Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  The blood.

  I run my hands down my shirt as I wipe away the memory, but there’s no point.

  The visions tear at my soul. I’m holding my father’s note. His last words. It grows heavy in my hand.

  The note that brings it all back. That makes me remember.

  A suicide note.

  With a shaky hand, I force myself to read his last words.

  I’m so sorry, Laura. My intentions were never to harm you. I don’t want to bring you pain. I don’t want you to be ashamed of what I’ve done. Sometimes I think this will pass. That I will get through this, and you’ll look at me like the husband you were once proud of. But now I know I have failed you too many times. I have failed our family. This is the only way out, the only way I can stop the pain I’m causing you. You were right. Everything you said was right. I failed you. I failed Eve. For that I’m truly and forever sorry. I hope you find the happiness you seek. This is the only way. I can’t stand the disappointment I see in your eyes.

  Please don’t be sad, for I’m not worthy of your tears.

  Please forgive me, and what I’ve done to us.

  This is the only way. I know how to make it all better now.

  Tell Eve that Daddy will always protect her. Tell her I love her.

  My hand shakes. A sob breaks lose. Everything trembles. My body collapses forward. Every tiny shred of remaining strength breaks. What is this? What the hell is this? I have no idea what’s going on. No clue, but I can’t move. I can’t think. The world is shutting down. The walls are closing in. It feels as if I’m drowning. Ice-cold liquid fills my veins as I realize my entire life is a lie. Everything I know is wrong. Nothing makes sense.

  Time stops. Everything ceases to be. Lying on the floor, I think of nothing but the betrayal. As the seconds turn to minutes and then hours, I realize I haven’t moved from my spot on the floor.

  Nothing will ever make sense again, but in truth, it all makes sense. Every vague answer. Every sidestep. All to avoid this. But she won’t avoid it any longer. I need to know everything and she will tell me. I have that right. I deserve to know.

  My anger fuels my body. I make my way out of Richard’s apartment and storm into hers. The hallway is quiet. No doubt she is curled up in her bed, hiding from the world. How nice it must be to hide from everything in your life.

  “Mom?” She doesn’t answer, and I step farther into the room. “Mom. I’m talking to you.”

  “I’m not well. Can we speak after my nap?”

  “No. You will speak to me now!” With that her head rises from her pillow.

  “What is this about?” She seems more alert than normal, but when I lift the paper into her line of vision she flinches, and the look in her eye fades as she shrinks back into herself.

  “I’m dizzy. Can we talk about this later?”

  “No, Mom. I deserve answers. How could you not tell me? How could you keep this from me? How could Richard?”

  “I had to. We had to.” Her voice is so sad. She’s broken.

  “I–I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I have the energy to tell it.”

  “Please, Mom,” I plead and she finally relents.

  “You were so young. We lived a good life. Your-your father was a good man. It was my fault. Everything is my fault.” She starts to sob uncontrollably. I don’t know how to help her. Her tears break out like a river. Never stopping. Always flowing.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I said things. Bad things,” she whispers.

  “Mom, please. I think you owe it to me to tell me the full story. What happened? And no more saying you’re sick. No more hiding. No more lying.”

  “I told him he was a loser. That he wasn’t good enough for us. That if he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t provide for us we were better off without him.”

  “But how is that your fault?” She looks down.

  “What else did you say, Mom?”

  “I-I . . . Don’t make me say it.”

  “Please.”

  “I told him we’d be better off if he was dead. I didn’t mean it. Oh, God. Oh, God. It’s entirely my fault. Everything is my fault.” I crawl into bed with her. Hold her in my arms. Tears seep through my blouse. They’re coming from my own eyes. I cry and I cry until I have no tears left to shed. When they finally dry, I turn to her.

  “But why? Why did you lie to me?”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to, Mom. For the first time since Dad died, put me first. I need to know everything. Tell me everything.”

  I wait for her to wipe her own tears and then she looks at me. There is so much sadness. So much remorse. “When we found you—”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Richard came over to discuss finances with your father. You see, we were bankrupt. Your father was always a dreamer. One scheme after the other, each one riskier than the last. The bigger the risk—”

  “The bigger the reward.” I nod.

  “I had no idea we were financially destroyed until I overheard him begging Richard to come over and help him. I stormed into the room after he hung up the phone and he came clean. We had lost everything. When I found out, I flew off the handle, screaming and yelling at him.

  The last investment was a property in South America. The developer was supposed to build a hotel. He was assured it was a sure thing. When he first told me about his new project, I begged him not to do it, but the return on the investment was supposed to be incredible. He couldn’t say no.

  I’m so ashamed of myself. It’s my fault he did it. I didn’t hear the gunshot. I left you in the house with him. I needed air. I threatened to leave him, to take you. I-I . . .” She starts to tremble. “I didn’t . . . ”

  “Please, Mom,” I plead to hear the rest. To know about those fateful minutes before my dad took his own life.

