by L. M. Carr
I had my life planned out. Go to college. Perhaps marry John. Become a nurse. Have babies. Live happily ever after.
Then Alex Parker came along and swept me off my feet.
Thoughts about the first day we met flood my mind and I smile as my index finger rubs back and forth against my thumb. Then my mother’s words cut through the memory and my fingers still.
“We need to start thinking about arrangements.”
I close my eyes and exhale quietly.
I don’t want to make arrangements. I want to go home, pick fresh basil for the pot of sauce and make chicken parmesan with a side of angel hair pasta. My husband’s favorite.
“Can you call for me?”
My mom looks down sheepishly and says that she could, but she thinks I need to do it. “A way to begin closure,” she continues with a small voice.
I nod, knowing she’s right. Somehow, my mother is always right.
Struggling to sit up, I reach for the cup of tea and take a quick sip, but it’s hot, causing me to flinch when the liquid burns my lips and the tip of my tongue.
“Easy,” my mom reprimands as if I’m a child.
Needing something to replace the tremendous ache in my heart, I bring the mug back to my lips, and tip my head back, forcing down a huge gulp of the liquid, its heat burning my throat as it travels down to my stomach.
The tightening of my face and the clenching of my teeth do little to erase the fire in me.
My mother attempts to take the cup of tea away from me while tossing me a dirty look. “You’re an adult, Karrie. Act like one.”
I snatch it back and cock my arm back, hurling the cup and its contents across the room, the brown liquid splashing against the closet door.
“I’ll leave these right here for you.”
My mother, my best friend, turns and leaves the room. I know she’s not intentionally being callous; it’s just the way she is. She’s one tough lady who deals with things head on. I usually take after her but…not today.
Glancing at the printed papers, I swipe my hand across the nightstand, sending the toast and paper flying in every direction.
***
BY MID-AFTERNOON of the following day when the arrangements have been finalized, I’ve chosen the funeral home, selected a beautiful casket, spoken to the priest at our church and even picked out a suit for my dead husband to wear. I’ve taken care of every last detail even down to his socks and shoes. I don’t understand why he has to wear them, no one will see them anyway. I begged everyone at the hospital to search for his wedding band. I didn’t want to bury him with the ring; I wanted to keep it.
Three days later on a drizzly and humid morning, I scan the scores of people who’ve come to pay their last respects and say goodbye to my husband before he’s lowered into the ground. I’ve run out of tears as they simply won’t fall anymore. My eyes slide across from my friends and colleagues to the stay at home moms who came to visit as soon as they heard, offering to make food for me and finally to the people, mostly men, who knew a different Alex. Each of them wears a black T-shirt with Alex’s race team logo. I wish I could say I know their names, but I can’t. I’ve only ever met a handful of them at our wedding.
Racing was Alex’s thing, not mine. Although we’d met at the race track, I quickly lost interest when it dominated our time together and transformed him into another person.
Each one of them gave me another “last hug” after commenting that he was such a “great guy.” I nodded and agreed because he really was…in the beginning.
While their faces morph into masks of sorrow, my mind wonders about the petite blonde named Penny who stands solemnly amongst racing friends, waiting to pay her respects to my husband and then mostly likely return to the hospital to sit with Tyler. I hadn’t given him much thought; every thought preoccupied with my own grief and I was unable to see beyond it. But for a brief moment, I thought about him.
Tyler Strong.
I thought about the child growing in Penny’s womb who might never have the opportunity to meet his or her father. The child who might possibly be raised by another man in his or her father’s absence. I wonder what Penny would tell her child. How would she raise the baby on her own?
I close my eyes, silently and, quite selfishly I suppose, thank God for not giving me a child with Alex. As awful as that sounds, I wouldn’t want a constant reminder of him living and breathing while he lies still, forever dead, beneath the earth.
Taking small steps in a short black lace dress which seems more appropriate for a bar than a funeral, Penny walks over to me.
“Karrie,” she says with a sympathetic half smile.
“Penny,” I reply in greeting. “Thanks for coming today. I’m sure Alex would’ve been happy to know you made the trip up.”
I don’t know why I say that. This woman is one of the many women featured in the never-ending tales of Tyler’s love fests.
“I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry.” Penny leans in and embraces me, squeezing almost too hard. For God’s sake, I’ve only met her once at the clinic and we hardly spoke at all. It’s not like we know each other well or would even have anything in common.
Patting her back gently, I offer comfort even though I have very little left to give. After several moments, I release her and step back.
“How’s Tyler? Any change?”
She pulls a balled-up tissue from her purse and wipes her eyes then her nose.
“No, he’s the same. I hope he makes it.”
I pinch my lips and nod in agreement as she turns to walk in the opposite direction where a small crowd remains gathered.
Tyler Strong was John Doe number two and he remains in a coma. His brain is swollen, the cuts on his face stitched up from going head first through the windshield and his right leg is severely fractured. Apparently, he was the sole passenger seated next to my husband in the truck when Alex suddenly swerved and hit the tree.
