by Gabriel Love
Internally, I wonder if this is a good idea. Do I really want to know whatever I’m going to find here?
Parker’s smug grin when he delivered Michael’s execution date enters my mind and I open the notebook. If nothing else, she’d want me to set things right.
Andrea’s handwriting leaps out at me, but I skip over the older entries and toward the end.
When I realize the notebook is only half filled, pain washes over me. I flip through empty page after empty page, wondering what kinds of things she’d have added all these years. Finally I see writing and flip to the beginning of the end.
My heart sinks when I see the last entry is addressed to me.
Ashes,
You know I love you more than anything.
Remember when we were thirteen and I asked if you ever felt sad? Well, I always have. Sad isn’t even the right word. I feel so empty, so lost, and hopeless.
Now, I feel like I’ve lost everything.
And Richard is...
well, I’m kind of using him.
He’s giving me the courage to end it. And I need that. I need a push. I feel horrible, and I have no idea how things will pan out.
After I’m gone, I need you to know that you couldn’t have saved me, but maybe I can save you. Get help. Please get help. Don’t do what I’m going to do. You need to find your place in this world. You’re a fighter, a leader, you’re the strongest person I know.
You’re the Phoenix, you’ll rise from the ashes.
And don’t blame Michael. He’s a really special guy, that one.
I actually hope you guys find each other at the right time. You both need to grow up and into yourselves a bit more, but I have faith it’ll happen.
I know Michael will blame himself too.
Don’t let him.
He was just a step in my path. What he gave me was beautiful. What we had was magic, and it showed me that I would never be happy. Even if I had him, if we got married, had a family, I’d still feel so empty. I felt that way with him, but I never had the heart to tell him.
Richard finally started telling me that I might as well kill myself.
And the thought is tempting. Too tempting.
I’m going to do it.
I’m sorry I’m so selfish.
Tell mom and dad it isn’t their fault.
This is me, my life, my choice.
And I’m tired of it.
It’s time for me to move onto something better.
I love you.
-Ana
P.s. Just in case, here’s something you couldn’t know; Michael Bannish has a birthmark below his belt. It’s shaped kind of like a bird in flight.
But if you two have found each other, Richard has a tattoo on the outside of his right hip that says, We live with the scars we choose.
While I hope everything ends well, I know that Michael has a way of showing up at the wrong time. And I don’t know what he’d do to Richard if he ever found out the truth.
Ana.
All this time since we lost her, everyone has called her Andrea.
But remembering her as Ana brings back a whole flood of memories, as does her handwriting between these pages.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
Agony roars through me like thunder, and I lower myself until I’m curled up on my side in a fetal position in the middle of her bed.
She’s gone.
She chose this.
And even as she was planning her end, she thought of me, of Michael, and even of Richard, the one who let her down and ultimately betrayed her.
A little knock at the door startles me, but I don’t move.
I can’t.
I can hardly breathe.
I hear the door squeak open. Still, I don’t move, instead I let misery consume me. Then dad pulls me into a hug. The journal falls beside us and he holds me as tight as he can. And I cling to him as tears stream down my face and pain explodes like fireworks inside me.
“I miss her so much,” I whisper around sobs.
“Me too, honey, me too.” Dad’s words are thick with tears and guilt overwhelms me.
“I’m sorry I don’t visit more.” I choke on the words, but dad is quick to say,
“Don’t be. it’s hard living with her ghost. With all the memories. And I’m sure it’s harder on you.”
And pain wracks me harder. He has no idea. Why can’t I just let him believe that she was stolen rather than that she willingly let go?
And don’t blame Michael. He’s a really special guy, that one.
The echo of her words in my mind reminds me of the task at hand and I bolt upright. “Dad, I need to make a phone call. I’ll be right back,” I say, grabbing the journal.
Outside rain is pelting the ground and I tuck the journal carefully under my shirt. In my mad dash to my car, I find myself wishing for the warmth of summer. Once behind the wheel, I stare at the house though the rain-soaked windshield. The distorted image of my childhood home is poignant and tears rise up to crowd my eyes.
I shove them back and remind myself that this is the only place I can be sure dad doesn’t overhear the devastating evidence I’m clutching to my heart.
Quickly, I dial Brian, needing to know what to do now.
Brian picks up halfway through the first ring. “What’s up?” he asks.
It hurts to breathe, but I push the words out in a rush and use my sleeve to wipe away a stray tear on my cheek. “I’ve got proof from Andrea that she was planning to kill herself.”
Brian wastes no time with questions. “Listen to me, you need to call his lawyer, the family lawyer. Don’t do anything, don’t see Bannish, don’t call anyone else until you talk to him, okay?”
“Okay,” I say and hang up. I look up the number and dial again, my heart pounding. A perky sounding girl answers.
“Thank you for calling the law offices of Thatcher and Gretzky, how may I assist you?”
“Yeah, I need to speak to Mr. Thatcher about Michael Bannish.” I say. She pauses and I sense there’s something there.
She confirms it when she speaks in a troubled voice. “I’ll put you through right away.”
“Thank you,” I say, but it’s too late, she’s already gone.
