by Cheri Allan
Motioning for back-up, he turned toward the back seat. Tommy and Meg’s daughter, Amy, sat slumped over a stuffed toy, her father’s blood, or maybe her own, spattered across her pink pants like dots of paint. Someone opened the back door. More sirens sounded in the distance. He watched as Roy reached in to feel the child’s neck, saw the look of surprise on his face when he found her pulse. Alive. She was alive. The air in Jim’s lungs came out in a huff—he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it—as they swung back around, back to the blur and chaotic order of moving bodies. Vehicles. Voices.
After that, time had no meaning. He moved, acted, responded, and yet it all seemed to be happening to someone else. The little details stood out. The smell of French fries from the local fast food restaurant as it hung in the air. The discordant laugh of a toddler somewhere nearby. The heart-shaped charm that dangled from Meg’s wrist as he helped load her onto the stretcher for airlifting. It read #1 Mom.
It seemed an eternity before they were ready to load Amy for transport. As Jim helped pass her small body to the awaiting paramedics, he blinked. Paused. His hand was shaking. Jesus. His hands never shook.
Swallowing, he buried it. Time for that later. Much later. And with the chopper’s deafening roar pounding his eardrums, he turned back to the grisly task of dealing with the dead.
HOURS LATER, TOO SHAKEN to drive home, Jim sat on a barstool in a dark corner of Lucky’s nursing a beer. He felt numb. Or wished to hell he did.
Jesus. Tommy Daniels. Dead. Old Man Richards. Dead.
Tommy was his age. Coach of the Wildcats football team. They went to Boy Scout camp together when they were ten. Snuck cigarettes under the bleachers in high school. And Meg. She’d been in the same class as Rachel. Loved to help teach kids to ice skate on the green when the Rec. Department flooded it each winter. Owned a hair dressing salon in town. Old Man Richards used to plow their driveway. Went bird hunting every October with Dad. Had a thing for pork pies and raspberry iced tea.
Jim drank and listened, in shared disbelief, as patrons and employees recounted the events of the evening, shared the same stories over and over. As if, in the retelling, they could somehow make sense of it all. Why there? Why them? Why?
He was ordering a second round when Jeff slid onto a neighboring stool. “Mind if I join you? I’ve got a ton of paperwork, but I saw your truck outside...”
“Sure.” Jim spun his drink mat on the bar.
“Makes you want to run home and tell your family how much you love ‘em, doesn’t it?” the bartender asked a nearby patron.
Jim nodded in silent agreement even though he knew the bartender wasn’t speaking to him.
Jeff got his cola.
They drank in silence for a long while.
“I must’ve driven through that intersection a thousand times in my life,” Jim finally said. “Never gave it a second thought.”
Jeff nodded, picked up his cola and took a long pull.
“What the hell happened?”
Jeff shrugged. “Best guess is Richards had a stroke or heart attack at the wheel. Ran the light.” He shrugged again. “Doesn’t make much difference now.”
“Suppose not. Any word on Meg? Amy?”
“Both critical. That’s all I know.”
Jim stared down the neck of his bottle and tried to understand what cosmic lesson the universe was trying to teach them all. All he could see was a man—his peer—cut down in the prime of life leaving behind a wife and child. If they even made it through the night.
“It could have been any of us,” Jim said. “It could have been you. Or me.” Or Kate. A flash of honey-colored hair came to mind, blurring momentarily with Meg’s, matted with blood. It could have been Kate. “Just like that. Everything we love. Gone.” Jim took another drink, and set the bottle down, his hand shaking again as he realized what he’d just said.
“Jesus.”
“I know,” Jeff said.
Love. He loved her. He loved Kate.
Jim let out a huff of disbelief and looked around, feeling bizarrely, morbidly elated. “I could be dead. Dead. Just like Tommy. And Kate would never know how I feel about her.” He swiped a hand down his face. “How could I be such an idiot? What am I even doing here?”
“Getting quietly soused?”
Jim shook his head. “No! I mean here. In Sugar Falls. Without her. How could I let her leave?”
“Is this a rhetorical question?”
“Want to hear something really crazy?”
“Sure.”
“I think I believed letting her go wouldn’t hurt so much if I never told her. But you know what? It hurts more.” His gut clenched. “Not that it matters. She’s gone now. I fucked up and now she’s gone.”
Jeff didn’t answer, just glanced Jim a look of sympathy. He took another sip of soda. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”
Jim studied the rows of glasses overhead. “You got a magic potion to make a woman come back to you when you don’t deserve a second chance?”
“If I did, I would have used it already.”
They sat quietly for a while longer, lost in their own thoughts.
“What about Justine? Is that really over, or are you still in love with her, too?”
Jim startled at the question, turning it over in his mind, the parts that weren’t numb yet, that is. “No.”
And it was true. Sure, he’d been stunned, blind-sided by her decision to reunite with her husband, had experienced an almost visceral need to find some explanation for how and why.
But that was gone now. Spent. A memory already fading.
