“What did he do for a living?”
“He worked as a contractor.”
Fletcher nods his head. “I used to work for a contractor before I went into the army.”
“How long have you been out? Uh, discharged? Whatever you call it.”
“Six years, and I had a medical discharge.”
“Medical discharge?”
“Yeah, it’s a really long story best told on another day.”
“I understand. Thanks for serving.”
Fletcher grins, “You’re welcome.”
“Moonshine?” Grampy’s frail voice calls. I’m at his bedside in an instant.
“Yes, Grampy. I’m still here.” Fletcher looks confused. “It’s a nickname,” I quickly explain.
“Who’s visiting?” Grampy inquires.
“This is my friend, Fletcher. He brought me some supper and stayed behind to keep me company. Did we wake you?”
“No. Send him over.”
“What?” I ask, uncertain of what I heard.
“Send him over,” Grampy repeats.
“Uhm, okay. Fletcher, my grandfather would like to talk to you,” I say, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders. Grampy shoos me away when Fletcher reaches his bedside, so I stand in the corner of the room, gnawing away at my fingernails while I desperately try to overhear their hushed conversation.
“You have my word, sir,” Fletcher says, lifting the elderly man’s hand and placing it in his own. After he finishes the handshake, he gently replaces Grampy’s hand on his chest and joins me in the corner. “He wants to talk to you.”
I’m instantly at his bedside.
“Will you help me sit up more? I’m too flat.”
“Sure, Grampy.” I push the button, and he smiles when the head of the bed is finally in a position he likes.
“Good,” he says through his mask, “I think I’m going to take another nap.”
“Okay, Grampy. Rest well. I’m right here if you need anything,” I say, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
He squeezes my hand, “I know, my girl. You’ve always been there for me. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Always.”
He smiles while gently nodding his head, and his hand goes lax in mine. I bury the emotions I’m feeling before rejoining Fletcher on the sofa. Grampy’s new position offers us a better view of him, and I find myself mesmerized with his oxygen mask. Condensation builds, then instantly disappears with each full respiratory cycle. Over and over again, I watch as the mask fogs up, and then goes clear. Fogs up, goes clear. Fogs up, goes clear…
Chapter Six
“Miss Mason, excuse me. I’m sorry to wake you. Miss Mason?”
A nurse in rose colored scrubs stands before me. Disoriented, I open my eyes wider to get my bearings. The sun is just rising because the room is coated with a pinkish-orange glow. I must’ve fallen asleep on Fletcher’s shoulder. He jerks awake as soon as I move, and I slowly turn my neck to work out the horrible kink.
“Yes?” I ask, “Is everything okay?”
“Miss Mason, I’m so sorry, but your grandfather has passed away. I checked in on him about twenty minutes ago, and there was no change in his condition. I was making another set of rounds, and… I’m very sorry for your loss.”
I will the nurse to stay where she is. She’s blocking the sight of my lifeless grandfather with her body, and I’m not ready to see him. My amazing grandfather is gone, and all that remains is the shell that he carried himself around in for his eighty-two years on earth. His zeal, his compassion, his caring, his life—gone. That damned vice grips my heart again, and the pain is virtually unbearable. I purposely zone out in an effort to make it easier to deal with the situation.
Fletcher pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly. I’m glad I’m facing toward the window and not toward Grampy. I’m so emotionally detached that I don’t even reprimand him for holding me; I just go with it. The trees are gently swaying in the breeze outside. Cars travel up and down the streets. People bustle from one sidewalk to another. Life goes on, but not for my Grampy.
It takes me a little while, but a level of detachment that makes functioning possible finally occurs. I push free from Fletcher’s arms and stand to look the nurse squarely in the face. “What now?” I ask.
“We’ll give you as much time as you need to spend with him. After you’ve paid your last respects, we’ll be in touch with the funeral home of your choice, and they will take over from there.”
“His wishes were for Kincaide Funeral Home to handle his final arrangements. He worked out something with them… I don’t know what it is. He just told me to use Kincaide.”
“Very well. I’ll contact them shortly.” She stays in the room just a bit longer, doing something by Grampy’s bed. I still won’t look. I hear the door shut, and Fletcher’s shuffling stops behind me. His hand’s upon my shoulder, and I close my eyes.
“I’m fine. I don’t want to do the whole touchy-feely-cry-and-talk-it-out thing. Okay? I just want to handle this my way.”
“He’s smiling,” Fletcher says quietly.
“What?”
“Your grandfather. He died smiling.”
Slowly, I pivot around, my gaze fixed downward. Once I’m lined up with the foot of the bed, I gingerly will my eyes to move upwards until I see him. The nurse had removed the oxygen mask from his face, and it now rests on the table beside him. His hands are carefully crossed over his upper abdomen, and he’s still in the same semi-reclined position he’d asked to be put in a few hours before. Despite my original hunch that Fletcher said such a thing in an earnest effort to provide comfort, I learn that my guess is wrong. Indeed, a very peaceful looking Grampy, head positioned towards the sofa Fletcher and I recently vacated, has a soft smile upon his face.
