We follow him to Starbucks. He parks. We park. Cars pull in and out of spots in their early morning rush. Everything seems normal.
“He’s just getting coffee,” Ruth says. “Maybe trying to sober up.”
I don’t say anything. I’m busy watching him get out of the car. He comes around and opens the passenger side door. I can’t see what he’s doing. His hands are hidden, but the muscles shift in his shoulders and upper body. He’s so sexy to me. I already miss his kiss.
“Can we go?”
I finally look away from him to answer, but catch sight of something behind Ruth. My brow wrinkles at the thought.
“What?” Ruth asks, turning around.
A cop car is parked two spots away.
“It’s empty,” Ruth says, probably thinking I’m worried about being arrested for some unknown crime. I’m not.
I’m worried about... “Mendoza.”
We both jump when we hear the shot. It’s a startling clap of sound on such a quiet morning. Screams follow and patrons scatter, running for their cars.
“Oh my God,” Ruth whimpers, ducking down just below the steering wheel.
There’s a tiny sliver of view as I peek over the dash. I was right. Mendoza is in uniform, hunched over his bleeding abdomen.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Ruth repeats in desperate rhythm with my heart.
Mendoza stumbles forward but reaches for his weapon, still quick despite his injury.
“No,” I utter unconsciously.
He fires and Gabe falters.
“Gabe!” I scream. Ruth looks at me with a pale blank stare. “Call 911,” I tell her.
Gabe is still holding the gun, straight out in front of him, when he falls to his knees. I reach for the door handle, but Ruth grabs at my elbow. I yank it away, but she holds me around the waist.
“No. Lucy! Don’t!”
I’m stronger than her. Always have been.
“Let me go!”
I rip loose and race toward the two of them. I can’t see what’s happening through the parking lot, but I run. It’s a reckless run, tripping and stumbling, scraping by cars and breathing deep to get to him. When I get a view, I see them both laying in twisted shapes on their backs, and I can’t tell if they’re dead. They could be. He could be.
“Help!” I scream. “Help him.”
The lot has cleared, but the same zombie onlookers stare out the window of Starbucks the way they did at the Taco Bell. I don’t bother with them. I know they’ll do nothing.
I slide into Gabe’s side, scraping the knees of my jeans against asphalt. “Gabe! Gabe...”
Everything about me is frantic. I pick up his limp hand and hold it tight. My racing heart and jittery fingers are lost at the sight of so much blood soaking the chest of his shirt.
His eyes are closed. I scoop his face in my hands, and they open softly as he groans.
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
His brow furrows just slightly.
“Luz?”
I nod, but my busy hands and eyes are searching for what to do. And I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I can’t help him. All I feel is a rising tide of fear, the edges of its dark waters climbing higher and higher.
“I don’t know what to do, Gabe,” I admit. The tears finally spilling over onto my cheeks.
“I’m scared.”
He coughs. Doesn’t answer. Closes his eyes.
“Gabe!”
He opens them.
“I got him,” he rasps, before sputtering splashes of scarlet onto his cheeks with one final choke.
I melt into his still, strong chest, sobbing against his neck. His body is warm. Maybe they’ll save him. They have to. Anything else doesn’t seem real. It can’t be over. So fast. So final.
I was stupid to think goodbye would be enough, that closure and a kiss would allow me to let him go. It’s never enough.
The seconds are painful as I wait for the sirens to come, like holding ice to my skin. Time is a contrarian. He steals the minutes we want more of, and stops the clock when our hearts are most desperate. Minutes mean the difference for him. They take too long.
I feel for breath, trick myself into seeing his chest rise and fall. Maybe there’s a ghostly pulse. I don’t know. Ruth is somewhere close. I know she’s watching, waiting for the police. She’s asked me things, but I can’t listen.
The paramedics come with their equipment. They try, and I insist they keep trying.
“He had a pulse. He was breathing. I saw it,” I cry.
They keep asking for space, but I can’t pull myself away from him. Stepping back feels like giving up. It forces me to see his lifeless body stretched out and unresponsive.
His blood is all over me. I can feel it drying and cracking on my skin. As sick as it is, I don’t want to wash it away, to be rid of the last traces of him.
I start to lose it again when they bring out the body bag. I’m nothing but the sting in my throat, the ache in my chest, the weepy drip of my nose and red swollen cheeks.
“Come on,” Ruth ushers me to one of the cop cars. I sit sideways on the cushioned edge of the back seat with the door open until I’ve pulled myself somewhat together. I wonder if there will ever be a version of me that is wholly “pulled together”.
More than ever I want to crawl into the dark hole I just climbed out of. I want drugs. Any drug to help me forget.
Ruth has stopped trying to talk to me. She just holds my shaky hand, even though I don’t want her to. An officer I don’t recognize takes my name. I tell him what I know. There is no one to protect anymore.
Gabe is dead.
CHAPTER 44
Mom
I DON’T GO TO Art’s funeral. I’m not ready to face it yet. I hide from what happened under the covers in my bed, for days. I can’t remember the last things we said to each other. Did I tell him I loved him?
