He looks back out the window. She watches his chiseled profile with bated breath. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand. “We had a…” He pauses again, his eyes darting to hers, his expression pained. “A son,” he whispers before swallowing roughly. Clearing his throat, he stares outside for a long moment. “He… he was born three days before Christmas. He was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. That was the best day of my damn life,” he says in a wistful voice. He clears his throat and coughs a little. He stares out the window for the longest time. “We named him Mitchell Evan Lawson.” He takes in a deep breath. “But we nicknamed him Mel… his initials. He was everything to me, everything.”
He turns his head and looks at her with such sincerity on his face that it makes her chest ache. The pain she sees etched across his face makes her heart pick up speed as a question suddenly crosses her mind: why does he keep saying ‘was’? Was the best thing? Was everything?
Taking in a heavy breath, he looks back out the window again. He stares, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts, for what seems like an eternity to Myra. Finally, he digs into his flannel shirt pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, slipping one between his lips. Myra knows Susie would kill him if he smoked in her house so she quietly clears her throat to try to get his attention. He looks up at her, shock crossing his features. “Shit. Bad habit,” he mutters before tucking the cigarette back into his pocket.
He stretches, rubbing his lower back. “Fuck, this is hard,” he mumbles as he closes his eyes, a grimace on his face. Taking in a deep breath, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead again. “Jesus, it’s hot in here,” he says as he slips off his flannel shirt and tosses it on the couch.
Myra can clearly see Dylan’s struggle. She desperately wishes there was something she could do to help him. She wants to say something but her throat feels so tight she’s not sure she can even speak. She quickly clears her throat. “Take your time,” she says quietly.
His eyes lock with hers, his expression grave. He nods once before looking back out the window. He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. Her heart feels like it’s in her throat as she watches his profile. After what seems like hours to Myra, he finally starts talking, his eyes still looking out the window. “One night, we went out to hang with some friends. We’d been there before so it wasn’t like it was anything new. They’d lived there about a year. Mel was three at the time; their kids were older. We always made sure to tell everyone to keep the back door locked so Mel couldn’t get out.
“We were in the dining room, playing cards. Sabrina and I usually took turns watching Mel. But he was getting older and more independent so we let him go down in the basement with the other kids to play. Every once in a while one of us would get up to go check on him. And every time, he was fine.”
Dylan begins pacing back and forth across the family room again, running a hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. Myra swallows hard, her heart pounding as she watches him.
Taking in a deep breath, he blows it out. “I’d had a couple of beers, but I wasn’t drunk. Sabrina asked me to go check on him and I…” He stops talking, cracking his knuckles and taking in some deep, heavy breaths. “I gave her shit about it. I… I argued with her. Told her it was her turn. I was just messing with her. She argued back. She said something about how she didn’t want to get up because she was afraid she’d fuck up her luck. She was getting some good cards. We joked with each other a bit. I told her he was fine. I told her we could wait a little while longer.”
He stretches his back again and rubs his hand over his jaw. “About fifteen minutes or so passed. I had to take a piss so I got up. I told her I’d look in on him. After I took a leak, I headed downstairs. I didn’t see him anywhere. I thought maybe he was hiding or some shit. I asked the kids where he was and they didn’t know. They’d been playing video games and weren’t paying attention. I started searching… I searched the entire basement. I…” He pauses and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His eyes find Myra’s. “I couldn’t find him,” he whispers. Myra’s hands fly to her mouth, her stomach clenching; she can barely swallow around the massive lump in her throat.
Dylan walks back over to the sliding glass doors again and looks out the window. “I bolted upstairs and I shouted that I couldn’t find him. Everyone started searching. We covered the entire house fast, but… we couldn’t find him.”
