by Mara White
His mother and brother Carlos called him every damn day. His mother told him to go to church and therapy. His brother told him to masturbate. Ryan loved them both dearly and hated their calls. Digby had taken to barking until he picked up the phone.
The day he let go of Jackie Bowen he came home to an empty, silent house. Jenny had taken the dog and God up above had taken his lover. He dug through their dirty laundry hamper and felt lucky that Jackie liked to do the laundry on Sunday, so he had a good four solid days of Jackie’s worn clothes. He took them all out and put them on her side of the bed under the covers. Perhaps it was sick or creepy or whatever, but at night, having her scent near him, comforted Ryan like nothing else. It made him feel that even though she’d passed, there was still a part of her that was in his life, just a little, tiny something to hold on to. He’d often whisper to her right as he fell asleep.
“Love you, Jacks.”
“Miss you, Jacks.”
“Move your damn ice bucket feet.”
And in the morning, when he’d rise, he’d hear her voice in his head.
“Ry, get up. Coffee’s ready.”
“Digby has to pee, it’s your turn.”
“Sport, up and at ’em. No staying in bed.”
He followed through with UCSF and made sure her body was handed over for research. He took the money from Grandma Gloria and donated it in one lump sum to the organization Mothers Against Drunk Driving in Jackie, Angel and Mia Bowen’s names. He planned her funeral with help from his parents, his sister-in-law, Jessica and Rose. They decided to have it in California because Jackie had no part of her heart in Wisconsin. She liked the sun and there were too many bad memories for her near the farm. But Ryan reached out to all of her friends in the community, in Wisconsin, in Iowa and even in California. He painstakingly attended to every detail of the service. He culled the playlist from her famous mixed tapes, choosing songs he knew she loved and others she hated because they reminded her of her mom or sisters and brought tears to her eyes. He pulled the photos for the slideshow from her childhood photo albums, determined to show all four Bowen women, represent how strong they were and how hard they loved.
Some days he still hated God and others he felt humbled and lucky to have been part of her life in such a sacred and honorable position. Ryan loved Jackie with his entire heart and he knew that she loved him back just as fiercely. So there wasn’t much he regretted or felt slighted on, what they’d shared was the best and he was grateful for every single moment he’d had.
Rose and her doctor husband were already expecting. She’d told him the baby was a girl and they were going to name her Jacqueline. Rose was a constant lifeline, putting her own grief aside to help Ryan notify all of Jackie’s friends from their hometown. Their exchanges on the phone were heaven sent. Rose understood that Ryan’s grieving process looked different than many expected. Instead of being broken, he was motivated and determined and he still felt Jackie so strongly in his heart, that it comforted him. It was as if Jackie and all her spitfire, her kindheartedness, her deep compassion and love for him now lived on the inside. A certain reinforcement from her love strengthened and fortified him. Ryan knew she was gone and that fact was tormenting but he was illuminated with her love and that part could never leave him.
He threw a pillow at the phone but when Digby started to bark, he had no choice but to reach out and answer it.
“Are you jerking off?” Carlos asked him. Ryan groaned at his relentless brother.
“Like right this second? No,” Ryan said sleepily.
“I mean like regularly. I sent you that article I read. Didn’t you get it? This is an important part of healing, man. I’m telling you, I believe it.”
“I can see that. Why are you really calling?”
“Mom wants me to go over arrival times with you and which hotels everyone is staying at.”
“Forward me the tickets and Andres can make sure everyone gets there on time. That’s all I need. Bucks has offered to pick up anyone from the airport who isn’t renting a car.”
“I told you, Mom! He doesn’t even want to know!” Carlos didn’t bother to cover the phone as he hollered to their mother in the background. “A bunch of people are coming from Guate, your college coach is coming, Carol. Everybody, dude. The Bowen’s old neighbor Kratch. Get ready for six zillion hugs. How you holding up? Can you even get it up—cause if that’s the issue, get some magazines. This approach really works, I’m telling you.”
“And Carlos, I’m hanging up. Call Rose to add anyone else onto the guest list. She booked the luncheon. Is dad ready to do the service or should I hire the stand in?”
“He’s upstairs working on it now. He’s got the door locked, so you know, full on God mode.”
“Good. See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Ry. Hang in there kid, we’re all pulling for you.”
“Some more than others,” Ryan said, as he silenced his well-meaning older brother.
Ryan hung up the phone and jumped into his running pants. Digby came dashing into the room already doing his leash dance. Ryan kissed two fingers and pressed them to the glass of a black and white photograph of he and Jackie that they’d hung on their wall together. It was a surprise Jackie had pulled out of the closet one day. A photo Deanna had taken of the two of them back in college. They were holding red keg cups and school jerseys and likely three sheets to the wind, but the expression on both of their faces gave them away. The love was written all over them both as they peered shyly into one another’s eyes. When she first showed it to him, his smile was full of pride.
