like salt in my wounds. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, but I knew her father was right. I would only bring her pain.
Midway into my drive to the garage, the phone rang. Sister Constance said I should come back to Dover as soon as possible. My aunt was dying. Her health had deteriorated to the point where she was having difficulty breathing, and the Alzheimer’s was complicating her symptoms. They didn’t know if she might have a moment of lucidity, and they weren’t sure if I might want to be here.
Considering all the people I’ve let down, I figured I should at least try and be here for my last remaining relative, my father’s youngest sister. My father, who had died long before I even knew his name.
Mack was his baby brother. Genevieve was his sister. All that’s left now is me.
“Your aunt left few personal possessions, but we kept everything in a safe deposit box. When you’re ready, I can take you to see it.”
I watch the pale, shrunken form of my aunt, seeming to sleep. “How far away is it?”
“It’s down in the basement. I can ask Sister Ilona to sit with her. She can call us if anything changes.”
As we make our way slowly down the wide oak stairway to the main floor of the hospital, I feel the old nun glancing my way. Even wrapped in my own guilt, I do my best to smile, be grateful for her care to my family.
We take the final steps in silence. She lifts a heavy key from inside her robe and unlocks the door. I follow her through an oak paneled foyer to a smaller room, a room that actually looks like the inside of a safe.
She pulls the box an inch out of the space where it’s housed. “Take your time.”
With that, she turns and leaves me alone in the quiet room. The floors, walls, and ceiling are all shining silver, almost like steel. A bare table is behind me, and metal folding chairs are arranged around it.
I take the narrow box out of the chute and set it carefully on the table, lifting the lid, not knowing what to expect.
Aunt Genevieve never regained consciousness. She slipped away without a sound as I sat beside her bed, looking out at the snow falling gently. It hardly ever snows in Oakville. I wonder if Drew would like the snow.
I haven’t turned my phone on since I arrived here. I hate doing this again, but I know if I see her words begging me to come back, I’ll drop everything and go. I can’t do that right now. She needs to make peace with her father, and I need to give her space, settle my family’s business here.
“Her long-term health insurance covered most of her time with us.” Sister Constance sits across from me, her hands in her lap. “You shouldn’t have any trouble covering the balance when you’re ready.”
“Long-term health insurance.” I’m holding my aunt’s will.
“Even without it, you wouldn’t have had any difficulties.” Her tone is all business. “You’re one of the wealthiest landowners on the East Coast.”
When Mack died, he’d left me what I thought was a large inheritance. What I found in my aunt’s safety deposit box has been difficult for me to comprehend. In addition to money and holdings, I found the title deed for what the nun described as an enormous estate in Chateau Country. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.
“It’s been ten years since anyone lived there.” She gives me a gentle smile. “From what I’ve heard, the Cole family estate is the largest in Brandywine Valley. It includes a mansion with extensive gardens and grounds extending for several miles.”
The documents in my hands feel strangely light to carry such weight. “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I can’t answer that question for you.” Our eyes meet, and she smiles. “When your uncle came here, he was very concerned with getting all of the documents legally transferred to your name as the sole heir.” Her laugh is gentle. “He drove Sister Marie crazy asking about it every day.”
“Is she a lawyer?”
“She coordinated between him and the lawyer for our convent. We have a rather extensive estate ourselves.”
“Right.” I’ve heard stories. Still, I’m not sure what to make of this news. It changes everything. “My aunt wanted to be cremated.”
“I believe your family has a mausoleum on the grounds near one of the waterfalls.” Waterfalls… I can’t even imagine. “I can help you make those arrangements.”
“Mack didn’t ask to be buried in a mausoleum.”
My uncle was buried beside his first wife, who was killed in a car crash before I went to live with him. Sometimes, late at night if he’d been drinking, he’d say it was why he wanted to work on cars. He wanted to make sure the brakes worked, make sure nothing was broken that might cause an accident. I didn’t understand at the time. Now it makes so much sense.
“How are you feeling these days?” My eyes flicker to hers, which are full of concern. “I didn’t want to say anything when you arrived. You seem more sad than when you left us.”
My lips tighten in a smile. “Being back home was harder than I expected.”
“I prayed for you daily.” Constance had been my first counselor when I returned, but she’d referred me to a doctor for medication. “Did you settle the matters that were troubling you?”
“Drew is the girl you loved?” I nod, and she leans back in her chair. “Why would you want to give her space?”
“Her family doesn’t like me.” It sounds like a weak excuse. “I’m worried about my illness, what I might do to her if I’m not in control.”
The documents I’m holding take on a different meaning as I speak. Money gives me freedom. I could go to my large estate and stay there. Billy could take over the garage. It’s what he always wanted. Drew never has to be hurt.
“Holding yourself apart from the people who love you seems like a Cole family trait.” We exchange a glance and she smiles. “I’ve known your family a long time. I’ve seen them do it again and again.”
“I don’t know how else to keep her safe.”
She exhales and stands, walking around the desk to face me. “I’ve heard it theorized Alzheimer’s might be the brain’s way of forgetting memories too painful to recall.”
“Are you saying I’m at risk for developing Alzheimer’s?”
“I suppose if that theory is true, we’re all in danger of developing it.” Leaning against the desk, she crosses her arms. “What are you trying to forget, Grayson?”
I’m uncomfortable answering her, but she’s not letting me off the hook. The clock on her desk ticks louder. I look over her shoulder at the window, where the snowflakes drift past. My chest is tight with the answer, and when I glance up, her dark eyes are placid as a lake.
“I don’t know.” Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. “Guilt? Depression?”
She nods. “Depression is anger turned inward. Who are you angry at?”
“Danny… myself.” For being so selfish.
She takes a small book from the pocket of her apron. It’s a leather-bound journal. “Start writing good things about yourself, about Danny, even if it’s only one thing. Try to do it every day.”
