by Ally Derby
The rest of my life … Oh, God, how much more can I take of this miserable existence? How much more hurt can I take? I am truly alone in this world now. Mom was my rock and my soft landing. I treated her like she was the bane of my existence when, in reality, she was the only reason my existence was tolerable.
More trembles, more sobs coursing through me, shaking me, taking my breath away, and tears, so many more tears.
“Shh, I swear, Hadley, it doesn’t seem like it now, but someday, it will not hurt so badly. Someday, sweet child, the pain will dull, and you will find the will to move forward.” The pain in Mrs. Keller’s voice is raw and real, as real as mine, while I feel her tears trickle on my cheek.
I hear a sigh from behind me, and I pull away and wipe my tears. As she holds my shoulders, I look into her gaze, and her light brown, tear-filled eyes mourn for me. I take a deep breath, but the tremors shake me so deeply that my body feels like it will give up.
“The nurse is going to give you something to help you sleep. Then Mr. Keller and I are going to walk you back to your room. You’re going to fall asleep, and tomorrow, you either stay there, or you come here with me. Do you understand, Hadley? I will not let you be alone. I promise.”
I swallow and nod.
The nurse comes in and hands me a small medicine cup with two pills and a cup of water. I swallow them down, and the nurse pushes my hair from my face, cups my cheek, and wipes away a tear.
“Okay, let’s get you back,” I hear Mr. Keller’s voice. “You’re going to be real sleepy soon, Hadley.”
I don’t remember much about the walk. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t walk the whole way. I’m certain I was carried.
~*~
For three days, I am allowed to stay in my room. For three days, I lie in bed, hugging the stuffed Yolo tightly, pretending it is my mom, wishing it was her, praying for the ability to fall asleep and wake up and this to have all been a nightmare. For three days, I am watched over by different guards or YDAs. For three days, Mrs. Keller comes in and makes sure I eat. For three days, I refuse to talk, bathe, or function. And for three days, it is allowed.
Day four without her is just as hard. Sadness is overtaken by guilt: guilt for not eating all my vegetables; guilt for pushing her away when she only wanted to talk; guilt for the Saturdays I stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep while I hid a book under the covers because the fictional characters I loved were more important than helping her with chores. Then there is the guilt for snickering at her quirkiness when it was truly kindness, guilt for being angry at her for my father’s issues and not being able to change him, guilt for every eye roll I gave her, every hard time I gave her. And most of all, there is guilt for the last time I saw her, for turning my back on her because I couldn’t fight.
Now I beg God to turn back time and promise that I would never, ever make those mistakes again, but he isn’t listening to me. I can’t blame him; I am an awful, hurtful, wretched person.
Mr. Keller comes in and hands me a skirt and sweater. “You need to shower in the morning, put these on, and I will be here to take you to Blue Valley for your mother’s service. I hope these are okay.”
I nod, then sadness returns and I cry. I cry all day.
The drive is torture, but maybe less so because Mr. and Mrs. Keller are the ones escorting me. We are in a white minivan with the OCFS logo on it. I am not even cuffed; she took them off when we got in the van.
When we pull up in front of the funeral home, Mr. Keller opens the door, and I get out, then run to my father, who is standing on the sidewalk next to my stepbrother. JJ hugs me, and then my father’s arms surround us both. And, yes, we cry.
No words are exchanged, because no words have been invented yet to describe the feeling of loss we are all dealing with. We walk inside, where I see an empty room with no flowers that leads to an empty room with a pine box. Nothing fancy like in the movies or on TV. It’s just a simple, light pine box.
I focus on the box, afraid to look up, afraid to see her, afraid her face will carry a frown, showing the sadness I have caused her, reminding me of how awful a daughter I was.
There is one large arrangement on each end of the pine box. One has a sash that says “Beloved Mother” in a pale yellow—her favorite color. The other has a sash that says “Beloved Wife” in the same color. Another arrangement lies over the casket, but I am afraid to look at it.