“So gross, right? Barf! Love at first sight,” Jackie said playfully. He’d scooped her up in his arms and spun, with her squealing in delight.
“If you say so, Jacks. They say pictures don’t lie.”
He smiled at the memory as fresh tears rolled down his face. He’d cropped out the beer cups and made the photo the front of the program for Jackie’s funeral.
Epilogue
No matter where he was speaking, it always went down the same way. He’d get to the day of the accident, his phone ringing in his back pocket at work, and the auditorium would go silent. You could hear a pin drop. Silence was good, so he usually let it sink in for a moment or two. Invariably it was broken with a sob, man or women, you could never be sure. It took one outburst to break the spell and then they were all crying, not a dry eye in ten thousand and all of them checking pockets and purses for tissues. He had to work hard at this juncture to not lose it himself. He’d already shown them the broken femur, sliced clear in half by a chunk of steel careening out of control at ninety miles an hour. It wasn’t Jackie’s leg, he had no idea who the bone came from, but Ryan didn’t tell them that, he was here to terrify them for a reason.
He stepped to the side of his podium and clicked the PowerPoint, looking up at it.
“These are actual photos of Jackie’s car,” Ryan clicked through the carnage.
“The driver’s blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit. It was the middle of the day. She was grabbing some groceries and the dog food.”
It’s a powerful sound to hear ten thousand people go silent. It’s louder than noise really, with the way it pulls you into a natural sort of reverence. He’d spliced the car pics with video and he had to set his jaw and hold back the emotion. It was Jackie on the day of his marriage proposal, sitting on the checkered cloth with his mom, Diane behind her, beaming. Jackie was holding a champagne glass with a strawberry bobbing in the bubbles.
“Show me the ring, Jacks.” Her head whips around and she looks bashful. Her brown eyes are shining and her cheeks are flushed with happiness. “Ryan, come on, are you filming?” She sticks her hand up and the solitaire flashes on her ring finger. Diane waves. The wind picks up a strand of Jackie’s hair and she gathers it all into a pony tail with the elastic on her wrist.
“Show me one more time,” Ryan hears himself saying. Jackie rolls her eyes and starts laughing. She s
ticks her hand up again for the camera.
Then Ryan clicks the PowerPoint to a shot he refuses to look at. It’s of Jackie in the ICU, Buck from the driving school took it, in case there was a lawsuit. He turns out to peer into the sea of faces and watch them gasp. He clicks again, his last and favorite video. He and Jackie in the park with Digby. He bet her five dollars she couldn’t long jump over the park bench and Jackie wasn’t having it.
“Sport, why are you going to film it? I’m telling you, piece of cake. I went to State for the long jump in high school.” She’s wearing shorts and tank top, blue flip-flops. You can’t see it in the video but Ryan knows that her toenails are painted blue as well.
“You’re feet are going to clip and I want to have it on camera because you’ll try to fib your way out of it.”
“Oh, my God! Are you serious right now? I could take a whole hundred meters of these benches, tough guy!”
“Prove it,” Ryan hears himself say. Digby starts barking as Jackie gears up. She runs hard and fast and clears the bench easily. Piece of cake, like a goddamned Olympic athlete. Ryan zooms in on her face. She’s leaning over, hands on her knees, breathing hard, but her smile is one of pure zeal and satisfaction and it’s worth a million bucks.
Ryan likes to juxtapose her so full of life next to the horrifying photos, scare the kids clear through til Sunday—they’ll never be able to get those images out of their heads.
“I think we got ’em, Jacks,” he says to her in his head. This is what she could have wanted. A reason, an absolution, justification for hers and her sister’s deaths. This is why he does it, because he knows she would have wanted it this way.
Of course, he had days when he wished he would die in his sleep. But the hope that kept him going was something that Jackie herself had taught him. Pain fades, even if only by an invisible fraction every day. You keep going, you keep pushing and one day you wake up and you start to function better than you ever imagined you could. He’d watched Jackie get destroyed by grief, but he’d seen her recover and he knew if she could do, then he at least owed it to her to try.
“You got ’em, Sport.”
“Life is full of ironies, isn’t it? Jackie dedicated her life to this cause and it’s the same one that eventually stole hers. So every time you have a drink and you get into a car, do me a favor and remember my Jackie’s smile.”
He clicks to a photo, a close up of Jackie smiling. God she was gorgeous. A picture of her he’d seen a million times could still make his heart ache.