He rubs his eyes again and runs a hand through his hair. “I ran back into the kitchen and that’s when I… I saw the back door. It was… open.” He pulls in a ragged breath. “I can’t describe the fucking terror I felt when I saw that door. I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. I threw it open and I ran… I ran as fast as I could. It was dark. I couldn’t see shit but I just kept running. My heart… it was pounding so damn hard. They had a pond; in their back yard. It wasn’t fenced. They had an invisible fence for their dog. He was out there. That damn dog. He kept barking… over and over. I remember thinking it was so strange; that dog never barked.”
Dylan looks out the window again for a moment. He clears his throat. “I ran… to the pond. There was a full moon that night. I could see… the… the… water.” His voice cracks, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye and traveling down his cheek to the edge of his jaw.
“Oh, no… No, no, please no,” Myra whispers as a wave of terror overtakes her and tears spring to her eyes. Jumping up, she runs to Dylan and grabs his hand in both of hers, holding it tightly to her chest. Her stomach tightens with a sickening fear. He quickly wipes the tear away with his other hand and looks down at her. The pain she sees in those watery eyes… they tell the story. It’s all written there. Tears immediately spill over her cheeks.
She has to sit down. Her legs feel weak and wobbly like she might collapse. Tugging gently on his hand, she pulls him back to the couch and sits close to him, rubbing his hand between both of hers. Tears continue to stream down her face as she watches him stare down at their hands.
Clearing his throat, he swipes his free hand over his eyes again before placing it on top of Myra’s. Breathing heavily with his eyes still downcast, he licks his lips before whispering in a broken voice. “That’s when… I saw him. My, my son… my boy… he was…” his voice breaks off on a sob. A strangled cough escapes him; he roughly clears his throat. “He… he was face down… in the… in the pond.”
A loud sob breaks free from Myra’s lips. “Oh, no, Dylan,” she cries as she throws her arms around his neck and hangs onto him with all her might. His arms surround her as he buries his face in her hair.
“It… it fucking hurts,” he brokenly whispers next to her ear between labored breaths.
“I know. I know,” she whispers against his skin as she strokes the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers before another loud sob breaks free, her heart aching so badly for him. If only she could do something to take his pain away… she’d do anything.
His arms tighten around her, pulling her even closer. They don’t say anything. They simply hold each other until her sobs turn into soft hiccups. Dylan pulls back from her slightly and looks down at her through long, dark eyelashes thick with tears.
Reaching her hand up, she tenderly ghosts her fingers over his wet cheeks, wiping them away. Her fingers touch his lips softly. “You don’t have to say anymore,” she whispers.
Dylan reaches up and grabs her hand, kissing her palm, his eyes focused on hers. He then brings her hand to his heart and holds it there. “No. I have to,” he whispers back, squeezing her hand. “You need to know… everything.”
Myra studies his eyes for a moment before nodding and squeezing his hand. Standing, she sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes. “I’ll be right back,” she mumbles. Stepping into Susie’s bathroom, she rummages around until she finally finds a box of Kleenex. After getting herself cleaned up a bit, she steps back into the family room with the box and offers him one before sitting down. She reaches for his hand and hol
ds it tightly in both of hers in her lap.
He wipes his eyes and clears his throat, his eyes on their clasped hands. “It was February. I remember it was really cold out that night. He only had on his jeans and a shirt. I… I pulled him out.” He looks up at her through teary eyes. “I didn’t know CPR. By that time, our friends were there with flashlights. His…his lips were blue. He wasn’t…” Dylan has to stop to cough. “He wasn’t… breathing. I tried to do CPR but I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I tried everything I could, the chest compressions, the breathing. I did it all. I tried so fucking hard,” he says before breaking off on a sob.
Myra nods, tears flooding her cheeks. She squeezes and rubs his hands. He pulls one away and grabs a Kleenex and wipes his eyes before tossing it on the coffee table. Clearing his throat, he takes in a deep breath. “Sabrina…” Dylan looks up at Myra, pain radiating from his eyes as he shakes his head sadly at her. “It was bad. She just kept… screaming… the whole time. Blood-curdling screams. It made the hair on my arms stand up.” He swallows hard. “I… I’ve never felt fear like that before. My insides felt like ice. I… I tried and tried to save him. Jesus, I tried so damn hard. I tried with everything that I fucking had. I never stopped. I just kept doing it over and over, but… Mel… my boy…” His breathing gets heavier and heavier. “He… he never took another breath,” he says, choking on the last word.
