Falling Fast

by Aurora Rose Reynolds

  “All right.” He presses his mouth to mine then his tongue to my bottom lip before he releases me and opens the door for me. Stepping inside, Loki follows me in then sits at my feet. “Lock up,” Colton demands, and I roll my eyes as I shut the door and lock it. Moving to the window in the living room, I watch him head down to his bike, put on his helmet, then back up, and take off.

  Once he’s out of sight, I head for the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine then carry that with me into the garage. Opening up one box after another, I sort things into a pile I started for donations, and another pile I have to keep. As I reach the last box from Grandma’s room, I open it up and find a beautiful wooden box with butterflies carved into the surface. Taking the box out, I flip the brass latch and open the lid. I find dozens of letters in sealed envelopes all addressed to me, with ‘Return To Sender’ written on them in Colleen’s handwriting. I take a seat on the floor, and Loki comes and lies down next to me.

  I open one after another. They’re all from my grandmother, one for every birthday, every Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and holidays in between, all handwritten in swirly script that is unusual and beautiful. And all of them tell me a story, a sad story of a woman who lost her only daughter, only to lose her only granddaughter years later when her father died and his wife told her a lie that changed everything. Reading the last letter in the box, my lungs burn with anger and my heart fills with pain.

  Dearest butterfly,

  I’ve just gotten home from the doctors. They told me that I have dementia. I don’t think they know what they are talking about. I haven’t lost my mind. At least, I don’t think I have. Then again, if I did, I’m not sure I’d know.

  (I laugh at that then pull in a shaky breath.)

  I do know I haven’t forgotten about you. I think about you often and wish you would answer my letters, even just to tell me that you’re okay and you’re happy.

  I love you, my butterfly.

  Grandma

  Butterfly. I forgot she used to call me that. I don’t know how I had forgotten, but I did. Holding that letter to my chest, my vision blurs. Putting the letters back in the box, I close the lid on it then get up and carry it inside with me. Setting it on the counter in the kitchen, I pour more wine into my empty glass then take a deep drink, hoping it will wash away the acid burning the back of my throat, making it hard to breathe.

  It doesn’t help. Holding the glass tighter, I fight myself from throwing it against the wall and screaming about how unfair life is. I fight myself from calling my stepmom and yelling at her for what she did. Closing my eyes, tears stream down my cheeks. It won’t make a difference what I do now. Nothing will change. I won’t get back the time I’ve missed out on with a woman who meant the world to me. A woman who needed me and thought I abandoned her when she had already lost her husband and her daughter. Nothing will get back that time; no amount of tears or screaming will be able to fix this. It’s too late for my grandma and me to rebuild what was stolen from us.

  Taking the box with me upstairs, I get into bed and hold it in my lap, running my fingers across one of the engraved butterfly wings, before opening the lid. Reading the letters once more, I soak in every single word before curling up in a ball and crying myself to sleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  Barely Holding On

  Gia

  “GIA?” COLTON SHOUTS AT me from downstairs, and I roll my eyes at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Yeah?” I call around the toothbrush hanging out of my mouth.

  “Come here a sec,” he yells back, so I spit and rinse my mouth out, then drop my toothbrush into the cup with his.

  Going across the bedroom to the railing of the loft, I look down at where he’s standing in the kitchen with the phone to his ear, and his eyes point up at me. “You rang?”

  “Did you go to the storage locker Friday?” he asks, and I study the expression on his face, trying to read it but not getting it.

  “I go every Friday to stock up for the weekend,” I remind him of something he should know. Because since I started working at the bar, I’ve been doing a pick-up every Friday to stock up for the weekend, and again on Mondays to replenish whatever needs to be replenished.

  “Did you lock up before you left?”

  “I always lock up,” I say, leaving the railing so I can head down the stairs. Going to the kitchen, I stop a few feet away from him and watch as he wraps his hand around the back of his neck and drops his eyes to his boots.