“I don’t know if I ever was,” he admitted as much to himself as his friend. Jim pushed away from the bar and threw some bills on the bar top. “Well,” he said, “it’s been a rough night, I think I’ll call it a—”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Nah. I’m okay.” Jeff slid him a look that said he’d be a cop again if he had to. For a friend. “Fine,” Jim nodded. “All right.”
Jeff held the door for him. “Tell you what,” he said, cracking a rare half-smile, “if you don’t play with the radio, I’ll let you sit up front.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
____________________
SHE WAS LONG OVERDUE FOR IT. She knew this, but somehow the act of buying the pregnancy test seemed too final—as if by acknowledging the fact that this would confirm she was pregnant she also acknowledged a small part of her still held out hope it would turn up negative.
It didn’t even take the full three minutes.
There it was. Two tiny little pink lines. Positive. She was pregnant all right.
Kate sank onto the toilet seat and stared at the little white wand, tears welling in her eyes. Crap.
She couldn’t pretend any longer. And the damned ass that had done this to her was right this moment sitting neatly in a box in her living room awaiting—what? What the hell was she going to do with him?
Kate threw the wand into the trash, walked back to the living room—and nearly fainted.
“Sandy! Ohmigod! No! No!”
Not knowing what else to do, Kate grabbed the dog and shoved her into her crate, a fine trail of gray particles spattering the carpet in her wake. Tiny little doggie prints ran into the kitchen and back to the living room. And Randy’s FedEx box lay sprawled and emptied across the living room floor.
Kate stared at the carnage in horror, her breath coming in shallow little hiccups. Dear God. Dear God in heaven.
She sank to the floor, desperately trying to gather the ashes into a semblance of a pile, but it was no use. They were everywhere. Clinging to the fibers of the carpet. Floating like everyday dust motes in the sun. A single tear hit the carpet beneath her, turning the ash dark.
“How did this happen?” she whispered.
“I sorry, Mommy.” Liam stepped out from behind the sofa, his little head hung low. “I want to see inside.” He stepped forward again and gave a little hopeful grin. “You want
the vacuum?” Kate stared at her son, the urge to weep—or laugh hysterically—nearly overwhelming.
“Liam, I can’t vacuum up your—” She’d been about to say ‘father’ but then realized how incredibly odd that would sound to a boy who wouldn’t understand what the pile of dust meant. She looked around, the fine particles still floating like snow around them. Oh Lord. How else was she going to clean it up?
Blinking back tears, and fighting the bubbles of morbid laughter forming in her throat, she pulled Sandy out of her crate and clipped on her leash. “Looks like I have some clean-up to do. Can you take Sandy to play out back for a few minutes?”
Liam nodded eagerly and grabbed the little dog. “Mommy?” he asked, tilting his head. “Why you have that box of dirt?”
“I don’t know. I should do something about that, shouldn’t I?”
Right after I clean up this one last mess.
After shooing Liam and Sandy out the back door, Kate pulled the vacuum from the hall closet, and in deference to the dearly departed, installed a fresh vacuum cleaner bag.
“I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF those ashes.”
“Nana, I didn’t call to get a lecture,” Kate sighed. “I’m doing something about it now. I only wanted to ask if you’ve heard from Mrs. Pearson about whether she’s willing to rent the cottage to me for a little while.”
“No. She’s been out straight baking and such for the funerals.”
“What funerals?”
“You didn’t hear? Terrible tragedy. An accident downtown at the lights. Two people dead, a mother and child still in the hospital. No one’s sure if either will make it.” Nana tsk, tsked. “Terrible.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.”
“Anyway, I’ll try to see if she’s made a decision. I did hear that maybe Rachel and Doug were thinking of staying at the cottage for a while now that he got that job, but between the funeral preparations and the auction on Saturday, I’m not sure if anything’s decided yet.”
“Sure. I understand.”
“But you and Liam are welcome to bunk with me until you get on your feet. You know that.”
Gratitude welled up in Kate’s chest. “Thank you. But I’m hoping to stand on my own two feet. In fact, I’m heading out right now. I’m bringing Randy’s ashes to his father. I know they haven’t spoken in years, but I’m thinking this way maybe he’ll have a lot to say, like what I should do with the ashes, for starters.”
“If you’re sure. I thought he was too sick to even come to the funeral.”
“I know, but I need closure, Nana. I need to move on.”
“Good luck, Sweetie.”
“Thanks.”
Kate flipped her phone shut, buckled her seatbelt and checked the rear view mirror. She hadn’t seen her father-in-law since the day she and Randy had announced they were getting married. Randy had had some heated conversation in the other room and stormed out, fire in his eyes, as he’d grabbed her hand. “I don’t need anyone’s fucking blessing,” was all he’d said.
And they hadn’t spoken since.
She’d thought the whole incident was proof Randy loved her. She thought it was romantic like Romeo and Juliet, but now she saw it for what it was—Randy hating the fact that someone else might dare tell him what to do.
It hadn’t been about love at all. The realization was sobering. And depressing. Was she somehow inherently unlovable? Why did she keep getting involved with men who couldn’t bring themselves to say those three simple words?
An hour and a half later, Kate pulled to the curb in front of the house.
