Liam's Journey

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “Just hanging with my dad.”

  Harrison has done an amazing job raising Quinn on his own. I know his mom and sister helped, but he’s done most of it. Quinn tours with us and for a kid who doesn’t have a set routine, he’s pretty damn smart and well grounded.

  “What’s up?”

  I shake my head. “I gotta leave town for a few days, but I’ll be back by Monday.”

  “Everything cool?”

  I nod. “Yeah.” That’s all I can say. I don’t know if it is. I don’t know what it will be like when I get to Beaumont. In and out, just long enough to pay my respects. Me being there won’t do anyone any good and I’ll just be a disruption. As far as I know he wouldn’t want me there anyway and I don’t want to ruin the day for him.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Harrison nods and picks up his and Quinn’s board and we walk back to his place. I sit down in the sand and watch the tide roll. It’s a great day for surfing, but most people are at work. Quinn sits down next to me and buries his toes in the sand.

  “You look sad.”

  I hang my head. “Maybe I am. I don’t know, Quinn.”

  “Do you know what grandma does when I’m sad?”

  “What does she do?” I ask, knowing he’s about to tickle me.

  He jumps and starts moving his little fingers all around my body. I laugh and pull him into my arms and hold him. I remember the first time I held him. He was just days old and Mrs. James put him in my arms because I asked her to. I loved every minute of it. He gave me a new perspective on life. I thought I was going to break him, but in hindsight he’s really the glue that has kept us together. I never wanted Harrison to fail so I worked my ass off to make sure we were the best. Unlike me, he had someone in his life that needed him and I wasn’t going to let this little boy down.

  I told Harrison I was going home, but I made it as far as the bar. I need something to shut my brain off. I need a numbing agent to keep me from picturing what my life could’ve been like had I stayed. Sitting at the bar, I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve eventually made it to the NFL. What if I had taken my dad up on his offer to help me switch schools and gone to play for someone who wanted me? Would I be married with kids and a house with a white picket fence? That’s the one thing I’ll never know, because at the time I couldn’t handle what life was giving me. I needed something different.

  I down the whiskey and signal for another one. There are women on both sides of me and it’s just a matter of time before one of them makes their move. This is my hangout, everyone knows it and I’ve taken plenty of women home from here. I’d like to think tonight will be different since I’m leaving in the morning, but I doubt it. They want the same thing I want, but for different reasons.

  The woman to my right has a large ass rock on her ring finger. She’s out of the running. Having some other man’s property, possession, wife, is not my style. She needs counseling if she’s here trying to hook up with me. Or it’s a trap. Get yourself knocked up by a celebrity so you can collect child-support for the next eighteen years. No thanks, go find some other unsuspecting bastard. That’s not me. I’m never having kids. If I’m feeling the urge to be a father figure, I’ll borrow Quinn.

  Each sip I take brings back another memory from Beaumont. I’m here to cloud my memory, yet everything is vivid – like I’m watching a real life movie. Now that I’ve committed to going back, even to say goodbye, the floodgates are open. I’ve done everything I can to forget where I came from, not because I’m ashamed, because it was easier to block out what I was missing. I never thought I’d be here, like this, away from the ones I loved. My family.

  I know everything is my fault. I could’ve picked up the phone when she called. I could’ve called her back. But I didn’t. I had something to prove and by the time I had the success I was looking for, it was too late.

  I swallow my final drink. It’s late. I need some sleep. The woman on my right left long ago, but the one on my left has been biding her time. So why not? Why not live up to my reputation one more time?

  “Want to get out of here?” I ask, not really waiting for her answer. I grab her hand and pull her behind me. The night air is muggy as we walk to my penthouse. She’s trying to keep up in her heels as I drag her. I could stop, but that would ruin my mood.

  I’m on her once we’re in the elevator. She’s eager and willing.

  “Don’t you want to know my name?” she says, out of breath.

  “Nope.” I push her down the hall once the elevator opens. I slide my keycard in and push my door open. I strip myself, not willing to wait for her to get around to it. This is sex and nothing else.