I’ll never get to make up for that, for not getting to say goodbye. So I tell him in my head. I talk to the image I have of his beautifully strange eyes and kind soul.
Your love helped me love myself, I tell him. I’m better because of you.
Not so long ago being alone meant being free. I remember the moment freedom gripped me, telling myself I would never let it go. Now, being alone is nothing more than emptiness.
My kids are here. They come in and out, not expecting me to be anything other than what I am. They let me grieve as my heart fights desperately to rebuild itself.
He’s just...gone. I keep reaching for my phone out of habit, but there’s no text from him, no one to call.
My pillow is damp from a day’s worth of tears when I decide to dial his number. I know he won’t answer, but when I hear it ring there’s a false stutter of hope. The recording of his voice brings him back to life, even for a moment, and I turn away from the slivers of sun breaking through the closed blinds.
I hide in the dark hovel I’ve made in the covers and cry until, finally, my Lucy comes in. She’s equally lost and spiritless, and I feel even worse for not being there for her. She climbs into bed with me, curls into my side like she used to, and I remember in a glimpse what I thought I’d forgotten—her as a child. It’s there in our affection, her need to be comforted, and my need to hold her.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
I pet her head, running my fingers through her sandy blonde hair as we cry.
“If I would have stayed with Gabe, maybe I could have stopped him.”
She can’t see my eyes pinch closed as I hold in a sob. I’ve had the same angry, irrational thought, and I can’t seem to chase it away.
“It’s not your fault, sweetie,” I say, reminding myself of that fact. “They had problems with each other way before we came along.”
“Not just for Art...for everything.”
She holds me tighter, squeezing her arm around my waist.
“I talked to Ruth,” she says after a while. “She’s going to stay here with you. She’s not going to Long Beach.�
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“We’ll talk about it later.”
She lifts her head. “No. She’s already on the phone with them. She’s going to stay here, and I’m going home.”
“Home?”
“With Dad.”
“With Dad? No...you can’t...” I finally pull myself up to sitting, forced into the real world by the need to parent.
“I can’t stay here, Mom. I have to get away from the drugs, from what happened to Gabe, from the city.”
“I don’t know...”
“Mom, I don’t trust myself here.”
Addiction is a family trait. It’s built into us. If she’s already gone over into the world of dangerous drugs, it’s only a matter of time before it finds its way back to her. I can’t lose her, too. We’d already come so close to that.
“If you think you’ll be okay there. You have to promise me you won’t get into trouble or—”
“I won’t. It’s home. It’s Dad. I know you guys hate each other now, or whatever, but he’s still my dad. Everyone makes mistakes. I should know. If you guys can forgive me, then I can forgive Dad. And I need him right now.”
I’ve never understood their connection, but her words strike me, clear and profound. It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand. She needs him. I was so selfish in keeping her with me, thinking that I was protecting her from a man who didn’t have love in his heart. His love for me had died, but that didn’t mean he’d ever stopped loving the kids. I’d taken her without giving either of them a choice. I’d dragged her here, from the very beginning against her will, and only now am I finally realizing this. In a way, I put her here. I opened the doors to the city and let it take my broken beautiful girl.
“I should have just let you stay.”
She puts her arm around my neck and lays her head on my shoulder. Even with all the trouble she brings I can’t imagine not having her here.
“I probably would have thrown a fit about that, too. You know me.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you would have burned Massack to the ground.”
We laugh together, and I hug her tight, unable to remember the last time I held her this close.
With our cheeks pressed together, I close my eyes. “I’ll miss you so much.”
I inhale a deep breath of courage. And then I set her free.
CHAPTER 45
Lucy
The air at home is different. It’s cold and clear. My lungs open to it with the first breath. The Sierra Nevada Mountains are like the edges of a giant bowl, a constant backdrop setting the scene of life in the country. Outside, back home on our ranch, it smells like dirt and hay. The sky is its own ocean, full of clouds and sunsets, birds and stars.
Dad greets me with a teary-eyed smoker’s smile, yellowing teeth and a white whiskery chin. We’ve always seen past each other’s flaws. He knows what it’s like to fight the beast of addiction. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. But at least we can fight together.
My room has gone untouched since I’ve been gone. Things are scattered across the floor from our frantic packing. Somehow Dad has managed to stay here, despite the fight with his brother that started it all. I don’t ask about it. We do what we’ve always done, what we do best...we leave each other alone.
He says he’ll give me a few weeks to pull myself together before we figure out how to get me on track with school. His one rule is that I have to attend class, and that’s fine with me. I want to.
In the meantime, I take comfort in my dad’s case of shotguns and his two new dogs who watch the night as I sleep. I’ve missed the sound of this place, the insects chirping in the windows and coyotes yipping at night, the whistle of the train as it passes through our quiet town, and mockingbird songs that usher in the morning.
Coming home feels like I’ve gone back in time, but it doesn’t erase the grief. Most days I close myself in my room, unable to resist the lure of Facebook, which has perfectly preserved my memories. It still feels like Gabe’s alive when I look through the pictures he’s posted, reliving moments with him. At night I sleep next to his picture, hoping I’ll dream of him, but I don’t. He’s gone.