  “When I pulled into the driveway, Richard was outside knocking. No one was home, he said. But I knew that wasn’t true. I left you with your dad. He was out of his mind when I left but I didn’t think. I didn’t. You were in your room watching a TV show, playing with a doll. I thought you’d be okay. I thought he would be okay. Oh, God . . . He could have hurt you. What kind of a mother leaves her child?” She swipes at her tears again.

  “When Richard said that, I knew something was wrong. The TV was still playing when we walked through the house, but you weren’t there. We found you, and you were covered in blood, lying on him. I don’t know how long you were like that. B-but you wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t cry. You were catatonic.”

  “But why, if I found him, why did you tell me it was an accident? What are you leaving out? What are you not telling me?”

  “When we found you that way, we weren’t thinking straight, or at least I wasn’t. Richard brought us to my room. He took care of us. Th-then he called the cops. He didn’t tell me he took the note until much later. He knew we were in financial ruin, and with your father’s life insurance policy—although there was a stipulation allowing payout—he didn’t want to risk it. So, he took the note, and he said it was an accident. When you finally came out of your trance and started to speak again, it was as if you forgot. So we never told you.”

  “But there was no accident.”

  “No.”

  “And Dad killed himself.”

  “Because of me,” she says through sobs. I’m numb. I stand and walk toward the door. “You’re leaving me?”

  The walls are closing in. I have to leave. I can’t stay here. I need to get out. Get far from this hell I’ve been thrust in. I know I will break, but not in front of her.

  “But I need you—” she cries out. I’m already out the door.

  It’s too much.

  My heart crashes in my chest.

  Too much information.

  It’s as if my heart has been ripped out.

  Too many lies.

  I’m not okay.

  My shoulders constrict
. All my muscles have become corded. I place my hand on my shoulder blades and massage.

  Needles tingle down my arm.

  I move about uncomfortably.

  The panic is starting. Spreading through my veins like a poisonous venom suffocating me.

  It’s all in your head.

  It’s all in your head.

  You can control your own fear.

  Own it.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  My chest is still pounding.

  The truth has broken me.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been walking or how far my feet have carried me. I fall to the ground. The tears come heavier now. My broken soul bleeds out all over the streets of New York. I sob for everything I thought I knew. I sob for my dad, who felt so desperate that he had no other choice. I sob for the pain and guilt my mother carried inside her, and I cry for a decision Richard shouldn’t have had to make.

  From a haze, I lift my phone and reach out for help. For someone to help me. My fingers do the dialing. It rings and rings, but no one answers, and all I can do is sob harder. But then I hear a voice coming through the earpiece.

  “Eve?”

  But the sobs don’t stop. They only increase in tempo at the sound of the voice on the other side of the phone. “Shh. Please don’t cry. Are you hurt?” Still no words come out, only endless whimpers. “Please.” He pauses a beat. His breathing pulls me out of my haze. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know where I am,” I finally say. My voice is raspy from the strain.

  “Are you home?”

  “No.”

  “Are you out?”

  “Street.”

  “Okay, you’re doing really well. Tell me the street. What street are you on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you look up? Can you see anything?”

  “Thirty Seventh.”

  “Okay, do you know the avenue?”

  “Lexington. I have to go.”

  “Please, stay on the—” Without another word, I drop the call. I break. I fear I will pass out from the racing of my heart. Slumping down on the stoop of the apartment building, I let it all out.

  It hammers to the point of pain as my small hand touches the ice-cold pavement.

  A light sheen of sweat collects down my back. In the distance, through my fog, I hear my name.

  There he is. His gaze sears mine.

  “What are you doing here?” I mutter out, drained and hollow.

  “I needed to make sure you’re okay.”

  “So you found me?”

  “Of course, I found you.”

  “Are you here as my doctor or as my friend?”

  “What do you need me to be?”

  “Everything. I need you to be everything.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll be.” My shoulders shake on a sob. “I’ll be anything you need.”

  “Please hold me,” I plead. He nods and sits down on the stoop beside me. “Don’t let me go.”

  “Never.” He pulls me closer into his embrace. Cradles me. My body wracks with another wave of sobs. They won’t stop. They just keep coming.

  “What happened? What’s going on?”

  “I-I can’t. It’s too much.” He tilts my chin up, locking our eyes together.

  “Please.”

  “It wasn’t an accident.”

  “What wasn’t an accident? I don’t understand.”

  “My dad . . . Not an accident.” With that, I slump forward, laying my head against his legs. He traces soft circles on my back. They comfort. They soothe.

  “Breathe. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two three.” The air once restricted, flows back. He must feel it as he waits, trailing circles until I calm. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I-I found a letter. He did it.”

  “Did what? What did he do?”

  “He took his own life,” I say. “He lost everything and took his own life. He left us on purpose. He left me on purpose,” I cry. “Why am I never enough?”

  Preston holds me. He holds my trembling body against his until I can’t cry anymore. Until no sobs leave my body. Until I’m numb.

  “Please don’t abandon me,” I whisper.