  We fall onto my bed and I make the mistake of looking at her. She thinks she’s got me where she wants me. “You’re afraid,” she whispers against my lips. In this moment I should get up and escort her back downstairs, but that’s not my frame of mind. She’s right, I am afraid. I’m afraid of dying alone and tomorrow I’m going home to stand in the shadows while my once best friend is buried. He’ll have people there to mourn him. People are going to grieve for him. No one would care if I died.

  I’m going home tomorrow – to the unknown – and I’m scared shitless. For all I know, my life is going to change and I’m going to be worse off than I am now.

  For Madison & Kassidy

  A light snore reminds me that I’m not alone. The heaviness of a body sprawled out, sets me off immediately. The stale smell of day old perfume lingers in the air and on my sheets.

  The curtains are pulled back, the sun shining through the large window which affords me the best view and privacy.

  Rolling over, there’s a face I don’t remember. A face that holds no name in my recollection or any vivid memory of how she ended up in my hotel room let alone my bed.

  The bed part I can probably figure out.

  The blonde hair tells me that I didn’t bother to get her name or ask her what her favorite drink was. Guaranteed our conversation was eyes, hands and lips only. There is one hair color that can make my heart beat and blonde isn’t it.

  Neither is red.

  Eyes too.

  Never blue.

  They have to be brown or green, never blue.

  This isn’t a downward spiral or some drug induced moment. I don’t do drugs, never have, but I may drink excessively on occasions like last night. This is me coping with my mistakes and failures. I may be successful when I’m on stage, but at night I’m alone.

  And so freaking scared of dying alone.

  I reach for my phone to check the time. Instead I pull up the gallery that holds her image, my thumb hovering over her face. I’ll see her when I go home and I don’t know what I’ll say.

  I know she hates me.

  I hate me.

  I ruined her life. That is what her voice message said. The one I’ve saved for the past ten years. The one I’ve transferred from phone to phone just so I could hear her voice when I’m at my lowest. I can recite every hateful word she said to me when I was too busy to answer and never found the time to call her back.

  Never found one second to call and explain to her what I had done to us. She was my best friend and I let her slip through my fingers just to save myself from the heartache of hearing she didn’t want me anymore.

  I had dreams too.

  And my dreams included her, but she would never have gone for it. I’m not living her American Dream. I’m living my own.

  My decision destroyed everything.

  My nameless bed cohabitant reaches out and strokes my arm. I move away quickly. Now that I’m sober, I have no desire to be anything to this person.

  “Liam,” she says through her seductive tone that sounds like a baby. It makes my skin crawl when women talk like this. Don’t they see that it makes them sound ridiculous? No man worth his nuts likes this sort of thing. It’s not sexy.

  Wrapping the sheet around my waist I sit up and swing my legs over the edge
, away from her and her wandering hand. My back tenses when I feel the bed shift. Standing, I pull the sheet tighter to keep myself somewhat covered. I shouldn’t care, but I do. She’s seen me in the dark, but I’m not affording her or her camera another look.

  “I’m busy.” My voice is strict, a well-practiced monotone. “Jorge, the concierge, will make sure you get a cab home.”

  I sleep purposefully facing the bathroom so I never have to look at them when I tell them to leave. It’s easier that way, no emotions. I don’t have to look at their faces and see the hope fade. Each one hopes they will be the one to tame me, to make me commit.

  I haven’t had a steady girlfriend since I entered the industry and a one night stand isn’t about to change that. These girls don’t mean anything and never will. I could change. I could settle down and marry.

  Have a kid or two.

  But why?

  My manager, Sam, would love it, especially if it was her. She’s my only repeat lay. The first time was an error in judgment, a lonely night on the road mistake. Now she wants more. I don’t.

  When she told me she was pregnant I wanted to jump off a cliff. I didn’t want kids, at least not with her. When I think about having a wife, she’s tall and brunette. She’s toned from years of cheerleading and her daily five-mile run. She’s not a power hungry executive in the music industry who spoke of hiring nannies before a doctor could confirm her pregnancy.

  She suggested marriage; I freaked and flew to Australia to learn to surf.