Still, it feels good to be alone.
I’m sure Dad hears my sobs and notices my flushed cheeks when I get up to grab food or water, but he doesn’t say anything or offer a shoulder to cry on. He’s not the coddling presence of Mom and Ruth, but as much as I miss them, I’m glad they’re not here to remind me of where I’ve been. We talk on the phone a lot, and I tell them I’m fine. I listen to their sad voices and try to make mine sound happy. But it’s a lie.
After a week of sobbing Dad finally steps in. “Okay,” he says, opening the door to my room without knocking. “Time to get out a little. No more hiding in bed all day.”
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling the covers up. “I’m just tired.”
He slides the blankets off, leaving me cold and exposed. “Go for a walk or something. Get up. Get it together.”
Something about his authoritative, stern voice makes me jump into action.
“Okay, okay,” I say, grabbing my hoodie from the floor. “I’ll go for a walk. Then can I sleep?”
He walks away without answering, seemingly satisfied with my response.
It does feel good to get out. The air is still and quiet. I can hear my breath and the wind. My shoes scrape the russet dirt as I walk the back road that connects dozens of houses set into the sagebrush-covered hill.
As I reach the end, where the pavement starts and the road curves onto the highway I stop, staring at a familiar house. Rick has lived down the road from me my whole life. After pretending to date when we were ten, I never paid much attention to him, but I’ve spent weeks in my room and the idea of a friend is appealing. I walk up to his yard, hoping he’ll be home. When I look through the log fence, I see him and his brother playing catch outside. I watch for a moment before I yell.
“Hey!”
He jogs over, his mouth dropping when he sees me, which makes me blush. Have I changed so much?
“What, can’t say hi?” I tease him.
He’s grown up while I’ve been away. He’s tall, blond and handsome. A country boy, with a drawl to his mumbling speech. I don’t need to hear him talk to remember that.
“Where ya been? They turn you into a city girl?”
“A little.”
He shakes his head in disapproval. “Too bad. You were one of the good ones.”
We spend the evening looking through old yearbooks and drinking Jack. It’s nice to finally have company. I get to be who I used to be with Rick, just slip back into myself like nothing’s changed. And that’s exactly what I decide to do.
Rick and I spend every day after that together, and each time I see him I feel that rush. The rush I was searching the city for. His smile, his blue eyes, that charming laugh that makes me laugh—it heals me. We lie under the country stars in the back of his GMC truck and talk about our dreams until the sun comes up, and all along, I can’t believe what I’ve been missing.
Rick’s hand slips into mine, the same hand that used to write me love notes on math homework, and I know I’ve found my way home.
EPILOGUE
15 years later...
EPILOGUE
Ruth
IT’S HARD FOR ME to relive those days with Lucy without calling it fate. Awful things happened, but in the deepest, unflowered bud of my heart I know life has its reasons.
It took time for Mom to heal, and I stayed, just like I promised. That choice shifted things for me, in a new direction, but not a bad one.
I didn’t marry Josh. Even though back then I was sure I would. He left for Boston, and we tried long distance for a year, seeing each other on holidays and during break, but each time he came home I could sense the difference. He felt far away, even when we were together, until eventually I forced him to admit he’d moved on. I couldn’t blame him. I’d seen it coming.
“You know I’ll love you forever,” he told me. “It’s true
what I said. I’ll always think of you as the best I’ll ever do.”
“Me too,” I said as we held each other. I knew I would treasure the memory of him and the love we had. It would rest in a quiet untouched place inside of me.
After he said goodbye we drifted apart quite quickly.
It was for the best really, because once we were over I moved into the dorms at Cal State Long Beach and for the first time in my life I began living for me and nobody else.
My roommate refused to let my social anxiety get in the way. She dragged me to her favorite classes, to parties and meet-ups. The two of us studied crazy things like film and Chinese, and on off days we’d stay in our pajamas watching movies and drinking wine.
College helped me find myself. It gave me confidence and made me realize nobody cared about who I was in high school. Each day was a blank slate. I could be anybody I wanted.
I did fall in love again. It couldn’t have been at a worse time. I’d already committed myself to a year abroad in Taiwan. I’d never been outside the country before. I was afraid to fly. I hardly spoke the language. Everything tempted me to give it all up and stay.
Sometimes I felt like God was testing me, but I knew I had to go. So I did. I walked onto the plane in search of myself.
The man I married stayed with me through that year in Taiwan. He even flew across the world to meet me there. He’s dedicated, honest, and loving, but most of all he makes me laugh. We have two children and a wonderful life, and none of it would exist if things hadn’t played out the way they did.
But I’ll never forget it—the time we lost Lucy.
It wasn’t until years later I heard the details of what really happened to her—the rape, the guns, and violence. When she told me her story, I didn’t want to believe her. It seemed made up, but all the pieces were there, sharp and jagged like shards of mirrored glass. All I had to do was fit them together.
It’s harder to blame her for her faults knowing the truth, but even without it, I’d still love her. I’d still forgive her for the way she treated us in the dark depths of her youth, because we’re always hardest on the ones we love most. We know they’ll stand by us through the worst of ourselves.
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