“Know that she walked these very same halls and that her heart was full of hopes and dreams for her future, just like yours. Jackie doesn’t have a future anymore. But you do. Don’t drink and drive.”
A slow applause breaks into a thunderous roar. Ryan removes his headset, salutes the crowd and walks off the stage.
The End
About the Authors
K. Larsen and Mara White are two friendly romance authors who scour the internet for viral posts that contain earth shattering love stories. Using the post as a guideline, the two writers allow their imaginations to create fully fleshed out characters from a few remarkable paragraphs. K and Mara believe that the posts went viral for a reason and that heart-rending love stories are even better when they hold an element of truth inside them. They’ve pulled from Craigslist and Reddit and are open to suggestions, so if you see a viral post that knocks your socks off, please send it to them.
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Read on for an exclusive sneak peek of K. Larsen’s next release.
The Tutor
K. Larsen ©2017
Releasing June 2017
PROLOGUE: Before
HIM
Not just any woman will do. I require a special woman. I honored the last woman by staying with her overnight. Outdoors in the woods. I am not a monster. Because she was so lovely to look at and at one point I had wanted her. I tried to make her understand me but she never returned my affection. I can still picture her begging me to let her live. She promised to do anything, if I just let her live. But she wasn’t worth saving. None of them are. No matter, though. I will find another. There is always another. I will keep searching until someone is worthy of keeping. They are easy to find when you know what to look for.
A simple classified ad. A few interviews. Does she turn her body toward me in the interview? How about a wide open and innocent gaze? Does she bow her head slightly or sit with her shoulders rounded forward? Does she blush or become flustered at something I say. Given a compliment, does she dismiss the validity of my praise or laugh nervously?
All these little characteristics help me choose the right woman. A background check seals the deal. No family—or— no family that cares, and no older than twenty to start.
Not just any woman will do. She has to be the right kind and I am a master at finding them.
HER
I am a logophile. A lover of words. Perhaps it’s because of my namesake or maybe just because I’m quirky but since I was a child, I’ve loved words. I assign all the important people in my life words.
For instance, Aubry, is winsome, callipygian, multifarious and capricious. Just pronouncing those words makes my brain happy. Me? I’m demure, acquiescent, and a logophile. Words inspire me. Always have. Certain ones sound magical when said aloud. Aubry thinks I’m ridiculous but that’s because her attention to detail is evanescent. Without Aub though, I’d be a total outcast. She basically saved me throughout high school— socially that is. Aubry is my sluice to others, her peremptory confidence paves a way for me and my slight self-consciousness.
“So are you going to be ready when I pick you up tonight?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. “Aub, you know I hate parties.”
She holds her hands up. “Wait, wait, if I play your game, will you go?”
“What game?” I ask and make a face.
She looks all over the living room quizzically. “Um, nadir optimum,” she says before bursting into a fit of giggles. When Aubry Clark laughs, everyone laughs. She has an infectious air about her.
When I stop laughing, I mock seriousness. “Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s your nadir?”
“Ugh the new manager at the burger joint. He is so crude.” She pouts and shakes her head.
“Okay,” I say. “And the optimum?”
Aubry’s eyes light up. “My bestie is going to a party with me tonight. Woo!” She jumps up and does a little victory dance, causing me to laugh all over again. I clutch my stomach because it’s too much to attempt keeping a straight face.
“Okay, girls, dinner’s ready,” Angela, Aubry’s mom calls from the kitchen. Anton and Aimee start arguing over who has to set the table, while Aubry stares at me.
“Stay.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Especially nope if you want me to get ready for a party.”
She lolls her head back and groans. “Fine, turd. I’ll see you at eight.”
I call out goodbye to Angela while walking to the front door.
It’s warm out. Summer has just started and I can practically smell it in the air. My walk home takes me down quiet side streets. I like to look into people's windows as I pass by. Families gathered around tables, passing food to each other. It makes me smile while simultaneously causing a pang of loneliness in my gut. There will be no family dinner for me.
Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me. I prefer to be alone. I prefer books to parties, fictional characters to live friends, music to concerts. I’m a little antisocial. I’m also a little laser focused on my goal of going to college. Aubry and I graduated last month and I have until August to save up enough money for tuition. I sigh and jam my key into the l
ock. The door clicks open quietly. I flip switches on as I walk through the house, illuminating it room by room. Tossing my purse onto the kitchen table I purse my lips and deliberate what to make for dinner. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a week and the pickings are slim. I settle for an apple cut up, paired with some slices of cheddar cheese. I take my plate to the living room and curl up in the oversized arm chair. Pulling my book from the side table, I open to the dog eared page and dive back in while popping apple slices and cheese into my mouth occasionally.
