A Place to Stand

by Meg Farrell

  “Hey, Connor, where was Ryan going when he left your place?”

  “Uh, I think he said he was headed home. Why? Can’t get him to answer? Maybe his phone died.”

  “I don’t know. Ryan is really good about keeping his phone charged. I’ll wait a little longer and try him again.”

  We settle into our various perches on the porch. Reese and Carrie show up a little while later. They brought sandwich stuff, so we have an alternative to Connor’s cold fried chicken. We laugh, drink, and talk forever. I can’t shake this really bad vibe, though. Where is Ryan? I can’t shake it. I try to call him again.

  “Hello?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and check the display. It says ’Ryan,’ so I didn’t mistakenly call someone else. “Hello. Who is this?”

  “This is Officer Thomas with Bell Hills police.”

  A hollowness of fear starts to burn in my chest. “Okay, Officer Thomas. May I speak with Ryan?”

  “Who is calling?” Okay this is getting very weird. It must show on my face because all discussion around me has slowly stopped.

  “This is Rhae Wells. Ryan is my husband. Why are you answering his phone and asking me questions?”

  The officer clears his throat and takes a breath before saying, “Mrs. Wells, where are you? Give me an address. We need to speak with you.” My hands start shaking, and I calmly give Liz’s address. We hang up, and I look around to find Jess and Liz. Connor is pacing. I shrug.

  “Rhae, what’s going on?” Liz asks.

  “A cop answered Ryan’s phone. He won’t tell me what’s going on. He asked where I was, and I gave him your address.”

  “Okay, honey. Whatever is going on, we’ll get through this. Just stay calm.” Jess made an effort to move closer and soothe me.

  I hop off the chair and start pacing with Connor. He grabs me by my shoulders and says, “It’s probably nothing. DUI is the worst that could be going on.” Connor is so good. I manage a weak smile for him. He lets me go and we pace in circles until blue lights reflect off the trees surrounding Liz’s place. Jess goes to the front and guides the police to the back porch. Connor has his hand on my back guiding me to sit. Liz sidles up next to me and puts her hand on my knee. I look over at sweet Carrie cuddled into Reese’s arms. She looks at me with a mix of apprehension and pity. It’s like she is terrified for me.

  “Mrs. Wells?” The officer approaches me slowly.

  “Yes. That’s me. What is going on?”

  “Ma’am. There was a car accident on Cypress right outside of Bell Hills. Another driver saw the wreck after it happened and called it in. We just finished working the scene.”

  “Was it Ryan? What hospital is he in?” I am always a cool customer in the face of panic. Just get the facts and take care of business.

  “The driver of the vehicle did not survive the accident. The driver was a male. He had ID in his wallet, but we need a positive identification.”

  The burning feeling in my chest starts to spread. I hear what the officer is saying, but it’s not clicking. My heart is starting to ache. “What are you telling me?”

  “Ma’am, we strongly believe the driver of the vehicle to be Ryan Wells. However, he was unrecognizable compared to the photo on his license.”

  I ignore the request for identification. “What kind of vehicle was it?”

  “It was a green Jeep wrangler. It was raised with big tires.”

  “Oh my God.” I can’t breathe. The reality of what’s happening starts to sink into my mind. “How?”

  “We are doing some diagrams. It might not have been a single car accident. Likely a hit and run. The Jeep flipped several times. The doctor at the emergency room thinks he was killed instantly. As you know, there were no doors or top on the Jeep, and he was thrown from the vehicle mid-flip, as best as we can tell.” He is speaking slowly. I can sense he is trying to be gentle but giving me the information I’m asking for. Everyone else is asking questions and starting to cry. I look around at all of their faces.

  Everything starts to spin. Connor is holding me. Jess is holding me around my waist, her head on my shoulder. I feel like I’m falling. The officer backs away from the group. He is talking to Jess and Connor, then turns to leave. Liz walks with him to the front. I’m not sure what else is said, or what else can be said. That’s it. That is the moment when everything changed. Why they still wanted someone to come ID him was beyond me. I told Jess to call Dad.