It looked smaller somehow, the years unkind. A thin layer of road dirt clung to the siding, the paint peeling, dandelions gone to seed the only sign of life in the parched front yard. She looked down the row of nearly identical houses, like a line of weary workers waiting for their big break. The one that would never come.
Checking the number on the mailbox again—just to be sure she was at the right place—she sucked in a breath. She probably should have called first. Checked to see if he was even home.
Too late for that. She was here. She turned to the back seat.
“Okay,” she said, shooting for cheerful, “we’re here!”
Liam looked doubtfully out the window.
“Now your Grandpa has been very sick for a long time. That’s why we’ve never met him. So, I want you on your best behavior. Understand? He’s probably got some little tubes in his nose to help him breathe, and he may be in a special chair. I don’t know. But he was your daddy’s daddy, so we need to be polite. If you’re good, I’ll get ice cream after, okay?”
Liam brightened. “A medimum?”
“Sure.”
All too soon, they stood on the tiny concrete stoop. Kate wiped her palm on her pant leg, clutched Liam’s hand with the other, and pressed the doorbell. The electric chiming seemed inordinately loud, making her want to run, but then, eventually, she heard shuffling behind the door.
The door opened a crack. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Mitchell? It’s Kate. Kate Mitchell.”
The door opened only fractionally wider. “What do you want?”
“I’d just like to talk with you. I have Liam here. Your grandson.”
The door opened wider still, Mr. Mitchell’s watery dark eyes taking in the boy he’d never met.
“Only a few minutes. Please.”
“Suit yourself,” he said.
The inner door swung open, and her father-in-law turned and began shuffling away. Kate gingerly pulled open the screen door and pushed Liam ahead of her.
The room was dim. The furniture care-worn. Newspapers and dirty dishes lay scattered on every available horizontal surface.
Mr. Mitchell hunched over the couch, shoving debris aside, wheezing despite the oxygen tank at his side. “Wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“I’m sorry. I would have called, but I wasn’t sure you’d see me. Here,” she rushed forward to help, “don’t trouble yourself. We’re fine.” Quickly clearing a seat cushion, she motioned for Liam to sit with her and waited while Mr. Mitchell lowered himself into a tired brown recliner.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve come.”
The older man shrugged. He couldn’t have been more than his mid-fifties, and yet he appeared twenty years older. “You want somethin’.”
Kate grabbed Liam’s hand as he reached toward some unknown pile of pills on the coffee table. “Don’t touch your grandfather’s vitamins, honey.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I came to seek your input on what you’d like me to do with Randy’s ashes. As his closest living relative—”
“Whatever the hell you want.”
Nonplussed, Kate tried again. “Surely you—”
“Look,” he cut her off, his dark eyes fixed on her, “Randy told me ten years ago he didn’t want my input. Can’t imagine... he’d want it now.”
“Sir, I don’t know what happened that day. I’ve never known. But, surely, now that he’s gone, whatever objections you had about me—”
“You?” He choked, coughing into his sleeve. He shook his head. “You were the best thing ever happened to that boy. Any fool could see that.”
“Then...?”
“He had some fool idea about marrying you and living over the garage. Said if I’d loan him the money, he’d pay me back with his race winnings.”
“Gambling?”
“No, stock car. Over to the track. Always went on about how he was going to be some big NASCAR driver and if only I’d help him out, it’d be his big break. Stupid idea. Told him he’d get himself killed.”
“I never knew.”
He passed a hand over his face. “He was always thinking about himself. One crazy plan after another. I told him he needed to settle down. Think about his wife. What did she think of his hair-brained idea?”
He shook his head wearily. “He didn’t want my advice then, don’t see any reason he’d want it now. You do what you want with his ashes. He’s
been dead to me ten years already.”
Kate looked to Liam. “Would you like us to come again?”
Mr. Mitchell looked over at his grandson, pursed his lips then shook his head once. No.
She nodded, rose unsteadily to her feet, bid her father-in-law goodbye and left.
Kate blinked against the early fall sunshine, turning toward the balmy breeze that lifted a few tiny dandelion tufts and carried them away, and came to a decision.
She finally knew what to do with Randy’s ashes.
IT WAS A SMALL MATTER TO GET directions, and after stopping for a quick bite to eat and gassing up the car, they headed up the highway, to the hill on the far side of town, to Randy’s final resting place.
The road jostled and bumped the car as Kate negotiated the final bend. And then she stopped at the padlocked gates. A faded sign on rusted metal posts stood to the left: King’s Speedway. She turned off the engine and stepped out. This was it. This was Randy’s passion. His dream. This is where he belonged.
Opening the trunk, she pulled out the vacuum cleaner bag with his ashes, took Liam’s hand, and started walking the perimeter of the fence.
“What we doing?” Liam asked.
“I wanted to find a special place for this... dirt.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“When I four?”
Kate smiled. “A little older than that.”
The sun was warm on her cheeks, the breeze calming. The leaves, still lush with summer foliage, swayed in the trees overhead. They hiked that way, up around the track, past the aged bleachers, through the knee-high grass to a point high above it all.
“Waz that?” Liam asked in wonder when they finally crested the berm at the end of the track.
“A race track.”
“Wow.”
“Your daddy wanted to race here someday. That was his dream.”
