Because of You

by Laura Ward

  “Do you love Ricky?” Mom asked.

  “I did,” I nodded. “Until he lied.”

  Mom pursed her lips, studying me. “Your father and I talked about this last night. We’re still very angry with Ricky for what he put all of us through. But in a way, we understand what he did. We know what it’s like to be desperate to keep someone you love safe. He’s in a dire situation and we can only imagine the level of fear he has. Whether or not you can forgive him is all up to you.”

  I swallowed, unable to speak so I nodded.

  “No matter what happens between you two in the future, we want to help his father,” Dad signed.

  I squinted one eye closed. “Help? How?”

  Mom winced, her head bobbing back and forth, an a-ha moment was coming, I could tell. “I left one part out.”

  I waited, perfectly impatient. My eyes like saucers and jaw dropped.

  “We’re rich.” She signed and then waited.

  “I know that.” I motioned to our home.

  She shook her head. “No, my family. I have a trust. With many, many dollars.”

  My jaw dropped. “What?” I signed.

  She nodded, lips curving. “And so do you.”

  My eyes bulged even more.

  “My mother couldn’t touch my personal trust fund or yours. It’s legacy money from her parents. Here’s the information on what you have.” She reached into her robe and pulled out an envelope passing it to me. “Once you reached the age of twenty-one, it was officially yours. We waited to tell you because we didn’t think you were ready for the responsibility.”

  I took it, swallowing hard and pulling in a deep breath. “And now you do?”

  Mom nodded. “You have a job. You fell in love. You’ve navigated life on a college campus and made friends. You’re ready.”

  Dad held up his pointer finger. “One more thing,”

  My response was even wider, ‘what now’ eyes.

  “Ricky lied. He was truly dishonest with all of us. But sometimes, just sometimes, the greatest lies come from a truth so encompassing it buries the bad and only the good emerges.” Dad stood, moving around the table and kissing my cheeks. He waited, hand extended for Mom.

  She rose, and I did at the same time. We hugged, long and hard. We hugged apologies and explanations and promises for the future. We hugged love, pure and simple, so much I had enough to carry with me and give away.

  Pulling away, my mom signed, “It’s up to you, Aveline, my breath of life. You choose your path. To forgive. To accept. To risk. To love.”

  The choice was mine.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ricky

  SECOND SHIFT AT the factory ended at ten-thirty at night. By the time I clocked out and walked to the bus stop, it was already past eleven o’clock. When the bus rolled up with a hiss and squeak, I boarded, pleased to see most seats were empty. I headed to the back corner, resting my head against the window and closing my eyes.

  The hum of the bus lulled me into a semi-drowsy state. My first few days at the factory had gone as well as I could have hoped. Mr. G had put in a good word for me, and a supervisor found me an entry-level machine operator job right away. The pay was decent, but it was the benefits that won me over. Excellent insurance, a retirement plan, and life insurance. Plus, with paid holidays, paid vacation, and paid personal days, I would make more than Mama had ever dreamed was possible.

  Of course, I was agreeing to the next forty some years of my life operating mind-numbingly boring and repetitive machines.

  But hey, I could move up the ranks. Dean’s father did.

  Buck up, asshole.

  The answer had been in front of me all along. This was the way to help Papa. My stupid brain thought that someone else could solve my problems. My life had never been about anyone other than me and my family making it happen for one another. And I was taking charge.

  A hard, forced grin formed on my face. Without the weight of guilt, I allowed some pride to seep back under my skin. Manning up felt good. Telling the whole ugly truth to Aveline was the right path. She was hurt, but that would fade. She would realize, like I had all along, that I wasn’t worthy to share so much as a classroom with her. Allowing her to see me, to see the darkness in me, was the greatest protection I could offer her.

  The brakes creaked and whined as the bus stopped in front of my apartment building. Grabbing my lunch bag, I shuffled down the steps, head down. Marcela and Teresa would be asleep, needing their rest to wake up early the next day for school. I’d snag a pillow off the couch tonight to cover my head. Their six am wake-up alarm was going to suck when I hadn’t even eaten dinner until midnight.