“She looks beautiful, Hads, just like Momma P always did.” JJ gives my hand a squeeze and sniffs. “Looks just like you. God, how could this happen to her?”
My father drops my hand and walks up to the casket, his big frame covering most of the view.
“Pammy, Hads is here, baby. She is here to say goodbye.” His voice cracks. “God, baby, it should have been me going to the damn store, not you. I should have been the one in that car, not you, Pammy, not you. I never deserved you, but she does. They both do.” He looks up as if into the heavens. “Should have taken me, dammit! She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t.” His body covers hers, and I hear him sobbing. Then I see her hair as he kisses her face and head while he cries even harder. “You deserved so much better than what I gave you, baby, so much better.”
JJ sniffs loudly, and I watch as he wipes his tears away.
“She was a damn saint. This piss ant town,” he mumbles. “Where the hell is everyone? They should be here, saying good-bye.” He looks at me, and my frown deepens. I feel it. “Oh, crap. Sorry, Hads. I forgot about—well, your issues.”
“My issues … She doesn’t deserve this: no one showing up to say good-bye,” I whisper.
“No, sis, it’s the damn town.” He throws his arm around me, which is something new.
Aside from the hug outside and this moment, JJ and I have never been affectionate siblings. Of course, I suppose, in times like this, that’s what happens, right? We cling on to anything we can.
Dad is still clinging to Mom, and the scariness of seeing my lifeless mother lessens, as the need to comfort him becomes stronger. After all, the fear of him going into a deeper and darker place terrifies me, overpowering anything else. He is all I have left. I know that, if he wasn’t here, in his state or otherwise, I would be truly alone.
JJ still has his arm around me as we walk slowly toward the casket that holds the body of the most important person in the entire world: Pamela Asher, my mother.
When I reach out and touch my father’s back, he stands up, his back to me, and wipes away his tears. He then steps aside, and I see her for the first time.
Her hair is perfect, and there is a barrette holding her long bangs back from her face. She doesn’t look like Mom, though. This person in the box lined with yellow satin, pillow-looking material doesn’t look like my mother, but I know it is. Her lips are fuller and waxy with a touch of red color on them. She looks puffy. Mom isn’t puffy.
I wish I could un-see her, this body that I know is hers yet can’t accept as being so. I wish the last time I saw her, I hadn’t turned my back on her. This is awful.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I say, closing my eyes. “I love you.”
Dad’s arms now circle JJ and me as he cries. “She knows, Hads. She knows her sweet girl would never want her to hurt. She loved you so much, still does. She only wants what’s best for you and for you to be happy.”
I want to ask him how he knows what she knows when, for the past few years, he has been asleep, but I know it’s not right. It isn’t right at all to make him feel the guilt I feel.
“Excuse me please.” He lets go and walks away.
JJ also lets go and walks away, leaving me by myself to stare at her, this woman who is supposed to be my mom.
I can’t look at her anymore, but I can’t walk away.
I sink down to the floor and kneel in front of the casket. It may not be the proper thing to do at a funeral, or whatever this is, but no one else is here, and even if they were, I am not sure I would care one bit.
The body, the one
that is supposed to be hers, looks at peace as I look away from the pine box. Then I think of Seanna and the comfort and clarity she seemed to gain when she prayed and the peace she seemed to hold after.
God, I think or pray or maybe just say in my head, Pamela Asher deserves peace, and if You can’t give her back to me, please give her that. Please let her know I love her, that I am so sorry I was so horrible to her when I saw her last, and that I am so sorry for all the trouble I have caused. I love her, God. I need her here more than You need her there, and I think it’s selfish of You…” I stop the thought. I don’t want to make Him angry, but He is all knowing. He knows I am angry, so angry at Him for taking her when I needed her the most. I would always need her, always.
More tears come, and the trembling, silent sobs are back. I feel a hand on my shoulder, a sign of comfort, I suppose. I know Dad needs to comfort me because it makes him feel stronger, and I allow it, even though it is of no comfort at all. Nothing is right now.