My father and I drove by the scene of the accident and saw the skid marks on the black pavement. Not too far from where people had created a makeshift memorial, I had vomited once again.
I searched for the spot where the police say both men were ejected from the vehicle. Supposedly the imprint appeared as if only one person had lain there bloody and broken. Somehow and quite inexplicably, Tyler landed on top of Alex; it’s the only reason he is still breathing, even if it is with the assistance of a ventilator. The multitudes of doctors were skeptical to offer a prognosis, but the fact that he survived at all was a miracle.
At least that’s what Odessa told me they had said.
I haven’t been to the hospital to see him.
Why would I? Why would I become a hypocrite, sitting by his bed, reassuring him he’s going to be okay? Why would I suddenly change how I feel about him just because he’s on the verge of death? Why would I want to look at him and wish he died instead of Alex?
I can’t go there.
I can’t see him because…
I hate Tyler Strong.
“You ready to go?” my father asks with a strong and steady voice as he drapes his arm over my shoulder.
I clear my throat.
“Just another minute.”
With solemn steps, I walk over to the floral arrangement and remove a single red rose, bringing it to my nose as I inhale the sweet scent. My heart quickens and I smile in remembrance of the good times we had, yet I don’t cry. My lips offer a deliberate kiss on the soft petals before I set it down amongst the many others. My husband’s beautiful and exquisitely-crafted casket is covered in a blanket of red and white flowers.
I bow my head, pray quietly, and then whisper, hoping he can hear me.
“Thank you for all the red roses and for sweeping me off my feet. Thank you for making me feel sexy and loved. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for giving me a beautiful life. Thank you for the good memories, for the good times we shared. I love you, Alex Parker.” Despite who you became and what you did.
&nbs
p; When I open my eyes and find my father wiping his, my chin quivers and my heart sinks. Please Daddy, be strong for me.
After making sure my grandmother is safely secured in her car, my mother joins us. The fingers on each of my hands are laced and squeezed gently, reassuringly.
I slide into the open door of the black limousine, taking the proffered hand of the driver as I lower myself.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“Again Mrs. Parker, we at Chase Memorial are very sorry for your loss. Please accept our sincerest condolences.”
I look into his eyes and wonder how sincere he really is.
My parents sit alongside me in silence. I can feel the weight of their stare on my face.
I wipe the tears that found their way into my eyes and hiccup.
“Here.” My mother offers another tissue.
Nodding slowly, I wordlessly thank her.
The quiet engine comes to life as we begin our long procession, exiting us from the cemetery, up the winding small crescents of hills then down to the low valleys near an opulent mausoleum.
My eyes remained fixed as everything begins to blur and they close. I lean against the window and reminisce about the man I married, not the one I buried.
Six years earlier…
ALEXANDER PARKER AND I had a whirlwind love affair, one to rival any contemporary romance novel.
John, my on-again-off-again boyfriend of almost a year, was heading south to Tennessee, advancing his degree to become a physical therapist. He’d asked me to go with him, but I knew his heart wasn’t fully committed yet so I said no, arguing that I wanted to finish nursing school here. There was no point in uprooting myself and applying to a new program for one year.
It was a hot day in July, the temperatures soared into the high nineties, the heat index well above one hundred. Working as an EMT, John often picked up extra shifts a few cities away at the race track. Two or three medical units were often, I was told, on hand in case someone crashed their car or motorcycle.
I thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Grown men and some women, flying down a straight quarter-mile track at incredible speeds. I often joked that I was surprised more ambulances weren’t on hand.
I drove my little white mini-cooper there with the top down and the music on high. I didn’t care that John was working, I just wanted to be wherever he was. I’d spent the day in the blistering heat. The skin of my shoulders had become bright red, incensed by the sun. I’d forgotten my sunscreen and received a lecture from John. Even the straps of my cami which dug into my shoulders as the weight of my boobs descended by nature’s pull hurt to the touch. I kept adjusting my bra and wiping the beads of sweat from the small space between them.
John and I leaned against the chain link fence that separated the participants from the spectators. He stood behind me with his chin resting on my head, careful not to touch my sunburn, but I was hot and I wanted him to give me some space. The heat emanating from his body felt like a thermal blanket. All afternoon, we watched the cars drive up to the line as the announcer’s voice ripped through the stagnant summer air, calling out the opponents in the next race.
I watched with rapt attention as two beastly looking motorcycles moved forward, lining up on each side of the track with their engines revving loudly. The starting line was submerged in a plume of white smoke as the tires were spun and heated up.
The driver on the right side shook his head and motioned for assistance. A young man with light brown hair, clad in the same black leather racing suit, emerged from the crowd and walked right up to the rider, spoke to him and proceeded to inspect the motorcycle. He dropped to a squat and made adjustments before standing to his full height and stepping back. With a heavy pat to the rider’s back, they bantered back and forth and smiled until the rider snapped his visor down.
The young man’s attention was drawn upward toward the cheering crowd. Scanning the faces of people waiting for the race to begin, he looks for something or someone until his gaze comes down in the direction where I stood against the fence.
