The Scars That Made Us

by Inda Herwood

  Sitting us on the couch, my sister continues to be a silent support as I hear Quincy walk off with my bag upstairs. I hate doing this to them. They have their own lives and worries to think about. And here I am, another child for them to take care of.

  Sad.

  Pulling away from Till, I wipe my face with the tissue she hands me. “This is so stupid,” I say, the guilt setting in when I see the pity in her eyes.

  “No, it is not. You just did two of the bravest things anyone could ever do.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah. And what’s that?”

  Her eyes soften, expression sad but proud. “You not only admitted the truth to the man you’ve never wanted to disappoint, but also to yourself. And one could argue that was the bravest act of all.”

  I fall back into the couch cushions, staring at the blank wall. “You always did have a way of spinning things,” I sniffle, trying to smile and failing.

  “Oh, little sis.” She holds me close again, her chin resting on the top of my head. “I always wanted you to fall in love with someone that deserved you. I’m sorry it happened the other way around.”

  “He doesn’t love me,” I correct her. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have done what he did.”

  “You mean acted like a dumbass and tried to get himself killed?”

  In a nutshell, “Yes.”

  She shakes her head, moving my hair with her chin. “Nah. I don’t believe that. You more than anyone should know what pain does to a person. He let his grief overcome his reality. And his reality was you.”

  Of course my sister was the first one I told about Jagger’s past, and how it ended him up in the hospital. I also told her that I had done exactly what she told me not to do: love him.

  “And that’s what he chose,” I sniffle. “Grief.”

  She sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. But one day, maybe he’ll realize that life is worth living. That someone is worth living for.”

  She’s only trying to help, and I appreciate her mothering, but I know the truth. And I will never be the one Jagger Wells lives for, and I shouldn’t be. The only one worth fighting on for is yourself, and that’s not something I can make him realize.

  My sister sets up the guest room for me, the one right across the hall from my nephew. I told Till and Quincy that if he wakes up, I’d be happy to get him so they could have a full night’s sleep for once. There was no arguing on their end.

  A little after three in the morning that universal baby cry sounds throughout the house, but it doesn’t wake me up. I would have to be sleeping for that to happen. Throwing the covers off, I happily walk across the hall and into Kal-el’s room, flicking on the light, looking forward to the distraction of taking care of him. I step in front of his crib with puffy eyes, looking down at his wiggly form, hands molded into fists moving through the air. I pick him up, cooing and bouncing him in my arms. Once I check his diaper and feed him, I sit down in the rocking chair in the corner with him, smiling at his adorable little face. Those orange locks are already starting to curl like his mother’s, his nose like a little button in the middle of his face.

  I rock back and forth, my thumb running along his pronounced baby cheeks, marveling at how precious he is. His wide eyes stare up at me, that toothless smile aimed at my own. It’s the first time I’ve truly smiled in a week.

  “You’re not sleepy anymore, are you?” I say down to him, watching his arms and legs kick and squirm. “Hmm, that’s what I thought.” Looking around the room, I try to think of something that will calm both of us down, and that’s when my eyes land on the present I got him for his birthday.

  Just like when I was a kid, I once again find my solace from reality in fictional adventures.

  Smiling to myself, I reach over and grab the book covered in a picture of a black-haired boy flying by on a broom, and open it to the first page, saying to my nephew with my first real dose of peace, “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

  -21-

  A Broken Crayon Still Colors

  “I know you broke your leg, but could you move a little faster?” Moon complains, helping carry my bag to the car in the parking lot while I maneuver on these stupid crutches. The air is growing cooler with September on its way, the breeze bothering the cut on my forehead as I glare at his back. My best friend has been passive-aggressively pissed at me for the last three weeks, Rosy too. I can’t tell yet if it’s because of the moronic thing I did to put me in this position, or the fact it drove their favorite homegirl away. My guess would be both, and I can’t really blame them.

  Moon opens the door to his Mercedes for me, throwing my bag in the backseat like a pitcher would a fast ball. Like I said, passive-aggressive. Once we’re both in the car, my crutches stowed in the back, his hand goes to turn the key, but falters.

  “You just had to mess it up,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, sounding snottier than usual.

  I ground my jaw, but say nothing.

  “The first good thing to enter your life in years, and you throw it away.”

  I don’t know how he wants me to respond. He’s right on every count. But there’s nothing I can do to change it now. My mistakes went too far this time, and it’s a reality that has made me crazy for the last few miserable weeks. His reminder isn’t helping.

  “Are you going to sit here and badger me, or are we going to get moving?”

  His voice is droll when he turns to me and says, “What, do you have somewhere else to be? Another race, someone else to piss off?”

  My fists slam on the dash, silencing him.

  After weeks of holding it in, I finally burst. “For hell’s sake I’m sorry, Moon! I’m sorry I disappointed you and everyone I know. I’m sorry I made your new best friend leave because I’m too much of a dick to realize when I have something good in my life. But I can’t take it back, and I never will. So either start the car and take me home, or let me get out. Because I’m not going to be forced to sit here and listen to you tell me how horrible of a person I am. I already know. You don’t have to remind me.”