  Mama would be asleep too. Her new routine was to stay with Papa all day in the hospital, coming home at night to eat and shower before she did it again.

  Doctors were optimistic that the blood thinners were working and that the blood clot was shrinking.

  As he got better, however, our problems and worries only increased. Hospital counselors had informed Mama that the best place for his recovery was a private rehabilitation center that did remarkable work with spinal cord injury patients. Of course, they didn’t accept Medicaid.

  Papa would have to come home with us where we worked as hard as we could to help him, always knowing that better was out there. Just not for people like us.

  “Count Schlonga, how’s it hanging?”

  Jon’s voice rang out across the dark parking lot as I walked toward my building. To my left, next to his old ass Ford pick-up truck, Jon stood, dangling a six-pack of beers in front of him.

  I grinned. Man, I needed some time with that fucker. “Incredible Bulk! I’m good. How’s your Upright Citizen?”

  Jon laughed loud and long. “Get over here dude and help me drink these brewskis.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat, accepting a cold can of beer and popping the tab. We clinked cans, toasting each other and I took a long gulp.

  Jon watched me swallow my beer, his eyes narrowing at the name tag sewn by Marcela into the upper left-hand corner of my uniform shirt. “What in the absolute fuck is going on, man?”

  Damn. I wasn’t ready for the interrogation I knew was coming. “The factory is a tough old bitch. I got second shift—they act like it’s much better than third shift, but hell, I think I’d rather pull an all-nighter and sleep all day than be sleepy as fuck twenty-four-seven, you know?”

  Jon didn’t say a word, only squinted his eyes.

  “And my hair is an issue. If you ever tell Landon or Dean this, I will kick you in the nuts, but I have to wear a hairnet. They wanted me to cut it, but then I gave them a look like I’d cut them, and they let it go. But a hairnet? Dude, I’m like that cafeteria worker back in high school, Ms… Ms…” Rubbing my chin, I searched my long-term memory for the name.

  “Tallis. Ms. Tallis was the head cafeteria worker in the hairnet. And fuckin’ hell, you spoke more words at once than I’ve ever heard you utter before. Either you’re losin’ your GD mind or you’re nervous as fuck. Which one is it?” Jon scowled, drinking his beer and waiting for my answer.

  “Tallis, yes.” I nodded and drank a long sip. Tilting my head back, it hit the headrest and I closed my eyes. Eye contact made these shitty conversations even shittier.

  Man up, asshole. I sat straight, meeting my best friend’s eye. “I told Aveline the truth. Told her about my plan for revenge. Turns out, I’m more of an asshole loser than even I thought. Her parents are deaf.”

  I waited, watching my best friend work through these new nuggets of information.

  “Deaf?” His eyes were big, sympathetic, and searching.

  “Yup, so when their kid fell in the lake and called for help, they didn’t hear her. Not a word. And not because they were neglectful. Because they have a disability. My hate was against people who had an honest to God tragedy happen to them. Not because of them.”

  He stared at me before asking, “Tell me you begged for forgiveness.”

&n
bsp; I nodded. “She told me to go. That I broke her heart.”

  “But you aren’t giving up, right?” Jon implored, angling his body to look me dead in the eye.

  Turning away, I drank my beer.

  “Hold that thought for a minute. I’ve been texting with the boys. Landon’s back in California or he would be here too. Dean’s still on his honeymoon, but he’s the one who contacted us after hearing from his Dad. Why in the ever-loving fuck are you working at the same factory as Mr. G? What happened to college? And why are you riding the bus, for fuck’s sake? Where is your bike?” Jon’s voice raised in volume and aggression with each question. By the end of his verbal vomit, his face was red, and a vein pulsed in his neck.