His light eyes narrowed when our eyes locked.
For a few seconds that seem to stretch on for days, we stared at one another.
There was something about the connection, something innately profound as he commanded my full attention.
With the slow and deliberate slide of his tongue, he moistened his lips. Absentmindedly, I mimicked the motion as his tanned cheek pulled back in a side smile. He looked away, denying me his eyes when he turned and walked away behind the line. My eyes fell to the letters on his upper back, stretching from shoulder to shoulder.
STRONG.
Just before disappearing into the crowd, the sexy racer glanced back.
My teeth clenched down on my bottom lip, suppressing my mouth from displaying a full smile.
***
AT LUNCH TIME, in a desperate search for shade, I walked briskly over to the concession stand. I needed a respite from the blistering sun and I was hungry. I told John I’d grab some food and cold drinks while he tended to an obese man who was suffering from heat exhaustion or dehydration.
The line moved so slowly and I was anxious to get a drink since I was beginning to feel light-headed from the sun’s brutal beating. I wasn’t sure if it was the smell of the black asphalt, the fumes from race fuel, the soaring temperatures or the sudden disappearance of Strong, but I wasn’t having a good time anymore. In fact, if it hadn’t been for my infatuation with my boyfriend, I would never have come to a place like this. Ever.
It was stupid and childish.
I thought these grown men were just big boys who might be just as content racing remote controlled cars instead. Why subject yourself to this craziness?
I ordered my food and moved down the line to where the sign indicated I should wait for pick up. The sharp and distinct sound of a slap turned my head as a woman giggled and leaned into the tall man walking beside her. The playful banter between them told me she didn’t mind the red spot that was sure to be across her backside. I rolled my eyes.
Who does that in public anyway?
Again my attention is drawn back to them when she moaned about needing him desperately. Thankful for the dark glasses now covering my eyes, I finally allowed myself to look at him. I didn’t really notice his face; my eyes were fixated on the black leather that covered his enormous body. My head, along with my gaze, traveled up and down from his neck to his black boots.
“What the hell are you looking at?”
My eyes snapped up and I flushed red. I quickly turned away, embarrassed at having been caught checking out her man. Well, I wasn’t really “checking him out,” I was merely making an observation of his attire. His “leathers” as I’d heard them called.
“What?” she huffs.
“Knock it off,” he hissed.
A full-blown pout mars her face.
“I hate all these bike bitches.”
Bike bitches? What the hell does that mean?
I heard him ask her what she wanted to eat, but she replied she was only hungry for him.
He told her to go wait in the trailer. Then he added, “Be wet and ready.”
I didn’t even want to imagine what he was going to do. What a jerk! A disgusting jerk!
“Sixty-nine. Number sixty-nine?”
I looked down at my receipt and realized they were calling my number just as my phone rang. Stepping up to the counter, I carefully balanced the cardboard boxes filled with curly fries and cheeseburgers as I swiped my phone to take the call. My dad had gotten the test results for his most recent MRI.
“Hi, Mom. What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my eyes down as I wedged the two fountain drinks between my forearm and chest before turning to leave.
Bam! I collided with a brick wall. Actually, that’s what it felt like. Who knew Mr. Leathers had such a hard body beneath the material.
My phone dropped to the ground, my mother’s voice fading away. The thin cotton of my shirt soaked
with pink lemonade, my boobs a sticky mess.
“Shit! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I mumbled as I bent down to retrieve my phone while setting the cup on the ground. I pushed my glasses to the top of my head away from my face. Mr. Leathers squatted, too, and reached for my phone. His fingers overlapped mine and I looked up, meeting his gaze. I could hear my mother calling my name, probably wondering why I’ve not said a word for the last ten seconds.
“Here you go.” He handed me the phone and smiled. Not just any smile, it was a heart-stopping, panty dropping yet incredibly charming smile and not the one he had given his girlfriend moments before.
“Thank you,” I replied, standing up, feeling slightly off balance.
He must’ve noticed because he reached out and placed gentle hands on my shoulders, steadying me. Even though my skin glowed red, I could feel his fingers burning an imprint onto my skin.
“Are you okay?” he asked huskily.
I blinked slowly and held my breath because for as hot and sweating as he must’ve been in that leather suit, he smelled divine.
He bent slightly at the waist so we were now at an even level. My eyes landed on his face and I thought for sure I was going to pass out. With dark, almost charcoal black eyes, he stared at me, searching deep into me.
Instantly, fiercely, undeniably, he drew me in.
I appraised him quickly. His messy hair, sprinkled with a hint of grey, was framed by a handsome tanned face. A straight nose, a square jaw and the light shadow of a sexy stubble made him gorgeous.
I blew out a slow breath and said I was fine, forcing myself to look away.
“I don’t believe you.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“Seriously, I’m fine. Thanks.” As much as I didn’t want to, I stepped back out of his reach and swiped my finger across the shattered screen, silencing my mother’s voice.
“Ouch!” I hissed as I turned my hand upward and noticed the smallest sliver of glass sticking out of my skin.
