by Beth Flynn
He washed his sandwich down with a soda and stared around the small efficiency. It was nicely furnished and clean. He stifled a yawn and realized he was bored stiff. The urge to ride summoned him. But he’d left his bike in that warehouse, and he wasn’t going to buy one or steal one off the street for a joyride. Well, maybe he could borrow a bike for just a few hours. Fuck. Staying out of trouble might be harder than he thought.
He crushed the empty soda can and tossed it at the garbage bin in the tiny kitchen. It missed and resounded with a loud ping on the tile. He got up to retrieve it and noticed the canvas bag he’d kept in one of his saddlebags on the motorcycle. He remembered hastily throwing it in the car when he’d emptied his bike.
It was the bag he’d stowed Moe’s journal in. He’d never gotten around to reading it. He hadn’t wanted to. A wave of nostalgia hit him, and he weighed his options.
Steal a bike for a couple of hours and chance getting caught, or open up that book and take a glimpse into Moe’s life? He’d not let himself think about Moe too much. He knew it was because when he did think about Moe, it was only with regret. Regret was something he didn’t like to face. Something he didn’t like to admit he felt. People like him didn’t feel regret. They accepted their choices and moved on.
Why wasn’t he moving on?
“Okay, Moe,” he said out loud. “What do you want to say to me?”
He was certain it was a big “fuck you, Grizz.” But he’d avoided her long enough.
He took the journal out of his bag and sat back down on the couch. He had time to read a couple of pages.
**********
Three days later, he sat in a car and watched through dark windows as cars pulled into the cemetery and people approached what would be Tommy’s final resting place. Ginny was having him buried next to Delia and Vince. Grizz had “borrowed” a nondescript four-door sedan with heavily tinted windows to be able to attend the funeral. With the window slightly cracked, he could hear snippets of conversations as people made their way through the throng of cars starting to get backed up.
Others arrived on motorcycles, the loud pipes breaking the silence and symbolic of the stark contrast of the lifestyles of those who came to show their respect. He watched as the chairs that had been set out started to fill up. He couldn’t miss the unmistakable outline of Anthony Bear. His head and shoulders rose above the rest. Christy sat on his left, and a handsome young man, who seemed to favor Christy, sat on his right. Didn’t Bear have two boys? It was then that Grizz’s focus was drawn to the right, and he had to squint to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. A young man, whose resemblance to Anthony was uncanny, was leaned up against a tree some distance from the others. His arms were crossed as he balanced on one foot, the other perched behind him against the large trunk. This was definitely one of Anthony’s boys, even though he wasn’t as big as Anthony—yet. Grizz could tell by his posture that he exuded the same brooding countenance as his father.
He noticed a hearse and a black limousine, followed by a few cars, pulled up on a side access road. He recognized Carter and Bill, as well as Sarah Jo and her husband, whose name he couldn’t remember and wasn’t even sure if he’d ever known it. They walked toward the big, black vehicle and guided Ginny, Mimi, and Jason out of the car and to the folding chairs.
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Seeing her like this caught him off-guard. She walked stoically toward the designated area, clutching the arms of both her children, yet obviously carrying the burden of so much pain. At one point, she stopped and seemed to bring them closer to her. After a brief moment, she regained her composure and kept walking. Mimi and Jason. Mimi, an almost exact carbon copy of her mother at that age. Jason, the spitting image of a ten-year-old Tommy.
Grizz felt a lump forming in his throat and a hard wave of nausea. He felt as out-of-place as a football player in a ballet recital. An imposter. He was glimpsing a world he knew nothing about. One he tried to pretend existed for him and Ginny during their ten-year marriage, but one he hadn’t experienced. Raising a family.
It was Tommy who’d been a real husband to her and a real father to the children. Tommy, who’d wiped butts and noses. Tommy, who’d gone to school recitals and met with teachers. Tommy, who’d purposely kept his family as far away as possible from anything criminal or illegal.
What had he done? He told Ginny he’d quit that lifestyle when they had a baby. He didn’t get away from that life for her. He’d put a condition on it.
He was a prick.
He hadn’t realized how far his thoughts had wandered when a voice carried on the soft breeze and found its way through the tiny opening of the car window. It was Sarah Jo. She was addressing the mourners. He listened with half an ear, his heart in his throat.
“Solomon told us in the Book of Ecclesiastes that there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”
Sarah Jo then went on to share some stories about knowing Tommy as a child. Grizz stopped paying too much attention, instead gazing at Ginny, at her long hair and her beautiful face. He heard some mild chuckles as Sarah Jo recited a happy memory.
“And you know what I told him when he fell in that puddle? I told him he was getting his just desserts for squirting me down with the hose. It was tit for...” She paused as if she was overcome with emotion. She cleared her throat and started to tell another story.
Another round of quiet chuckles followed, but Grizz barely heard them. He stared out the windshield and was brought back from his thoughts when he sensed movement. The funeral was over. People were leaving.