Seconds pass like hours.
“This is Glenn Thatcher, you have information regarding the Bannish case?” He doesn’t sound like he believes it.
“I have Andrea’s journal where she says she’s going to kill herself and that Richard was pushing her into it, and that Michael Bannish shouldn’t be blamed.” I feel out of breath and so very excited it’s all I can do not to squeal and bounce in the driver’s seat of my car parked in front of my childhood home. “Oh, and I have a friend who was getting a stay of execution too, and I can give you his number.”
“Okay, here’s the plan,” he begins, and I listen to every word like they’re directions on how I can live through a situation where death is more likely.
It’s a bright sunny day that shoves the bite of spring out of the air. In Parker’s office, I smile at the new Warden and think of how much things have changed.
He gives me a brisk handshake and I notice he’s not staring at my knee-length black skirt with the playful ruffle along the bottom or at the modest bit of cleavage this burgundy shirt shows.
“Ms. Sparks, it’s a pleasure,” he says warmly and I nod at his kind words.
“The pleasure is mine.” I hope he won’t keep me waiting. And he’s obviously aware of the fact, as he takes me downstairs quickly.
My heart skips as I make my way to the cell Michael has been stuck in for nearly five years now. Despite the changes here, his high-profile and controversial case created so many issues that the overcrowded prison’s general population was considered unsafe for him.
As much as I hate it, it was the right call. So far, all of Mr. Anderson’s changes have been good ones, if not easy ones. One thing I’m glad for is that it’s just him and I. No guards. No Kingston, who was re
lieved of his position at the same time as Parker.
It’s just two of us.
I stand before the door and clasp my hands behind my backside while Mr. Anderson opens it.
On the other side, Michael lifts his head, shock clear in those verdant eyes.
“You’re a free man, Mr. Bannish,” I say, a smile crossing my lips.
He doesn’t look like he believes it for a moment, then he’s on his feet. Before I can blink, he’s lifting me up in a tight hug. I laugh as he spins me, his joy obvious in his every motion.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“No prob-” My words end as his lips meet mine.
Shock roars through me and I freeze.
He ends the kiss and his happy smile fills my vision. Despite his joy I’m stuck in a place of stunned silence at the kiss.
Oblivious, he places me carefully on my feet and offers his hand to Mr. Anderson, who takes it and shakes vigorously while patting Michael’s shoulder.
“I’m glad to see you go,” Anderson says.
I want to point out the insult, but Michael is serious. “You’re just what this place needs.”
Anderson nods, but focuses on me.
Michael looks over at me too as Anderson speaks.
“She’s the one who made things happen.” He gives me a grin and I smile and bow my head in respect.
“I just did the right thing," I say softly. Anderson smiles. But Michael’s expression leaves me breathless. He’s studying me with an absolute adoration.
His words are light with awe. “She’s a wonderful woman.”
Anderson’s grin widens. “And smart as a whip. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Needing to end the playful banter, I thank Anderson and address Michael. “Are you ready to see the sun for the first time in almost five years?”
The sheer joy in his eyes leaves me giddy.
Every bit of the nearly year-long struggle was worth it for that look. Every agonizing second of testimony, all the mud-slinging, all the pain both our families endured, even the possibility of him having to stand charges for the murder of Richard all seem unimportant right now.
Right now there’s just us.
He’s free.
And I swear Ana is smiling down at us right now.
Some things never change.
Some wounds never heal.
And that’s what define us; not our good moments, but how we put back together the shattered parts of our pasts.
And part of his shattered past is waiting for him in the parking lot of the prison.
We walk out and instantly four powerful men wrap Michael up in bear hugs. There’s talking and laughter, love and excitement, and the sense that all is right in the world.
Feeling like I’m not a part of it all, I step back, but Babs pulls me into a surprise hug.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Behind her I see Simon, Michael’s dad. When the brothers pull apart father and son lock eyes before the older man pulls the younger one into a bone-crushing hug.
I hear apologies, but they’re all cut short by others and the tangled hum of words leave me feeling like I should inch off while Babs hugs the son she’s hardly seen in close to five years. Outside of the bloody court battle he’s been unable to visit.
And seeing him in court is not the same as talking to him, hugging him, enjoying him. As I sneak toward my car I hear Michael’s soft words behind me.
“You know you’re not getting away that easily, right?”
I turn and see him watching me while his family still congregate in a group behind him. His eyes focus on mine and I shrug.
“This should be family time,” I say. “They haven’t seen you in nearly five years. Now you can catch up.” But I’m not part of that. I don’t say it, of course, but I feel it. I’m just the catalyst that freed him.
“Come to dinner with us,” he asks.
I want to refuse, but something in him seems so on edge I recognize fear. I’m not sure why I agree, but I do. “Okay.”
He turns to the group. “Who’s hungry?”
Laughter rings out and Babs asks if he wants to eat in or out.
“In.” He’s set and her expression is all understanding. It’ll take time for him to heal, to mend from the damage of solitary, if he ever does. But he’s got a family that’ll support him through hell and back.
He turns back to me. “Can I ride with you?”