  I held up my beer. “Reminder, gordo. You are a dude. You don’t have a vagina. Stop acting like a little girl, okay?” My mean-spirited assault hit him square in the chest and he reared back like he had been punched.

  Jon slammed back his can of beer. “You’re in pain. I can see that. But you can only act like a tiny prick for so long. Then you become one. Talk to me. I’ve known you since kindergarten. Fuckin’ tell me the truth.” He rubbed his hand over his cropped hair, frustration pouring off him in waves.

  I sighed, long, loud and fully exasperated. “Okay, numb nuts. You want to get caught up on all the gossip? She was right. I don’t deserve her. She asked me to leave, and I left. Dad’s back in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. He could die. Mom can’t work, she has to be with him. Marcela wants to get a job, but she’s got two or three months left until graduation. She has to keep her grades up, so that won’t work. Me? Well, I’m a lost cause. Halfway through college. Bike shop closed, no job. Lost the best girl I’ve ever known when I lied to her, because something is very wrong with me. So yeah, Jon, I’m feeling pretty damn good about the uniform you’re eyeing me wearing. ‘Cause with this factory job, I take care of my people. I matter to them. I also make sure no girl like Aveline will ever look at me again. I can’t risk that. I can’t hurt anyone else’s heart or get mine destroyed again.” I slammed the last of my beer can on my knee and grabbed a second. “Thanks for the beers. Soon as I get my next paycheck I’ll hit you back.” Popping the tab, I took another swig. “Oh, and I sold my bike. Needed cash. I’ve always said, when the dream’s gone, let it go. I did. And I feel better than motherfucking ever, Jon. Next question?”

  Jon looked out the window before turning back to me. “You’re a good guy. This isn’t a story where you’re the villain.”

  I coughed, choking on my sip of beer. “No? That’s exactly what it feels like.”

  Jon nodded. “I bet. But you’re wrong. You need to fight for Aveline. You can’t give up. You’d be a moron to throw this all away. School, the girl you love, your dream.” Jon’s face was void of any humor. No more penis jokes would be said here tonight. “Sucks more than I can say about your dad. But dude, you can’t save him. You can save yourself. Fight, man. This is who you are. Channel all that anger raging inside you and give yourself something good. Aveline is yours. Don’t forget that.”

  My frown was deep and dejected. I thought that, but I was wrong. Aveline was never mine. If I was being kind to myself, I might believe that I found her when she was still in her chrysalis and maybe some part of me helped her break free. Now without the weight of me dragging her down, she could fly.

  I laughed, a hard, bitter bark. My anger at the entire situation reared up, ready to roar. “It’s over man. This is my life. And if it’s too depressing for my perfect friends and their perfect girls, then you can stay the hell away from me. I’ll be in the factory, taking care of my family, asshole.” I opened the door, climbing out as fast as my exhausted bones could move. As I was about to slam the door in my best friend’s face, he leaned over.

  Jon’s face was hard, too. His eyes glinted, nostrils flared, cheeks dark. “I’ll never abandon you. No matter how much you punish yourself, I’ll never stop being your friend. But tonight, you’ve never been more of a fool. And tonight is the first time in seventeen years that I can say I’m embarrassed to know you.”

  With that, I slammed the door.

  Jon gunned his engine, reversing out with peeling tires, heading to Daisy, a girl he loved and treasured.

  I walked into my apartment, ate dinner, and went to bed. A loneliness I had never known surrounding me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Aveline

  WALKING INTO THE classroom, I avoided the middle row where I normally sat with Ricky. Instead, I chose a seat toward the front, but on the opposite side of the room. Breaking routine and tradition would hopefully allow me a clear head and strong heart.

  After our intense family talk, Mom and Dad agreed I could finish my semester in the classroom. One point that I reminded them of repeatedly was that my grandmother no longer held any power over me or them. I was an adult. My parents had accomplished their goal. They had kept me away from a threatening family member and raised me in their home. Sure, my life wasn’t perfect, but it also wasn’t hard. They were great parents and I was only sorry for the shadow of fear that had fallen over them for the past eighteen years.