He was parked behind two cars and knew he’d be expected to move his car when they pulled away. He couldn’t help but notice when a handsome man, who hadn’t been part of the group that showed up with Ginny, gently took her by the elbow and started walking her back toward the limo. There was something in the man’s posture that raised an alarm. The man was followed by two boys who walked with Jason.
Grizz didn’t know who the guy was, but he sensed a threat and instantly didn’t like him.
He heard a soft beep from behind him, realized it was time to leave. After starting the car, he shifted into drive and pressed on the gas. Something was tickling his cheek. Had a bug flown in through the cracked window? He went to wipe his face and pulled his hand back. His fingers were wet. He glanced at his hand, his first instinct to see if it was blood.
He was surprised when he realized it wasn’t blood at all.
It was tears.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ginny
2001, Fort Lauderdale
I thought I knew what grief was. I’d felt it many times in the past. I remember the crushing weight of Moe’s suicide and the devastation of Grizz’s arrest, incarceration, and what I believed to be his execution. I’d even experienced a profound sense of loss after learning I had a twin sister who’d died in infancy.
None of it compared to what I felt with Tommy’s death. The pain was thick, heavy, and had found a home in the middle of my chest.
I wasn’t grieving just for myself this time, but for my children, as well. The pain of knowing Tommy wouldn’t be there for the milestones in Mimi and Jason’s lives was almost more than I could bear.
I remembered clinging tightly to my children as we were escorted by our friends from the limousine to the graveside service. I grabbed them tighter when I felt Grizz’s presence. I knew he was there and resolved myself to push him as far away from my
thoughts as possible. I was angry about everything, and for whatever reason, I was channeling that anger at Grizz.
I’d had no time alone with Carter, but I was certain she’d signaled him and he was out there, waiting for me to come to him. I didn’t know how or when it was going to be arranged, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. It was a moot point anyway. As far as I was concerned, he could just go back to wherever it was he’d come from, and I made sure Carter knew I meant it when she discreetly asked me at the hospital the day Tommy was shot if I thought I was in any danger.
The next two weeks were a blur as we buried our grief beneath the love and concern we’d received from all the people who’d reached out to provide comfort. I had no choice but to stay busy with the business and legal aspects of Tommy’s death. I kept my children with me as much as possible and somewhat reluctantly let them spend time with friends. I knew it was good for them, and I was actually grateful and relieved when they returned to some activities that would help them forget, however briefly, that their father was gone.
Alec had taken Jason and his sons to a professional hockey game. Christy had taken Mimi to the mall. Christy and Anthony’s little girl, Daisy, needed a new dress, and she thought Mimi would enjoy the shopping trip.
I now had the house to myself. The children were gone. The visits from friends had slowly trickled off. People went back to their normal lives and schedules.
But I couldn’t see anything normal or routine in my future. It hurt too much to think about Tommy not being a part of it. The almost-silence weighed heavier than any noise I’d ever known. The ticking of the grandfather clock, the muffled sound of ice being dumped in the freezer bin, the quiet hum of the dryer. I felt a ridiculous sense of betrayal by the appliances in our home. How could they still function when I couldn’t? Where were they getting their strength from? An electrical socket? I wish it were that simple for human beings. Plug yourself into the wall and just keep going.
It suddenly occurred to me I had nothing to do. The house was clean, and there was enough food in the refrigerator and freezer to feed us for a month. I would go to the one place where I knew I would find solace. My Bible.
I was getting ready to head upstairs to retrieve it from my nightstand when I was distracted by the sound of the mail truck. I walked to the front window and watched as it pulled up to our mailbox. I realized that I was eager to see if there were any cards or letters of sympathy. I found comfort in knowing someone had taken the time to write and mail a card with their condolences.
Slowly I walked back to the house, my head down as I sorted through the different envelopes. Seeing the electric bill mixed in with the other mail angered me. Doesn’t anybody realize my husband is dead? Don’t the people at the electric company know my life will never be the same? How dare they send me a bill in the middle of all this? How dare they expect me to carry on with my life as if everything is okay? It’ll never be okay.
There was an official looking envelope from the State of Florida. My lips set into a thin line. Probably his death certificate.
I went inside, absently shutting the door behind me. I laid the mail on the table by the front door and opened up the envelope with the official state seal.
When I realized what I was looking at, I sank to the floor and wept uncontrollably. The ice-cold tile in our foyer felt good against my fevered skin.
It wasn’t Tommy’s death certificate. It was the official birth certificates he told me he’d have made for us the day I cleaned out Carter’s garage. We’d always used the doctored ones we’d been given. These were the real deal. I was officially and legally Guinevere Love Lemon, and he was officially and legally Thomas James Dillon.
Except now, it no longer mattered. Because he was gone.
The sobs finally subsided, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up. I lay there for I don’t know how long, thoughts of having to go through Tommy’s personal things overwhelming me. How was I going to do this? I’d been faced with this task twice in the past. The first time was when Moe died, and the second time after Grizz was arrested. Both times I’d run from my obligation and let someone else handle it. I wouldn’t do that this time.