Shocked I’m quick to answer, “Of course.” We get into my car and I ask him if he wants to drive. Something I’ve never let anyone other than Ana and dad do. He gives me a grin and I take it as a yes. There’s no freedom quite like a hemi and open road. He’s long overdue to enjoy such pleasures.
We trade sides and I feel weird in the passenger seat. Not uncomfortable or scared, it’s just weird to see my car from this side. I’ve only not been in the drivers seat maybe three or four times.
On the ride we sink into silence and I watch the world fly by. When he speaks, it startles me. “I owe you my life.”
I shake my head. “You owe me nothing. I just did the right thing.” I keep my focus on the trees zooming by.
“But it cost you.” His quiet words hit a tender spot in my heart and I think about how pissed dad was. How he refused to talk to me for months after what I was doing became known. And I get it. Part of him was torn. without being able to blame someone we both ended up turning the blame inward.
And no one wants to feel responsible for the loss of a loved one.
Bit by bit we’re patching things up. Still, it’s a slow, painful process.
“The cost was more than worth the reward.” Nothing will ever convince me I should have let him die for something he didn’t do. “Are you worried Richard’s family will push to have you charged in his murder?”
“Well, yes, but Thatcher has already presented a Peremptory plea of autrefois acquit or autrefois convict, or simply bring up the pardon because I was tried on both cases at once.” He sounds confident and I nod, pleased with his French.
Autrefois is French for in the past. Basically Thatcher is pushing that Michael has been convicted and pardoned from the crime, and trying him again for a similar crime - Richard’s death but not Andrea’s - would constitute double jeopardy.
And he’s right. It’s brilliant.
“Well, you’re a free man now. What are your plans?” I ask.
“A promise from you,” He says, glancing over at me for a quick second before returning his attention to the road.
“Me?” I ask. I hadn’t considered becoming a fixture in his life. I assumed I’d get him out and we’d part ways.
“Yes, you. I want us to make a pact. I’m going to make up for lost time. I want you to do everything.” He sounds so serious I try to puzzle out what he means. As if realizing that Im hung up and confused he says, “I don’t want you to forget all the beauty in the world. Lets make sure you live and love every second.”
It sounds good.
“You’ve got a deal,” I say.
He rewards me with a quick grin as we race toward his family home with a trailing ribbon of loved ones on our tails.
Dinner is a happy, warm event. Even my mom and dad were invited. Dad agrees, mom declines, and I find myself trembling with nerves as I sit. Michael sits beside me and finds my hand. His warm fingers clutch mine and I sense his effort to reassure me.
Dad walks in and I stand up to hug him. He seems stiff at first, then pulls me close. “I love you, daddy,” I whisper. “Thank you for coming.”
He merely nods and finds a seat among the males and pretty girls populating the space around the table and in chairs. Babs, Simon, and Caleb bring food in and laughter and love fill the room to the bursting point.
All five boys are there, four with girlfriends in tow, then my father, me, Babs and Simon take up thirteen of the twenty seats available. Despite the chaos, I find myself feeling surrounded by love and positivity.
Wine pours, girls giggle, forks cl
ink on plates of exquisite-looking food.
“What did you make, Caleb?” Ethan asks, poking the food with a fork.
Caleb’s pride is evident, yet it’s well deserved. “Miso Salmon with Bulgur Salad”
A chorus of groans of pleasure sound as bites are taken. I try mine and find myself loving the complexity of the combined flavors. Despite the wonderful meal, I’m very aware of Michael beside me and dad across from me.
Then Simon speaks up, lifting his wine glass. “A toast to Ashley and her family who came forward to save my son.”
I glance over at dad, who pats his mouth with his napkin, throws it on the table and exits the room amidst whispers. I’m on my feet in an instant and chase him down. On the front steps of the house I try to talk to him.
“Dad, he was thanking us!”
Dad turns and I see tears shining in his eyes. “Do you ever feel like you did the wrong thing?” His words are louder than I’ve heard him since we began arguing during the trial.
I shake my head. “No, dad, I don’t,” I say in a calm voice.
“Well I do.” With that he turns away and my heart twists in my chest.
“I couldn’t live with myself if he died for something he didn’t do!” I shout it at him, not even caring who hears me.
Dad’s voice rises too. “That’s fine, but you seem to forget he killed that boy in cold blood!”
Anger sparks through me. “So I should condemn him for something I would do? Or that you would do? Dad, Richard put the gun in her fucking hand, told her to put it to her head and pull the trigger!”
“Don’t you dare curse at me,” Dad bellows. “You’re still my daughter and I don’t want you around a cold blooded killer.”
“Well, too bad I’m not a kid. You can’t stop me.” I hate the angry words as they leave my mouth and I run after dad as he turns to his car. “Dad, please,” I say, desperation in the words as he opens his car door.
He looks up at me from the driver’s seat, anger and hurt in his eyes. “You’ve made your choice,” he says before pulling the door shut and turning over the engine.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I make my way to my car, unable to face the family, or Michael. Opening the door, I slip into the driver’s seat and my head drops back onto the head rest as tears continue to plague me.