While I stay next to the casket. I can’t touch her, hug her, or kiss her like Dad did, but I can’t make myself leave this spot. I want to stay with her forever.
God, it hurts. It hurt so badly.
I look beside me and see two sets of feet, one in black heels, another in black flats. I look up, ready to stand, when Bee and Skylar kneel down beside me.
My body shakes as the emotions burst out. I cover my face and feel them hugging me, crying with me, and it makes me cry harder.
“We’re so sorry, Hadley,” Bee whispers. “We don’t know what else to say.”
I open my mouth to thank her, but nothing comes out. They hug me again, and then they just stay beside me.
“Thank you for coming,” I hear my father mutter quietly.
“Of course,” a female voice says. “Beatrice needed to be here to show Hadley some support.”
It’s Bee’s mother.
When I can speak, I thank them for coming, knowing they deserve the thanks, yet wishing no one could see me, not now, maybe not ever. When they leave, Dad stands beside me, his hand on the top of my head.
“Thank you for coming,” I hear him say softly.
My eyes shift left, and I see black leather loafers. Black, I hate black.
“Of course”. His voice is familiar. I know it immediately, and it makes me even sadder.
My chest grows heavier as I close my eyes.
He walks next to me and squats down, sighing. “I’m sorry.”
I nod, swallow back tears, and keep my eyes closed. “Can’t …” talk, I think, but the words don’t find their way from my thoughts to his ears.
I watch as he kneels down and sits back on his heels. “I understand.”
I feel my chin tremble, and I shake my head, then clear my throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I couldn’t stop myself, Hadley,” he whispers close to my ear. “I hate these things more than I can even put into words, but you need to know you have people who stand by you, even if they may have messed up by not supporting you when you needed it the most back then. But, right now, you need it more than ever. She loves you; she knows you love her; and as hard as it was to breathe when she felt helpless in getting you the hell out of there, you need to take comfort in knowing she can breathe now. She knows you are going to come out of this. As helpless as you feel right now, she is up in Heaven, filled with air and the knowledge that you will be fine.”
I try to respond, but again, words fail me.
His arm wraps around my shoulders, and then he pulls my head to his shoulder. “Close your eyes and breathe, Hads. I promise you will be okay. I—” He stops and clears his throat, “I promise.”
I allow myself to take comfort in his words to the left of me. I need them right now. I allow myself to take comfort in my father’s hand on my shoulder to the right. I need it just as badly. I take a sick comfort in my mother’s body in front of me, even though I know it isn’t her. Oh God, how I wish she was here.
“She is with you every day. At your lowest moments, you’ll remember something she said that was encouraging once, and you will hang onto those words like a lifeline. Then they will get you through until someone you can trust comes along and wants you to be happy just as badly as she does. You will forever be loved by her, and she will forever be a part of you. I know it. I believe it. I live it, too. You’ll never be alone, not ever again.”
chapter sixteen
Six months later …
It’s been six months that she has been gone, and I have remained in existence. My father came to see me twice, and both times, we just sat and cried. Now, it is Mr. Preston once a month with updates.
Although I talk to Dad once a week, he is messed up most of the time. When he isn’t, I know he is in pain, either physically from withdrawal or emotionally from the hell we call life. He works four days on, three off, ten hour shifts, so the days of our phone calls are hit and miss. Mrs. Keller allows me to deviate from the assigned days. She also has me in her office doing filing, stamping, or licking envelopes. A privilege of being an honors resident without incident, she told the group of girls who snicker at me, led by Lucifer. I have no idea what her issue with me is, but it’s getting old, fast.
I am honoring my mother’s wishes. It’s hard as hell, but I am doing it. I am waiting for a trial.
I get letters from Bee, always inspirational, never answered. I just can’t. It’s not to hurt her; it’s to protect her, to push her away from the contagious and deadly disease that is Hadley Asher.