  I guess she did. I don’t even know how I got to Jess’s house that night. I handed her my cell phone and told her to call everyone. She was crying. I tried to soothe her and told her all our friends and family were good people, easy to talk to. She could totally handle it. It never occurred to me why she was crying. It wasn’t hard for her to call people. No big deal.

  In retrospect, I guess the worst thing for her was my being calm and not crying. She was worried. It wasn’t long before I was a sobbing mess in the rear parking lot of the funeral home. So, she had nothing to worry about anyway.

  Actually, the only thing I did think about in the days between Ryan’s accident and the visitation at the funeral home was, “Where did he go?” The accident happened around five-thirty p.m. based on the police investigation. He left Connor’s around four. Plus, Cypress, the direction he was headed, was on the way out of Bell Hills—the opposite direction of our house. The thought process baffled me then. It was just too much grief to consider at that point, but now? Now that I am past the funeral and falling asleep in Jess’s bedroom, it is coming back to me. Where was he going when this happened? Why didn’t he called me after he left Connor’s?

  Maybe when I wake up and I’m capable of coherent thought, I’ll try to figure out what was going on in that sweet man’s beautiful head. I wonder for a while what I would have done differently that day, if I had known it was our last.

  Would I have made him stay home? Would I have tried to stop the series of events leading up to that deadly accident? Is there anything I could have done to stop what happened? In the end, sleep was pulling at me hard. I decide that God has a plan, and I won’t ever know the answer to the “what if” questions. It is just not possible to know. I give into sleep, praying I won’t dream.

  Going Home

  I set my feet on the floor. The hardwood is cool and feels nice against my toes. It is too hot to sleep very well. Still, I need to get my head moving this morning. I stumble into the bathroom. Carefully running my fingers through my knotted hair and pulling it into a high ponytail that lets the ends tickle the back of my neck. I wash my face and brush my teeth. Steeling myself for what I might see, I look up into the mirror.

  Not so bad. I think I have been getting a little better every day. My tears ran dry a few days ago. Minor remnants of dark circles are under my eyes. My body is slowly recovering from the ache of crying so much. The aches have given me something to focus on instead of using pills or liquor to numb myself. This is a good thing. I didn’t need to chemically numb for too long. I dress in a familiar pair of cut off shorts, and a newish tank top.

  Tip-toeing down the stairs, careful not to wake my niece Jillian, or Jess and Connor, I make it to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Having a routine keeps me going every day. It’s automatic. I don’t need to think to do it. Brew coffee. Make a bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Make very large cup of coffee with half & half, and no-cal sweetener. Sit on back porch to eat. That’s my routine and has been for the month or so I’ve been living with Jess.

  Settling myself into a chair at the patio table, I fold my feet under my butt. The sun isn’t up yet, but I look forward to watching it rise. The beauty of a peach, pink, and blue sky, scattered with a fringe of white clouds reminds me of the joy this world can hold. I need the reminder.

  Cradling my coffee cup in both hands, I let the warmth sink into my skin. Taking a tentative sip, the creamy goodness spreads across my tongue. I let out a ragged sigh. This is a good life. All pain and misery aside, I could live like
this. Couldn’t I? Jess and Connor would let me stay forever, right?

  Who am I kidding? I could stay here another six months and not be ready to go back home. Fact is, I need to be out on my own. I take a bite of bagel and chew over my food with my thoughts. The toasty flavor makes me remember how I introduced Ryan to my favorite breakfast. Well, second favorite. Mama’s eggs, bacon, grits, and biscuits would always hold number one in my book. Ryan had never eaten a bagel before we met. He was a little boy in his food choices. I always did my best to improve his options.

  “Aunt Rhae?” says a small, sleepy voice. I turn to see little Miss Jillian stepping through the patio doorway.

  “Hey, sweet girl, what are you doing up?”

  “I smelled breakfast. I can have some?” Oh, that smile. She is the sweetest, freckle-faced little girl in a pink nightgown anywhere.