  “She said she locked up, so she locked up. I don’t know how someone got in.” At his words, my stomach drops. “Yeah. Right. I’ll meet you there. Give me thirty.” He pulls the phone from his ear then looks at me. “Someone got into the storage unit between Friday and today. Lock was hanging open, not busted. What wasn’t taken, was completely destroyed.”

  “What?” I breathe, resting my hand against the edge of the counter to hold myself up.

  “I need to get over there. Dad just called the cops and they’re on their way.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, baby,” he denies, shaking his head, and I stare at him then take a step back.

  “You don’t think—”

  “No,” he cuts me off before I can finish my question, and his hand wraps around my hip, bringing me a step closer to him. “If you say you locked up, you locked up.”

  “I locked up,” I whisper, and he nods, pressing his lips to my forehead in a soft touch.

  “I gotta get over there. I’ll call you.” He lets me go with a peck to my lips, and I watch him disappear out the front door then listen to his motorcycle start up. Going to the window, I wrap my arms around my middle as he takes off down the lane.

  Someone broke into the storage locker. Who and how? I know I locked up behind myself. I always make sure to double-check the lock before I leave just to be safe. With no answer, I start to head back upstairs to get ready for work but stop when I hear my cell ringing. Going to the kitchen where my phone’s charging, I pick it up and slide my finger across the screen. “Hello,” I answer after putting the phone to my ear.

  “Gia, it’s Elizabeth.” She stops speaking and my eyes slide closed. I know what she’s going to say before she says it, just by the sound of regret in her voice. “I just went in to check on your grandma. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she’s passed, honey.”

  “I… How? I just saw her last night.” I whisper, as pain radiates through my chest and squeezes my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

  “Sometimes it happens that way. One minute, they’re with us and they seem fine, and the next, they’re gone,” she says quietly, and the pain in my chest expands. “I’m sorry, Gia. I know this is going to be hard on you, but do you want to see her before they come to take her away?”

  My lungs seize up. I don’t want to see her again knowing she’s gone, but at the same time, I need to see her one last time.

  “Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I wheeze out, opening my eyes and seeing nothing.

  “I’ll let them know you’re on your way,” she says softly, then adds, “again, I’m sorry, Gia.”

  “Thank you.” I hang up and stare at the phone in my hand while trying to pull in a breath. Dialing Colton’s number, I wait for him to answer, but he doesn’t. His phone goes to voicemail, so I hang up and head upstairs.

  Fighting back the crushing pain around my heart, I take off my nightgown, put on a bra, and change into jeans and a T-shirt. Once that’s done, I head back downstairs, slip on my shoes by the door, grab my keys, and get into my Jeep. Moving on autopilot, I dial Colton’s number again on the way, listen as it rings, and then hang up, not leaving him a message when it goes to voicemail again.

  ~**~

  “Her stuff will be boxed up. You can pick it up in a few days,” Ritta, the nursing home director—a petite, older Chinese woman with kind eyes and gentle features—says from my side, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “The funeral home will also
be calling you to set up the funeral arrangements.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, still looking at the rumpled sheets on the bed where my grandmother was, until two men wearing suits came in with a stretcher to carry her out of the room and take her away.

  “Do you want to come to my office and call someone to come pick you up?” she asks, squeezing my hand, and my eyes go to hers. I tried to call Colton again after I got here, and again, he didn’t answer, and again, I didn’t leave a message.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, keeping hold of my hand, now doing it tightly. “I don’t think you should be driving in your state.”

  “I don’t live far, maybe fifteen minutes. I’ll be okay,” I assure her, but she doesn’t look convinced. If anything, she looks even more worried than she did seconds ago.

  “Every other week on Tuesday afternoons, we have a grief counselor here for people who have suffered the loss of a family member or friend. Sometimes, sharing your experience with others who have gone through something similar helps you heal.”

  “I’ll think about going to one,” I lie, and she nods, finally releasing her hold on me.

  “If you need anything at all, call the office and ask for me.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and she nods once then leaves the room.