“It’s a relief that his death wasn’t agonizing. I have to go now,” I say.
Fletcher reaches out for me, and I firmly snatch my hand away from his. He holds his hands up and takes a slight step back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, “I just need to be away from here. Now.”
My palm rests on the door handle when Fletcher asks me to stop. He’s so close that I swear his warm breath is brushing across the nape of my neck. Flipping around to confront him, I’m about to tear into him when he gestures for me to hear him out. Rolling my eyes upwards, I stay, but I make sure he knows it’s under duress.
“Would you like some time with him—alone?”
“No. I was here when he needed me. He’s gone, and so am I.” Yanking the door open, I dash down the hall and nearly tackle an elderly woman using a walker. I offer her a half-assed apology before barreling into the parking lot. Fumbling for my keys, my heart sinks when I realize they aren’t in my pocket. In my haste, I’d forgotten everything behind—my purse, my keys, the magazines and books that Fletcher brought, as well as Grampy’s personal items. Inhaling deeply, I push aside the gut-wrenching pain and growing discomfort.
Suck it up, buttercup. If you want to leave, you’ll have to march back inside and claim your things. I do just that and meet a confused Fletcher in the hallway.
“I forgot my purse,” I explain.
“Yeah, I was on my way to find you,” he says, holding several bags.
“What’s all of that?” I ask.
“Your things, your grandfather’s things, and some stuff the nurse brought in after you left. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I nod, grateful that I don’t have to face Grampy again, yet I’m reluctant to share that gratitude with Fletcher. Instead, head held high and shoulders back, I lead the way to the parking lot. My trunk opens once I push the button, and Fletcher places the bags inside for me.
“I’m sure you want to be alone, but promise me that you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will,” I answer curtly.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? I don’t mind bringing you home.”
“I’m absolutely fine. Thanks again for
staying with me last night,” I say, ducking into the driver’s seat.
“You’re welcome. Drive safely.”
I close the door, and I’m out of the parking lot before Fletcher makes it to his bike.
Though I’m utterly exhausted, I can’t go home. Not yet. Damn this constant internal struggle! My body wants me to feel, to mourn, but my mind won’t let me. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this position. Patience is what I need to get through it. It might take a little time, but the sadness will eventually disappear into the indifference that I consider status quo.
I make one stop at a nearby strip mall before continuing on to the cemetery. The route is so familiar that it’s as though the car’s on autopilot. Enter the second gate, pass three cross streets, slight curve to the right, fourth oak tree, and there it is. I pull the blue teddy bear from the bag and lower myself to place it next to the marble cross that adorns the tiny grave.
“Lucas, it’s Momma,” I say out loud before falling to my knees. “Baby, I miss you more than you could ever know. Grampy promised me that he’ll take you fishing, so I need you to keep an eye out for him. I love you and Grampy so very much, and one day I’ll be there with you, my love. When that day comes, I’m going to hold you in my arms and never let you go. I’m so mad at myself for failing you, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better mother. Lucas, my sweet precious boy, please forgive me.” I curl into a ball, and hugging the marker of my son’s final resting place, I begin to sob.
The sobs give way to shaky breaths. The sound of crunching gravel makes me lurch to attention. Quickly dashing the remnants of tears, I turn to see Fletcher standing nearby.
“I… I’m sorry. I was worried about you, so…,” he stumbles over his words.
“I told you I was fine,” I snap.
“You don’t look fine,” he says softly as he closes the gap between us.
“It’s nothing,” I say, repositioning the teddy bear before walking away.
“Lucas Calloway,” he reads. “Who’s Lucas?”
I stop cold. Every bit of me wants to yell, “He’s nobody you need to concern yourself about!” However, my heart won’t let it happen. Lucas was incredibly special, and I’d never do anything to put negative energy around his resting place. Lucas had too much of that when he was alive; no way would I chance plaguing him with that now.
I walk to a cement bench under a tree about three rows down, and Fletcher follows. We’re silent for a while, and I’m appreciative of that.
“Please understand that this isn’t something I typically discuss. My past is so…,” I sigh heavily. “My dad was a great man, but he was gone all of the time. My mom wasn’t a great person, and she disappeared whenever he left, so I basically raised myself. Except for Grampy. Grampy kept an eye on me, but he wasn’t able to fill the void left by my parents’ absence. I was lonely, bored, young, and impressionable. When I turned seventeen, this loser disguised as Prince Charming wriggled his way into my life. He made big promises about our future together, but they were lies to get me to sleep with him. I fell for it, and a month later I found out I was pregnant.
“I was overjoyed; he wasn’t. His parents demanded a DNA test, and once it came back that Lucas was his son, they forced him to marry me. I was so delusional that I thought I could make him love me and the baby. Instead, Lucas and I only served as mementos of the life we stole from him. He despised us, and he made sure I knew it.
“He refused to better himself. He dropped out of college, called in sick nearly every day at work, and eventually he quit working all together. I did everything I could to take the pressure off him: cooked, kept the apartment clean, never bothered him with the baby, waited on him hand and foot. Nothing worked.