  “Of course. Come here.” I bring her up on my lap and let her have a drink of my coffee first. “Did you have good dreams, baby girl?” I ask as I sweep her little bangs to the side and tuck them behind her ear.

  “I did! It was so pretty. I love swimmin’ with my friends. I dreamed we were done swimmin’ and runnin’ through the field and playin’ on the tree swing.” No doubt, she dreamed of playing with Liz’s kids, Laurie and Cooper.

  “Who’s your favorite?”

  “Hmmm, that’s hard. I love them both. Laurie does my hair and teaches me to play ball. Coop does whatever I say. Him is so sweet to me.” Her face lights up every time she talks about Coop.

  “That’s okay. It’s good you don’t have a favorite. That means you love them both.” I snuggle her closer for a hug.

  “Ughhhh, Aunt Rhae! Can’t breathe!”

  “Sorry, sweet pea. I just love squeezing you! Why don’t you go in and get dressed? It will make Mommy so proud to see you being a big girl.”

  “Okay! Save me coffee!”

  She slides off my lap and runs to the patio door and right into Jess who is joining us for coffee. They exchange good mornings and hugs. Jillian goes in to dress while Jess sits down in the chair opposite me at the table.

  “Hey, kid. You’re up early. Sun isn’t even up yet. How you feeling today?”

  “I’m good. I guess,” I answer with a sigh.

  She stares into her cup as if the coffee is doing something extraordinary. Finally, she says, “So. Moving back to your house today. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Yeah. I think I can do it. I have to eventually. Plus, Red said she’ll come help me get my junk and stay with me to handle all of Ryan’s things.”

  “You don’t have to do anything right away. Just deal with being back in the house first. Everything else will get handled over time.”

  “I know.” I immediately start running down a mental list of all the work we need to do this week. What Jess doesn’t know is that it does have to be this week. Today if possible. I can’t move on until I finish addressing everything left on my list. I can’t let this drag out any longer.

  I’m going to need to make a run to Goodwill or get the AMVETS truck to come out for all of his clothes. Maybe I can keep some T-shirts and sell the CDs or give them away to friends. I could consign his guitars to the music store but keep the red acoustic. I know his Taylor is a family heirloom, so I need to call my mother-in-law and see what she wants to do with it. Then there is the matter of all the pictures. I’ll just box those up in the attic. I can’t look around our house and see him every day. I’ll just keep one out in a non-so-conspicuous place. That way I can see him when I need to without being overwhelmed.

  Closing my eyes while I run through my to-do list, I imagine Ryan’s sweet smile. He’s laughing at me, as he does—did—so often. He’s holding open his arms so I can sit between his legs on the beach. We could sit on that beach, cuddled up watching the ocean for hours. We were on vacation, last summer, at Daytona Beach. We would laugh and sing on the way to the beach from his cousin’s house. “A1A Beach Front Avenue...” Vanilla Ice was good for a chuckle as we would remember dancing like dorks and singing along at high school dances. It was always a good trip for us. We would stay with Clea and Stephen, Ryan’s cousin and his wife. Vacations were extra special because of Clea.

  She and I hit it off the moment we met. We graduated from school the same year. Only difference is she’s from Texas. I wish I had gone to school with her. Something about her sweet nature and keen sense of fashion would have balanced out my dorky band geekiness. I always felt like a toe sticking out of a holey sock at my high school, but she never made me feel like that. I remember when she and Stephen got married, Ryan and I had gone down to be attendants in the wedding. Clea and I got stuck making decorations and cleaning house while the boys went out for wings. Conveniently, it was one of those places where all the servers wore shorts that let their ass cheeks hang out. Never mind the tank tops stretched beyond capacity. Yep, they went there because the wings were so good and the beer was so cold. Right.

  Clea and I ended up at a diner, tanking coffee and eating horrible food. It was a riot. I love that girl to pieces. I know they were at the funeral, but I don’t remember much beyond my circle of sisters. I can’t believe I was such a horrible hostess. Hostess? Is that what I was? It was a funeral. What do you call a funeral hostess? I don’t remember if I hugged them. I don’t remember if I saw them at all. Chemical numbness was a necessary evil. I need to call her and take a trip to see her soon. Maybe that would give me a reason not to be in the house for a little while. She and Stephen have a new place so there wouldn’t be many Ryan memories there.