Each day is the same: day in and day out, I move through thoughtlessly, following the schedule. Nights are hell, though. Worse than hell. I rarely sleep, but when I do, I sometimes wake screaming, sometimes crying, sometimes unable to calm myself down. Only when it’s a hopeless cause do I allow myself to think of the sky, the ocean, and Pax’s eyes. It feels selfish to do that—to allow myself comfort—but sometimes, there is nothing else I can do.
Every day, I realize picking up the shattered pieces of me is impractical. There is no way I could ever put myself back together, not if I want to feel okay with it. Peace is a luxury I don’t deserve.
I look up at the cracked ceiling as I lie in bed.
“Welcome to honors, Luciana,” I hear and am shocked. I know I am hearing things. There’s no way she had a prayer of coming in here.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed, stand up, and walk to the door. Sure enough, she is here.
Great, just great, I think.
It’s group time, and those of us who hole up in their rooms—well, me—get called out to attend. I sit at the corner of the u-shaped, group slash lounge area and tuck my legs underneath me. Then I glance up to see Mrs. Keller smiling softly at me, and I wonder why she is here.
“Good evening, ladies,” Mrs. Keller says, stepping into the U. “Today is a good day. Luciana has taken the steps needed to get her here to honors. She is looking at leaving here in thirty days and going home.”
Everyone congratulates Luciana except me. I only look at her, and of course, she notices and scowls at me.
“We,” Mrs. Keller says, apparently seeing our exchange, “also have some other news. I received a call from a lawyer today. One of our honors students will be leaving here tomorrow and going to live with a foster family until all the legal…” She pauses when I look at her, noticing tears filling her eyes. “I’m going to get emotional. Sorry, everyone.” She smiles at me. “Hadley Asher, the charges against you are being dropped.”
I blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears.
“You are only steps away from going home.”
Everyone congratulates me, too.
I should feel happy. I should, but I don’t. I am afraid. I am undeserving. I am unworthy of being anything, regardless.
~*~
While I sit in Mrs. Keller’s office, waiting for a phone call from my lawyer and father, she is quiet. When the phone rings, she hits a button, putting it on speaker.
“Mr. Preston, Hadle
y is here.”
“Hello, Hadley. I have your father here.”
“Hi, Dad,” I say flatly.
“Hey, Hads.” There is a sadness in his voice. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m not, really,” I say honestly.
“Surreal?” Mrs. Keller asks.
“Numb,” I reply.
“Well, this is real, and you should be feeling happy, Hadley.” Mr. Preston’s voice carries a celebratory tone. “You are a free young lady. The charges have been dropped. You are no longer being wrongly accused, and in no time, you will be home.”
“Right,” I say. “When? When can I come home?”
“Well, let’s get you through being away for the first semester of your junior year and concentrate on Christmas time. Sound fair?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Hads,” my dad says. “I’m willing to sell the house, get it fixed up, and we can go wherever you want. If you wanna stay here, we can. I promise, whatever you want. It’s all tails, okay?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“All right, first thing tomorrow morning, you’ll be going to Marathon to live with the Willow family. Small town. They own a farm. Really nice people. They have a few foster kids living there, and it’s close enough so you and your father can have a couple weekend visits a month. Sound good?”
No. Nothing sounds good, I think. “Sure.”
“Okay. Well, we will have you stay there for a couple weeks and then get a visit scheduled. You can call your father anytime, understand?”
“Yes,” I answer, as I feel a storm of emotions building down deep.
“Hads,” Dad sighs. “That feeling, I have it, too. I’m not gonna sugar coat anything. I am terrified that I am never gonna be able to make these past fifteen months seem worth it, make you feel there was a damn lesson learned, or spin it so it is at least something you can push away someday. It hurts. We’ve lost the foundation that held us up and the glue that kept us together, but we have each other, Hads. We have that, and I’ll make sure I get better at being more like her for you.”