“One day we were out of food, and when I asked him for a few dollars to get the baby something to eat, he told me to go out and earn it. What was I supposed to do? My baby was hungry, we had no money, my dad was offshore, my mom was God knows where, Lizzy was at college, and Grampy was on vacation. I had no one to call for help. There was no choice but to have Paul watch Lucas while I scrounged for money. The only place that would hire me immediately and give me some daily take home money was a little café a few blocks from our apartment. Being that our car was repossessed, it was what I considered the best option.”
I stand, crossing my arms over my chest as I turn away from Fletcher. “Lucas devoured the food I brought home for him the first night. Paul got upset that I didn’t bring something home for him too, and even though I explained that I only had enough money to buy for the baby, he got mad and stormed out of the house.
“I ignored it. I went back to work the next day, but this time I made enough in tips that I was able to bring him some food from the restaurant, too. It wasn’t what he wanted to eat, so he threw the plate against the wall and then left it for me to clean up. I got up the next day and did it all over again. It killed me leaving Lucas behind because I missed him so much while I worked, but I knew if I didn’t work, he wouldn’t be able to eat.”
Putting the story into words hurts so much that I take a few seconds to compose myself before going on.
“After my fourth day of work, I came home to find Paul passed out on the sofa. I was scared to wake him, so I tiptoed into Lucas’ room so I could snuggle with my baby boy. I knew something was wrong as soon as I entered the room, and my worst nightmare came to life when I peered into the crib. I called for an ambulance, and they tried everything they could to save him, but he was pronounced dead at the hospital. Paul was nowhere to be found, and I wouldn’t see him again until his trial.
“He killed our baby. He was tired of hearing Lucas’ cries for me, so he drugged him.” I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. “He told the judge that he never intended to kill him, only to sedate him enough to stop the crying. It was a ploy to get a reduced sentence. After he was found guilty, and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison, he yelled to the courtroom audience that he was happy the little shit was gone and he hoped that I’d be next.
“My dad had friends who know people, and I’ve been assured that even to this day Paul gets regular visits from those sympathetic to my situation. He spends more time in the prison infirmary than his cell. They’ve shifted him to protective custody, solitary, even different facilities, but somehow the word always gets out about what he did.
“I suppose I should take some solace in knowing that he’s living in a personal hell, but you know what? My hell is so much worse than his. Black eyes fade, broken bones heal, lacerations mend; my heart will be shattered forever.
“So, anyway, that’s Lucas’ story. He’s my son, and I miss him so much that I can barely breathe sometimes.”
All is silent, so I look over to see if Fletcher is still there. His face shows utter shock mixed with intense sympathy.
“Fletcher, when I say that my life has been filled with tragedy, I mean it. You still don’t know the half of it. You should run away as quickly as you can and thank God that you dodged a bullet when it came to getting to know me better.”
“I don’t want to run. I want to hold you.”
“I’m not the type who likes or needs to be held. We discussed this the first day we met.”
“Clearly, the problem is that you haven’t been held enough. I want to change that. I want to help you to heal, Savannah.”
I let out a huff, “I’m beyond help.”
“As long as you’re breathing, you’re not beyond help. Look, I’m not a therapist, but I do know some things about healing from traumas. You’re not the only one with a rotten past. Let me show you how much better life can be with someone who supports you. You shouldn’t be alone right now. If you don’t want me, then at least let me call Lizzy.”
“No. Not Lizzy. I love her, but I’m not ready for her sunshine and rainbows. I want to mope, and be sad, and wallow in self-pity for at least a day before she comes around.”
“Then you’ll need me as a barrier. Let me stay with you.”
I give him a look to show that I mean business. “You won’t try to cheer me up?”
“Not a chance,” he affirms.
“I don’t want any mock therapy sessions.”
“Understood.”
“I might not even talk to you at all.”
“That’s absolutely your prerogative.”
“Fine, you can come over later. I need a few hours to be alone.”
“Is six okay?”
I nod as I walk away from him. I blow one final kiss in Lucas’ direction, say a silent hello to my dad as I pass his headstone, and make my way to my car. Once again, I drive away before Fletcher, so I catch a quick glimpse of him in the rearview. He’s kneeling beside a grave a few sections away from Lucas’ and my parents’.
I hope to rest the few hours before Fletcher’s arrival, but of course, it doesn’t happen. Staring at the stark white walls, I will myself to drift into semi-consciousness, but instead mental images of Grampy holding eighteen-month old Lucas in his arms flit in and out of my mind. These images should make me feel comfort and relief, but jealousy rages deep inside of me. I want to be the one holding my baby! My teetering faith allows me to see these images, but that tiny bit of faith that I cling to isn’t enough to diminish the pain and loneliness.
I contemplated suicide after Lucas died, and now I find myself entertaining the same thoughts. What’s left for me to live for? I have a sucky job, no family, one friend, bills that I’ll never pay off… However, the same thing that saved me before saves me again—I’m not a quitter. Never have been, and obviously, I never will be. Perhaps a glutton for punishment is the more accurate term for me? Regardless, I’m bound to continue my arduous journey, except now I’ll be even more alone.
Yours Always Page 6