  Looking at the bed one last time, I turn around and leave, making sure to keep my eyes to my feet as I go, so I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I’ve kept it together since Elizabeth called to tell me Grandma passed, but I don’t know how much longer that will last since I’m barely hanging on.

  I call Colton again once I’m in my Jeep and close my eyes when he doesn’t answer, dropping my forehead to my steering wheel. This is the first time I’ve felt alone in a long time. I forgot how crushing the feeling of being alone is. Knowing I can’t sit here in the parking lot forever, I put my Jeep in drive and take off out of the lot to head for home, where I know Loki will at least be waiting for me.

  Halfway to the house, the sound of police sirens starts to get close, so I check my rearview mirror and see a police cruiser with its lights flashing coming up fast behind me. Dropping my eyes to my speedometer, I make sure I’m not speeding. I’m not, so I slow down to let him by. He doesn’t pass. He slows down right along with me, so I pull off onto the shoulder. Once I have my Jeep in park, I look back up at my mirror and watch a large man in his late thirties open the door and get out of the cruiser, putting on a cowboy hat as he walks toward me. Hitting the button for the window, I lower it once he’s close.

  “Ma’am.” He tips his hat toward me. “Got word that a vehicle matching yours in description was driving recklessly, and almost ran another car off the road,” he says, and I shake my head in confusion.

  “Sir, it wasn’t me,” I tell him, wondering if I’m so out of it that I didn’t notice if I was doing what he said. I could be; I feel like I have been walking in a bubble since I got the phone call about Grandma.

  “I’m going to need to ask you for your license and registration,” he states, so I reach over with a shaky hand and open my glove box. The moment I do, something black falls out and lands on the floor with a thud. I start to reach for it, but stop when I see what it is.

  “Is that your weapon, ma’am?” the officer asks, and I shake my head, unable to speak as I stare at the gun lying on my floorboard. “Place your hands on the steering wheel,” he instructs, so I do immediately while my heart pounds so hard that my chest aches from the impact. “Whose weapon is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, and I turn to look at him then see he has his gun out of its holster and aimed at me. “I’m going to open your door. Keep your hands right where they are.”

  “Okay,” I agree, squeezing my eyes closed so I don’t have to see the gun he has just inches from my face.

  “Do you have any other weapons on you or in the vehicle?”

  “No.” I shake my head, listening to the sound of the door as he opens it.

  “I’m going to reach around you to unhook your belt. Keep your hands where they are.”

  “I won’t move them,” I promise, as his arm goes around my waist so he can unlatch my seat belt.

  “Now get out of the vehicle while keeping your hands where I can see them,” he orders, and my eyes open. I don’t look at him or the gun I know he has on me. I point my eyes to the ground as I hop down out of my seat, and I keep them down as he orders me to place my hands on my Jeep, calls for backup, and puts me in cuffs.

  ~**~

  “Gia Caro?” I hear a woman call, and I lift my head from my hands and watch a plump woman in a very unflattering skintight uniform come toward me.

  “That’s me,” I respond, and she opens the heavy metal door of the room I’m in, then motions for me to get up.

  “You’re free.”

  My eyes close in relief and I thank my lucky stars that Nat was able to get me out of this mess from hundreds of miles away. I didn’t use my one phone call to call Colton. I used it to call Nat, knowing she’d answer. When I told her I’d been arrested, she assured me that she’d get me out, even knowing I was arrested for the gun, which I learned an hour after I was booked, was stolen property.

  “Follow me. You need to fill out some paperwork to get your things,” the woman says, bringing me out of my head, and I follow her toward a large set of doors then stop behind her when she pauses at a small window cut out of the concrete cinderblocks. “This is Gia Caro,” she states to the woman on the other side of the window, who’s sitting behind a desk that’s covered in stacks of paper.

  “Here are your things.” The woman hands me a large brown paper bag. “Open that up, make sure all your stuff is there, and then sign the bottom of this.” She rests a clipboard on the edge of the window as I open the bag, finding my shoes, phone, and earrings. Knowing that’s everything they took from me when I got here, I sign the papers and hand them back to her. “You’re all set,” she murmurs, hitting something on the wall, and a loud click sounds behind me. “Just head out that way and follow that hall to the end. Make a right, and the door there will lead you out of the building.”