Myra presses a hand over her mouth to try to muffle another loud sob but she can’t keep them in. Dylan leans forward, over their clasped hands like he’s doubled over in pain, his breathing heavy and ragged. A strangled sob comes from deep inside his chest. Releasing his hands, she throws her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest. She sobs uncontrollably, her tears dripping into his hair. He slips his arms around her and cries against her chest.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers as she runs her hand through his hair and cries with him. Eventually he releases her and pulls back, wiping his eyes. Myra grabs them both a Kleenex. After wiping their eyes and noses, she grabs his hands again and holds on tight.
He clears his throat and takes in a deep breath. “The paramedics showed up. They tried to resuscitate him. Sabrina and I rode in the ambulance. But Sabrina… she just kept screaming. I couldn’t get her to stop. I wanted to fucking scream with her. I was dying on the inside.
“They made us stay in the waiting room. I got a little out of control when they wouldn’t let us go back with him. They had to send security down but I didn’t give a fuck. I just wanted to be with my boy. But we had to just sit there and fucking wait. I prayed so damn hard. I knew it was useless but I prayed and prayed for a damn miracle.” He pauses and shakes his head, swallowing hard. Myra can see his eyes welling up with tears again. “The doctor came in and told us. It was too late.”
He sniffs and rubs his hand across his eyes. Myra can feel her own tears dripping off her chin. She hiccups loudly as he continues. “Sabrina… she… it was bad. It was so bad that they had to admit her. She had to be sedated.”
His watery eyes look deep into hers, his expression pained and vulnerable. “But that wasn’t the worst part,” he whispers to her. “Later, I found out that I…” he says before looking down at their hands and frowning. He looks up at her just as another tear streaks down his cheek. “I broke… I broke his ribs, when I did the CPR. I broke my boy’s little ribs. God, that fucking killed me. I know he was gone when I did it, but just the thought that I hurt him…” His voice breaks as big, fat tears roll down his face.
Myra begins sobbing again so hard that she can’t even speak. She wraps her arms around his neck again and just clings to him. He hangs on to her tight, his labored breathing loud in her ear. She continues to sob hard into his neck, unable to hold it back.
When she feels like she’s got herself a little under control, she clears her throat roughly. “You didn’t hurt him,” she whispers between sobs. She wants to tell him that he did everything right; he did absolutely everything that he possibly could to save him. But she can’t because she’s too torn up.
He nods and pulls her onto his lap, wrapping an arm around her and tucking her head under his chin. She grabs them both another Kleenex. He holds her like that for a while before he draws in a deep breath and continues. “The police ruled it an accident. Our friend’s oldest child had let the dog out the back door. She swore she locked it and I believed her. It wasn’t her fault anyway. Mel probably unlocked it himself and followed the dog out. He was getting tall enough that he could have reached the lock and he loved dogs. He might have tripped or somehow fell into the pond. We’ll never know what really happened. And that was damn hard to accept: the not knowing. Because I needed to know what happened to him.”
Myra looks up at him and nods. With his free hand, he reaches for hers, staring down at them as he plays with her fingers. “Things changed for me that day. I didn’t just lose my son; I lost myself. Something in me died with Mel. Fuck, I wanted to take his place… so damn badly. I begged and pleaded with God to take me instead. It was so fucking stupid because he was already gone, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted him to somehow get another chance. I would’ve given anything. I would’ve done anything. I… I didn’t even want to live anymore.”
Myra lifts his hand to her lips and gently kisses his rough knuckles. She tenderly holds his hand against her cheek for a moment, closing her eyes as the tears continue down her cheeks.
He lifts his other hand and wipes her tears away. “I hate making you cry,” he whispers. “I just want you to know. I need you to know everything. So you’ll understand.”