  The silence that follows is all-consuming, tense. It makes the muscles in my back twitch painfully, wondering how he’s going to respond.

  His hand turns the key, and he pulls out of the parking space.

  The drive home is a quiet one, and that’s probably worse than anything else he could have said to me.

  Moon helps me to my apartment, stopping outside the door with my stuff. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and we both stare at the floor. Since I’ve known him, I have been in a lot of fights with Moon, but never once have we not been able to get over it and move on a few days later. This though…this doesn’t feel like any of those times. And right now, in this moment of my life, I don’t think I could handle losing yet another person I’d move the world for.

  “I never said congratulations,” I say, making him look up from the floor. “For going after what you wanted, what you deserved.” I shuffle on my feet, feeling my throat tighten. “Ayla’s the best. I’m glad you’re both happy now.”

  He nods, looking uncomfortable himself. “Yeah, well. I had two good kicks in the pants to make me realize that I needed to do something before it was too late.”

  “You mean someone else called you pathetic? Was it Rosy?”

  He shakes his head, grinning. “No. It was Cyvil, actually, and she didn’t call me pathetic, like your crabby ass did. Instead she reminded me that life is short and that we should live in the moment, do what makes us happy. And Ayla is what has made me happy since I was an emo kid with a bad haircut.”

  I’m not surprised it was Cvyil that gave him the good advice. I’m surprised because he acted on it. “Well, I’m sorry about what I said. I…I was wrong. You’re actually the least pathetic man I know.”

  “And the most pathetic is?” he asks, smiling like he already knows the answer.

  We say, “Rosy,” at the same t
ime, and for once, the air between us is like it was before: familiar and easy.

  With a final goodbye, Moon walks back down the hall towards the elevator, and I open the door to my apartment. Stepping inside, I nearly have a heart attack when I see a man sitting on my couch in the almost darkness.

  When he stands up, I sigh out angrily, “Dad, you almost gave me a stroke. What are you doing here?”

  As I shut the door with the bottom of my crutch, he explains, “I got off of work early and thought I’d wait till you got home. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  I flip on the light, illuminating the kitchen and living room. “Well, I’m home. You can leave now if you want.”

  “That’s not what I want,” he says, ignoring the bite in my voice. “What I want is to talk.”

  This should be good. “Yeah? About what?”

  A sigh. “About you and Cyvil. And the fact that your engagement was a sham from the start.”

  I feel a crick form in my neck, even though I knew this was coming. I just figured he would let me get settled in before he verbally kicked my ass. No such luck.

  Looking at him, jaw stiff, I angrily relent, flopping down on the couch with a wince at tweaking my leg. If we’re going to do this, we might as well get it over with now. With a deep breath that kills my ribs, I say, “Dad, I know what you’re going to say –”

  “No, for once, you don’t.” He cuts me off, his tone rigid, back straight. “This week I got a call from your best friend who was in tears when he told me you were in the hospital, that something had happened to you. And then imagine how angry I am when I find out that racing is the idiotic reason for it, knowing that once again, you are risking your life as if it doesn’t even matter what happens to you. Then when I get there, I see your fiancée in the worst state I’ve ever seen a person in, holding your hand for three straight days, refusing to leave you. And to top it off, Lance Montae calls me and says that you both two-timed us. So, do you want to know which one disappoints me the most?”

  “No,” I answer, my tone practically dead.

  He chews his lips, looking on the verge of tears, and I stare at him, stunned. “None of them. What made me the most upset was that I’ve known for a while that you’ve been in a bad place. Your friends could see it too. And yet I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t ask if you wanted to talk, or see a therapist again. I failed you, son. As a father, I failed you more than anyone else.” A single tear escapes, and he quickly wipes it away, staring out the window onto New York City. If he had told me that he was shipping my ass off to Antarctica as retribution, I wouldn’t have been as surprised as I am right now, seeing him show his emotions for once.

  He shakes his head, looking down at the floor. “I told you that the arranged marriage was for business purposes, but it’s not the whole truth. When Montae came to me with the idea after my pitch, I saw it as an opportunity to possibly help your mental state. You haven’t been the same since your mother died, Jagger. I know that, because I haven’t been myself either.” He snorts derisively, face looking almost shameful when he admits, “I’ve been chasing around all these women, hoping to find a piece of your mother in one of them, and it took your accident to make me realize that there will never be another Lucinda for me. But I can find her every day by looking at you, her greatest gift to me.”

  I’m not even going to pretend that I don’t let tear after tear slip by, just hearing him mention my mother for the first time in three years. We never talk about her, as though doing so would make all the pain come back again; open up the wound we have barely let heal. He’s right, neither of us were the same after Mom died, and I don’t think we ever will be again.

  “I had hoped that Cyvil would bring some light back into your life. Not only would the business be saved, but maybe you would be as well. For that, I’m sorry, Jagger. I should never have forced such extremes on you. That’s why I’m not even mad about the scheme you and that lovely girl tried to pull on us.”

  “How? How could you not be mad?” I have to ask, trying to get my emotions back under control. He has to be a little upset, knowing we hoodwinked him, even if it did benefit him in the end.