  “Thank you,” I say to the female officer when she opens the door for me to leave, and she lifts her chin in response.

  Following the hall all the way, I make a right then stop dead when I see Colton sitting on a bench near the exit, with his head down, elbows to his thighs and his hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Seeing him, everything I’ve been holding in all day, rushes to the surface.

  I try to keep it at bay, but a pain filled sound escapes my throat before I can stop it, and the second it leaves my mouth, his head shoots up and his eyes meet mine. Covering my mouth with my hand, I choke on a sob.

  “Fuck.” He rushes toward me, gathering me in his arms against his warm chest. “Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers, as I try to burrow my way inside of him. “I’m so fucking sorry. So fucking sorry, baby,” he murmurs, picking me up. Tucking my face tightly against his neck, I hold onto him with everything I have as he carries me outside. “I gotta get you home. Swear to God, once we get there, you won’t lose me again.” I shake my head when he tries to get me to release him. “Please, Gia,” he pleads, sounding torn, so I loosen my hold and let him settle me in the passenger seat and buckle me in.

  Kissing my hair, he slams the door then jogs around the hood and gets in behind the wheel. Once he has his seat belt on, he picks up my hand and holds it tight. The drive home seems to take forever, and when we pull up in front of the house, I tense when I realize his mom’s car is parked out front. I haven’t even thought about what he or his parents will think about me being arrested for having a stolen gun in my possession.

  “Mom and Dad just want to make sure you’re good. Once they see you are, they’ll leave and it will just be us.”

  “I—”

  “Promise. It’s going to be okay,” he says, so I nod.

  Opening my door, I hop dow
n out of the cab of his Suburban. The second my feet hit the dirt, Loki comes up to me, pressing his face into my stomach, and whines. I rub the top of his head then look up and see Rose and Kirk heading straight for me.

  “You okay, honey?” Rose asks, pulling me into a hug that makes my nose sting and my eyes burn.

  “Yeah.”

  “We were so worried when you didn’t show up at work. No one knew what happened until your friend called.” I close my eyes. I should have guessed that Nat would find a way to get a hold of them. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

  No, I’m not, but I don’t say that. Instead, I nod.

  “I’m sure you want to rest after today. We’ll be back in the morning to check on you after we pick up your Jeep,” she tells me, and my chin wobbles. “Rest honey,” she whispers, hugging me again before she lets me go so Kirk can give me a hug as well. Once he releases me, Colton wraps his arm around my shoulders and turns us toward the house.

  “Call,” Kirk says to our backs, and I don’t hear or see Colton’s reply, but knowing him, he probably lifted his chin to his dad. With my head down, I listen to their car doors slam behind us as Colton leads me up the steps and into the house. Once we are inside he closes and locks the door behind us before he settles us on the couch. Once he has us situated, I listen to him pull in a deep breath then let it out slowly.

  Hearing that and feeling his muscles tense, I try to prepare myself for what he’s going to say, but nothing can prepare me for what comes out of his mouth.

  “Cops arrested Lisa, and from what I understand, she won’t be getting out of jail for a while,” he tells me, and my head flies around so I can look at him. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.

  “What?”

  “It was my gun in the glove box of your Jeep,” he says, and I feel my eyes widen and my stomach knot.

  “What?”

  “After the cops left my parents’ place this morning, we went to the bar and Mom ran back the tapes from the weekend, just to see if there was anything out of the ordinary that would lead us to who broke into the storage unit. That’s when we saw Lisa break into your Jeep early Sunday morning. The cameras were far away, so there wasn’t a clear image. We didn’t know what she was doing in your Jeep, but we knew she did something. Seeing that, we called the cops to let them know what happened. That’s when I found out from the detective who was handling my case that an arrest had been made. When he told me who was arrested, I knew exactly why Lisa broke into your Jeep.”