  “Shh. Shh. I have you.”

  “Please don’t leave me,” I cry out again. This time I raise my head to meet his stare. I have said so much more than words can say, but he understands every word.

  “Never.” He stands and lifts me to my feet, taking on my weight.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.” With slow, steady steps, Preston guides me down Lexington until we get to Thirty-Fifth. I expect him to keep going, but instead he turns down the block and up to his brownstone where he fishes for his keys.

  “I thought . . .”

  “I didn’t want to leave you. I needed to make sure you were okay. So I brought you to my place.”

  “Thank you, Preston.”

  Together we walk into his apartment. He takes my coat and hangs it by the front door, then leads me to the living room.

  “Tell me what happened?”

  “It’s so hard to say. To understand.” He nods and takes my hand in his, squeezing with reassurance.

  “I was at Richard’s apartment, cleaning out his closet and I found a box. Inside were all types of personal belongings. The papers from my mother’s investment, the deed to the apartment that the company bought for us in the building. Then there was a book. A Jane Austen book. When I grabbed it, a letter fell out.” All the words dry up. They feel like chalk.

  In, out. In, out.

  “I got you.”

  “He said he was sorry. He said my mom was right about him.” I take gulps of air. “Mom t-told him we were better off without him. He had lost everything, and she told him that.” He nods in understanding. “How could she say that? How could she tell him we were better off with him dead? It’s her fault.”

  “I know you’re angry right now. And it’s understandable for you to blame your mother. But your father was obviously going through something very emotional and not thinking rationally. He felt he had no other way out besides taking his own life. As much as you want to blame your mother, you can’t. From what you’ve told me about her, it’s obvious she blames herself enough. You need to forgive her.”

  “And him? How do I forgive him? How do I forgive the fact he didn’t love me enough to stay?”

  “You have to know it in your heart, that he truly felt he had no other option. He was in pain. Forgive him and love him despite his actions.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You can. And you will. You’re an amazing person, and if anyone can forgive, it’s you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I believe in you.”

  And again he says the words. The words I’m so desperate to hear. The words that I need to hear.

  “It will be the salve for your heartbreak. Forgive her. Forgive him.”

  “You speak as if you know.”

  “I do.” I quirk my eyebrow up at him.

  “No, this is about your loss. I don’t want to make it about mine.”

  “Or you just don’t trust me with that part of yourself.”

  “I do.” He lets out an exhale. “I told you when I was in college I had a girlfriend. We’d dated since high school. She was amazing, but there was another side to her, as well. I know she suffered from bipolar disorder now, but at the time, well, obviously I didn’t know. She was reckless and fun, but when she was off, it was bad . . .” His voice trails off. “She committed suicide our sophomore year.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is that why?”

  “Is that why I became a psychologist? Yes. I never saw the signs. If I only knew, I could have helped her get through her nightmares.” My eyes grow wide at his choice of words. My heart beats frantically in my chest.

  “Nig
htmares?” I whisper to myself, looking up at him, letting the piece of the puzzle fit together.

  “Oh, my God. All this time you’ve been so scared that what I had was transference, were you with me because . . . Am I a replacement? Am I some way for you to right your wrongs?”

  Preston’s self-restraint snaps. He leans forward and cups my face, and before I know what’s happening, I find myself kissed with abandon.

  When we pull apart, his ragged breath tickles my lips.

  “How can you doubt me? How can you imagine this is anything other than what it is?”

  “And what is it? What is it you feel for me?”

  “Everything. I feel everything for you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I dream of. Every second I’m not with you is a second too long. Don’t you think this is killing me? Don’t you think I’m hurting, too?” And with that, our mouths collide and my lips part again.

  Tasting each other’s mouths, savoring each swipe of the tongue.

  The feel of his thumb running alone the curve of my jaw makes me open fully to him.

  He takes me in an all-consuming kiss.

  Strong arms pull me closer. They surround me, engulf me. They pin me to him.

  His touch is electrifying.

  Every inch of my skin burns to feel more. To experience more of this heady sensation.

  Preston eases back until our eyes lock.

  The feel of his breath tickles my lips.

  Our breathing mingles.

  Our mouths barely touch as we inhale each other.

  Steam puffs between us.

  I curl my arms around his neck as he lifts me into his arms and pads his way to the bedroom.

  Once in the room, he eases me onto the bed and lays another deep kiss before lifting off me. His icy blue eyes study me.

  He’s silent as he removes his clothes . . . and then removes mine.

  My body shakes and trembles from the emotion swirling around us.

  This is more than sex.

  This is more than comfort.

  He might not say it, but I see it in his eyes. This is two people falling in love.

  When he gets back on top of me, he presses tiny kisses to my neck, trailing them down to the hollow of my chest. His warm hands feel me.

  My body arches into his touch. To the feel of his fingers caressing each nipple. To the feel of him stroking them into hard peaks. The tip of his tongue circles them. One, then the other. He licks with careful precision until I’m writhing with pleasure.