  He looks at me, eyes glassy, shoulders slumped in obvious exhaustion. The lines around his eyes crinkle when he says, “Because your plan only involved helping out your old man. You wouldn’t have gotten money, or connections, or anything of monetary value from this. You even would have lost in the deal you made.”

  I want to ask what he means, but my mouth won’t move to open. Recognizing my dilemma, he says simply, “You wouldn’t have gotten Cyvil.”

  As if my throat didn’t want to explode before, it does now.

  I stare up at the ceiling, my head leaning back on the couch. Everything hurts. I feel as raw as I’ve ever felt, and I don’t know what I can do to fix it.

  Deciding the truth might as well be told, I say quietly to the room and myself, “I fell in love with her, Dad.” Ah, there’s that streak of pain in my chest again. “And I miss Mom every second of every day. So much so that I wanted to join her.”

  He says nothing to the biggest confession I’ve ever told anyone, but I see him nod his head out of the corner of my eye, apparently not as surprised as I thought he would be. Maybe I wasn’t as good an actor as I thought I was.

  “I know you love her, Jagger. It was obvious to everyone. That’s why I was so surprised when Lance told me the truth. And regarding your mother…I miss her all the time. But I know, more than anything, that she would have wanted us to move on, to be happy in this life for her. That’s the greatest gift we can give her, Jagger. To live life as fully as she did, and to do it without regrets. I can’t let myself imagine if I didn’t have you here to help me do it.”

  My father is looking at me like I’m his last hope, the string to keep him from falling apart completely, and I realize that this is what Cyvil had been talking about. Had I fallen off the side of that mountain and didn’t survive, this is what I’d be leaving in my wake. A broken father, shattered friends, and a girl who has already been through enough heartache and trauma to last two lifetimes. My own relief of this life would have cost them theirs.

  Because death doesn’t affect the dead. It affects the living.

  “Dad,” I choke out, feeling overwhelmed, my heart spasming. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, son.” For the first time since I was a little boy, my father wraps his arms around me in a hug that is meant to suffocate, keeping me as close as possible, in more ways than one. I let the warmth of his hug seep into me, allow the sorrow I’ve been holding in since my mom died to slip away with each tear that finds its way out. This…this is what I’ve needed since that day in the hospital three years ago. To let go, to feel loved, and to know that life goes on. And my father is right. My mom would have wanted me to live on if only for her, to make a difference in the world like she had. But even with this realization, the guilt of being the one responsible for her not being here and able to see it will always be a stone in my gut. No matter how much time passes. But it’s something I’m going to have to accept. I can’t take back the past, no matter how much I want to. All I can do is be a better man. For myself, my family, my friends…and Cyvil.

  Moments that feel like hours pass before we release from the embrace, and my dad and I continue to talk about things we never have before. It’s a relief but also heartbreaking to hear how much he has been suffering, not only with Mom’s passing, but also with the business. I didn’t realize that the two had been connected, but I probably should have.

  “I lost all motivation for my work,” he says, his tie undone, top button open. Seeing him like I used to as a kid is almost bizarre, but a good bizarre. He doesn’t look as burdened this way, and I’m glad. “And by the time I realized what I had done, all that I had lost, it was too late.”

  “Things have turned around some for the company though, haven’t they?”

  He nods. “Since getting the check from Montae, I wa
s able to hire some new analysts and the turn-around is beginning. Slow, but steady. And it’s all because of you, no matter what you did to get it.”

  I run a hand through my hair as he looks at me gently, the lightness I was feeling earlier from talking with my father slowly evaporating. “I’m sure Lance wants to kill me right about now.”

  “No, I think he understands, and maybe even admires your selflessness. It’s really that poor girl I feel sorry for.” He looks down into the small tumbler of scotch I poured him earlier, having hardly taken a sip from it.

  “What do you mean?”

  His lips form a straight line. “I figured Moon and Rosy probably wouldn’t tell you. They felt you’d had a bad enough time as it was.”

  “Dad.”

  His chest deflates in a disappointed sigh. “She’s not going to school this fall.”

  “What?” Oh no. Her dad. The check. Did he retract it? How did I not think of this when she ditched the contract?

  “She cancelled her father’s check. According to Montae, she’s decided that she wants to earn her own way before she applies again next year.” He smiles sadly, sounding impressed when he continues, “That girl has the strongest spirit I’ve seen since your mother’s. I have a feeling she’s going to be just fine, with or without her father’s support.” Turning to look at me and the gob smacked expression I’m surely wearing, he says quietly, “She loves you too, you know.”

  Yeah. I’ve slowly put that together over the last few weeks. From her reaction at the hospital, to Moon and Rosy and my father’s descriptions of her breakdown, to hearing about her giving away her future just now, I see that maybe my feelings for her weren’t as disappointingly unrequited as I once thought. And that’s almost worse.

  “She shouldn’t.”

  It takes a second before he responds, but when he does, he sounds genuinely confused. “Why not?”

  I swallow hard, staring down at the hands with an equal number of scars as Cyvil’s now. They are a reminder that: “I’m the last person in the world that deserves her.”