She nods, laying his hand in her lap so she can wipe her face again. Then she reaches down and holds his hand in hers again, rubbing his knuckles softly with her thumb. “Go on,” she whispers.
“Sabrina… God, it was awful. Our marriage, well, it destroyed us.” He stops and stares down at their hands for a long moment.
Finally, he looks up at Myra with furrowed brows. “I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you. I mean, I’ve never even talked about what happened to Mel before but this… This is shit I’ve…” He shakes his head and swallows hard. “When Mel died, Sabrina was…” He stares into Myra’s eyes, struggling. “Fuck, this is hard to say…” He takes in a deep breath. “She was… pregnant.”
Myra gasps, her mouth dropping open.
“Ten weeks. We hadn’t told anyone. We were going to surprise everyone. But the stress… it was too much. She lost the baby.”
Tears drip from Myra’s chin onto their hands.
“She started bleeding so I rushed her to the hospital. Then they were telling us the baby had died and whisking her off to surgery... to take our other child away. We lost two children… two children, within a week of each other.”
Another loud sob escapes from Myra.
He roughly clears his throat and rubs his hand over his eyes. “Nobody knows that. Not even my family. I never told them. My mom used to babysit Mel for us during the day. She loved Mel so damn much… What happened to him… well, it almost fucking killed her. So I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the baby. I knew it would be too much.
“Sabrina and I… well, our marriage pretty much died the day Mel died. Sabrina was a mess. She was in shock and severely depressed. And I… well, I was just angry. She took a leave of absence from work but she was barely functioning. She’d sit in Mel’s room for hours, smelling his clothes, holding his pillow. I was an asshole; I wasn’t there for her. But I was a fucking mess myself. I didn’t know how to deal with any of it. So I worked. I took on extra jobs; I worked 12 hours a day and longer. The more I worked, the easier it was for me. I was too busy to think about all of the shit in my life.
“But Sabrina got worse. She refused to sleep in our bed. She slept in Mel’s bed every night. She barely left his room. Natalie finally talked her into going to the doctor. They put her on a bunch of meds and they seemed to help.
“A couple of months later, I’d put in
a really long day and was driving home. I was fucking exhausted… I fell asleep and wrapped my truck around a tree.”
“Oh my god,” Myra says.
“Yeah, it was pretty bad. I totaled my truck. I remember waking up in the hospital and when they told me what had happened…” He looks into Myra’s eyes for a moment then down at their clasped hands. “I was disappointed… that I woke up.”
Myra gasps. Dylan shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself or any shit like that but I do remember feeling like there wasn’t much to live for. Anyway, I broke my arm and fucked my back up pretty good.
“When I got home from the hospital, Sabrina was still off work and…. God, it was fucking rough. We were together 24/7 and that’s when the fighting started. She told me constantly that it was my fucking fault and that if I had gotten up when she asked me to, he’d still be alive.”
“But it wasn’t your fault…”
“It was my fault. I should’ve been watching him closer. At first, I agreed with her and took the blame. But then that shit got old and I started blaming her. I told her she should’ve gotten up and checked on him. It was fucking crazy. The fights were bad, real bad. She started drinking and so did I. It felt so damn good to drink. It felt so good to just be able to be numb for a little while.
“My family stepped in; I guess you could say they did kind of an intervention. They demanded we start going to therapy and that we had to stop drinking. I didn’t stop the drinking, but we did try the therapy. I was an asshole and just sat there and refused to say a damn thing to the therapist. I was so fucking angry. I just felt hatred for what had happened to us. And I didn’t want to talk to some fucking stranger about it. Then Sabrina refused to talk because I refused to talk.
“I finally got well enough to go back to work. I went back way before I should have, but I was going fucking crazy at home. I couldn’t stand it. Once I got back to work, though, I did quit drinking. I still drank occasionally but I got it under control. I went back to working a lot.
Color of Forgiveness Page 9