  Life without Ricky was indescribably hard. Everywhere I looked something reminded me of him. Heck, in my bed at home I couldn’t help but picture his hands and lips on my body. I ached for his touch, for his kiss, for his friendship, and for his heart. I loved him. I lost him. And that choice, as Dad so aptly put it, was mine.

  Snapping me out of my miserable wallowing, Dr. Redmond crossed the stage and pulled out a chair, sitting down. I scanned the room, looking at the back row where we once sat and in the middle rows, too.

  No Ricky.

  Eyes flying over the front rows and then this section of the room, I accounted for each seat.

  No Ricky.

  A flutter of a frown pulled the ends of my lips downward. Why wasn’t he in class anymore? I hadn’t seen him since the night he came to my house. I hadn’t decided whether or not to accept his apology or to contact him, but I still worried that he was absent. Was he hurt? Sick? Did something happen to his Papa?

  “Good afternoon, class.” Dr. Redmond remained seated, legs crossed, hands folded on top of a notebook. “Our semester is winding down. We will end our studies by examining personality disorders. This is a large unit of study and will take us right up to final exams.”

  As she spoke, I pulled out my laptop, powering it on and pulling up my class notes.

  “Today we discuss the psychology of forgiveness. I’m seated because I would like to introduce this topic to you in a friendly, therapist-like way. The reason for this is that I believe every one of us has one or more people in our lives that we need to forgive. Like our sex talk with our good buddy Freud, forgiveness is a common, relatable concept.”

  Seriously? In more ways than I could count, Dr. Redmond’s course had changed my life. But how in the hell did she know I needed this lecture on exactly this day?

  Synchronicity at it again?

  Opening her notes, she looked down before speaking. “Loren Toussaint, PhD, has spent the last decade researching forgiveness. He believes a small number of us have to move toward ‘heroic forgiveness.’ This is where we have to absolve a devastating offense like death. Dr. Toussaint, while acknowledging how hard this forgiveness is to achieve, has found that overall psychological well-being and physical health improves with this pardon.

  Bob Enright’s three-decade work on forgiveness helps us to understand what it is and what it is not. He writes that forgiveness is not justice or reconciliation. It occurs inside each of us and when we can achieve that, we have empathy and compassion for those that wronged us.”

  Dr. Redmond tapped her finger on her lip. “What I have found to be most fascinating in my studies on forgiveness is the physical release that can come from it. Toxic built up anger inside a person who has been wronged can cause immense stress on the body. Dr. Enright’s research has shown when that destructive anger is released through absolution,
those individuals have demonstrated less anxiety, muscle relaxation, and more energy. True physical benefits of clemency.”

  She sat back, her eyes scanning the room. I inhaled sharply, realizing I had been holding my breath for several seconds, absorbing her words, but not typing a single note.

  “Dr. Everett Worthington has found that some personality types are more forgiving than others. Forgivers tend to be more agreeable and less neurotic. Individuals who ruminate and hold onto grudges are, not shockingly, less forgiving.

  Today I’d like to try out a version of Everett’s forgiveness model. Class, each of you close your eyes. Think of the first person who comes to mind when you consider forgiving someone. Write that name down.”

  There was one name that never left my mind. The person whose apology I hadn’t accepted. My heart raced at the thought of him. Fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed: Ricky Martinez.

  Dr. Redmond waited a full minute before continuing. “Okay, now let’s try this model. Thinking of that person, write down some negative feelings you have about their offense to you.”

  My cheeks flushed as I scanned my thoughts for the right words to describe what I was feeling. I swallowed, and I wrote.

  Betrayal

  Lies

  Distrust

  Dr. Redmond nodded, encouraging the classroom that was silent, save for the sound of pencils or keyboards clicking. “Now, consciously decide to forgive them. Write down ‘I forgive’ and their name.”