I found the strength from an unbelievably wonderful and unexpected source: Mimi.
After Christy brought Mimi home that day, we sat in the den and talked about her father.
“Mom, can I ask you something?” she whispered.
“Of course, you can, honey,” I sipped on the herbal tea I’d made the both of us.
“I don’t know what’s considered etiquette or proper. I mean, it hasn’t been that long. But it must be hard for you going into your room every night. Seeing his things like he left them that morning.”
She was right. I hadn’t touched a thing. I refused to throw away the crumpled up Jolly Rancher wrappers he left all over the house. I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up his toothbrush where he’d left it on the side of the sink and place it back in the holder where it belonged. I fell asleep every night clutching his pillow to my chest and inhaling his scent. I was petrified that I’d forget what he smelled like. Petrified that I wouldn’t remember his voice, the feeling of his caress, the softness of his lips on mine or the sense of oneness when we made love.
“Yes, it, it—” I said, a frog in my throat. “It’s torture.”
“Let me help you,” she said. “Not one big project, but maybe a little bit at a time. Let me help you make decisions. Let me help you decide what’s okay to let go and what you need to keep. Let me laugh with you, because we know you’ll remember some funny times with him.”
Before I could answer her, she said, “And let me cry with you, because I know that if my heart is breaking, yours must be shattered in a million tiny pieces.”
I gulped back the tears that were threatening and nodded. My daughter was growing up.
**********
It wasn’t easy, but I have to say that if I didn’t have Mimi, I don’t know that I could’ve gotten through it. Mimi put herself in charge of organizing Tommy’s things for donation. She came home one day from school carrying two cardboard boxes that she’d picked up somewhere along the way.
“The boy’s shelter where Dad volunteered could really use toiletries, Mom. They don’t even mind if they’re slightly used.”
A few days later she told me she’d found a nonprofit organization that helped rehabilitated drug addicts find jobs, and they needed decent clothes to wear for their interviews. Little by little, I inched my way toward healing as I told myself Tommy’s things wouldn’t be thrown away. They would serve the needs of someone less fortunate.
It still wasn’t easy. I’d gone through his suits and pants pockets before letting Mimi take them, and I found some small items that tore my heart apart all over again. The hardest one was a small to-do list in the pocket of a blazer I hadn’t seen Tommy wear in years. I remembered when he’d written it. We were out having dinner, and I’d excused myself to use the restroom. When I returned, he was writing a note to himself.
“What are you writing?” I asked as I sat down and picked up my napkin to put it back on my lap.
“I have to remember some things for work tomorrow,” he’d said without looking up.
I now read what he wrote that night. His to-do list for the following day.
Have Eileen set up call with the Dakota people.
Look at Brody’s file. Time for a raise?
Pull Scott specs for new client. Similar design to what they want.
Tell Ginny how beautiful she looked last night.
Mimi had told me that day in the den that she knew my heart must’ve been shattered into a million pieces. She was wrong.
Sitting on the bed, reading the handwritten note, remembering that he did tell me the next day how beautiful I looked that night at dinner, I was certain I would never find my way back from the grief. There was no heart still beating in my chest. I was empty. Void.
There was nothing left.
Chapter
Forty
Ginny
2001, Fort Lauderdale
Of course, I’d been wrong. The heart, I learned, was a resilient little muscle that wouldn’t give up, even when I wanted to. Its steady beat was in total opposition to my emotional ups and downs, though more downs than ups in those weeks following Tommy’s death.
I thanked the Lord every day for the gift of His presence and my children. In Him and in them, I found my strength to get up every morning.
Alec spent one afternoon with me as we went through Tommy’s home office. He quietly excused himself as I sat on the leather couch and cried into the two homemade potholders Tommy had put back in his desk. Alec knew he was intruding on a personal moment, and he returned fifteen minutes later with two mugs of coffee and a cold washcloth for me to wipe my face.
He sat next to me and shared stories from the office. Stories I’d never heard. We could hear the three boys playing in Jason’s room above us. Alec did the same thing when it came time to clean out Tommy’s personal things from Dillon & Davis Architects. He was a strong and steady friend, and I realized I’d started to rely on him not only for his friendship, but for Jason, as well. Alec and his boys were so good to Jason who, like me, would break down without warning.
I don’t know how much time had passed when Carter showed up on my doorstep one day.
“Let’s walk while it’s still nice weather. I heard we’re going to have an unusually hot spring,” she told me, offering her arm.
I knew what this was about, and I wasn’t ready to face it.
“No. I don’t feel like walking,” I said, my voice sour. “I know what you want. You want to tell me he’s back, and he’s been waiting for me. So I guess he’s waited long enough, and he sent you over here with orders for me to meet him.”
“Uh, no, that’s not why I’m here at all, and before you say any more, remember—you’re the one who summoned him. You wore the bandana.”