  “Rhae, honey, where’d you go over there?”

  “Sorry. I checked out again, didn’t I?”

  “You do that a lot lately. You okay?”

  “I was thinking about Ryan. We were on the beach at Daytona.”

  Timidly she asks, “Are you sure you are ready to go back home? You can stay as long as you need. Jilly loves having you here, and Connor doesn’t mind you cooking either.”

  Swallowing a lump in my throat, I manage to force a small smile for her, “I need to go. And I’m sure Connor can’t wait to get back in the bedroom with you. I mean, seriously. We’ve been sharing the bed. The man deserves to sleep in his bed and jump his wife whenever he wants.”

  Jess lets out a hearty laugh and shakes her head. “Fair enough.”

  We finish our coffee in relative silence. Jillian eventually makes an appearance, long enough to tell Jess she’s going to swing on her tire swing. I head upstairs to finish packing my meager collection of belongings. Little by little, my friends were bringing my things to Jess’s while I refused to go back home.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love our little place. Just two bedrooms, about one thousand square feet in total. It was in bad shape when we bought it. Got it for a steal because it had been abandoned and foreclosed on by the bank from the previous owners. We fixed it up together. It is a little white clapboard with a wide front porch. I always wanted the porch to wrap around, but Ryan hadn’t mastered general construction yet. He did his best to learn from my dad and Connor as we worked through the many house projects together. But he also knew the limits facing our motley crew of construction workers. He paid to have a tin roof installed when the traditional shingled roof failed us the same year we bought it. Ryan knew there was no proper way for our crew to install a new roof together. I love that tin roof. The sounds it makes when the rain hits it is like a lullaby for me.

  My favorite thing is taking care of the yard and flowerbeds. Ryan always complained that I should keep the beds simple, so we could easily maintain them. I had agreed to use perennials to keep from replanting every year. I think my favorite is the climbing confederate Jasmine we planted by the front steps. Ryan had built arbors for the unruly vines to climb on. They put on small white flowers every spring with a smell that keeps the entire house full of a sweet enchantment every time the front door is opened.

  Otherwise, we have an assortment of irises, day lilies, a planter
full of lavender, a few hostas in the shady places, and columbine in the sunny places. In the back, he let me have a folk-art mecca. All my friends insist I’m a crazy lady, but who wouldn’t want a claw foot tub full of colorful flowers? My yard tub has sweet potato vine, moss roses, fountain grass, and lantana. We also have our haint tree. Actually, most people call them bottle trees. Just an iron frame that we sunk in the ground, then began to fill the branches with bottles. Our friends contributed blue beer bottles.

  Other friends came over and drank wine with us, so we could put the bottle on the tree. I always wanted some red bottles, but Ryan said buying bottles was cheating. The people who thought the concept of the bottle tree was insane had to read the lore for themselves. I always laughed and told them, “Ain’t no evil spirit getting in my back door.” I don’t care how it sounds, but Southern Baptists are the ones who are easiest to offend with that. They just don’t understand that Mama raised us with a solid foundation in Christianity and a respect for the other belief systems. Yes, there is a touch of voodoo belief in the bottle tree, but not enough to cause any harm.

  Realization hits me, I miss my home. My plants keep me close to Mama, among other things. I really need to submerge myself in the memories held there. I think it will do me a world of good. I know it’s pushing harder than I should. I mean, everyone says give yourself time to grieve. It’s only been a week, but I’m not like other people. If I wallow in this misery any longer, I might get stuck.

  I call down to Jess, “I’m ready to go home.”

  a

  When I pull up to the driveway, I see Red’s car parked out front. Always on time, meaning early.

  “Here we are! Aren’t you glad to be home?” Red is always so enthusiastic. Although, compared to the others, I would rather have her with me than anyone else. If I cried, she would just let me without questions or opinions.