  She miscarried two months in. I made a vow that we’d keep things professional from that point on and that is when I started my one night stand routine. Despite everything, she still loves me, and is waiting for me to change my mind.

  “You know,” the barfly from last night starts to say in between shuffling and her huffed breathing as she puts on her clothes. “I heard you were a dick, but I didn’t believe it. I thought we had something special.”

  I laugh and shake my head. I’ve heard it all, each one thinks we have something special because of the most amazing night they’ve ever had.

  “I didn’t pick you for your brains.” I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure.

  Leaning against the door I bang my head against the solid wood. Each time I tell myself I’m going to stop, and I think I have until something makes me want to forget. My hands rake over my face in pure frustration.

  I’m not looking forward to going home.

  The reason for returning is staring at me from my bathroom counter. The page-long article of the guy I used to call my best friend. Picking up the paper, I read over the words that I have memorized.

  Mason Powell, father of two, was killed tragically when the car he was driving was rear-ended by an eighteen wheeler.

  Dead.

  Gone.

  And I wasn’t there.

  I left like a coward when I didn’t say goodbye.

  I changed my cell phone number because she wouldn’t stop calling. I had to make a clean break and Mason was part of that. She and Katelyn were best friends and he’d tell her where I was and what I was doing. It was better this way.

  I was only meant to be gone a year. I told myself I’d return home after twelve months, make everything right and show her that I wasn’t the same person she fell in love with. She’d see that and thank me, move on and marry a yuppie business man, one who wakes up every day and puts on a crisp dress shirt and pleated slacks that she’d iron in their Leave it to Beaver household.

  I squeeze the paper in my hands and think about everything I’ve missed. I don’t regret it, I can’t. I did this for me and did it the only way I knew how. I just didn’t think I’d care so much about missing everything.

  I missed the day he asked Katelyn to marry him. Something I knew he wanted to do since we were sixteen.

  I missed his wedding and the birth of his twins. He was a father and a husband. He had three people who depended on him and now he’s gone. He’ll never see his children grow up and do the things that we did when we were younger. All the things we said our kids would do together. I missed this because I had something to prove to myself. I gave up on their dream and the life we had all planned out.

  And now I’m heading home to face the music.

  The words become a blur the longer I stare at them.

  The paper wet from my tears. Tears that haven’t stopped falling since I received the phone call. Now I’m holding an order form with his name on it. The casket spray to be done in our high school colors – red and gold. The standing spray to be done in their wedding colors, our college colors, green and white. This is what Katelyn wants.

  Katelyn is going to bury her husband in a few short days and yet she’s sound enough to make decisions on what kind of flowers are going to drape over her husband’s coffin.

  Me? I can’t even make it through reading the order form.

  When Katelyn called and asked me to do the flowers it took everything in me to say yes when I really wanted to say no. I don’t want to do this. I don’t even want to believe that Mason is gone. I’ve known him since first grade and now he’s gone. He won’t be stopping in on Monday for his usual pick-up. Katelyn won’t be getting her weekly dozen of roses, something she’s been getting since he started proposing at seventeen.

  They were the lucky ones, having it all figured out in high school and sticking with it. I thought I had that too, but I was blindsided my first semester in college. My life was turned upside down with just a few short words and a door slam, creating a wall between me and the love of my life.

  I stand on shaky legs, wipe away my tears and make my way over to the door to flip the Closed sign to Open. I don’t want to open today, but I have to. There is a wedding, homecoming and Mason’s funeral in the next few days and I’m the lucky one doing all their flowers.

  I pin Katelyn’s order on the board next to the rest of the orders. I have to treat her like any other customer even though this is one I wish I wasn’t filling.

  Deep breaths, I tell myself as I start the first order. There are forty corsages and boutonniere’s to make today and all I want to do is smash the roses between my palms and throw them out the door.

  Door chimes break my concentration. Time to put on a happy face. Jenna is walking toward me, coffee cups in hand. I wipe my hands on my green apron and meet her at the counter.

  “Thank you,” I say just before sipping the hot liquid. The way to my heart is definitely through a caramel latte.

  “I knew you needed it. I could sense your deep desire when I was in line.”

  Jenna is my part-timer and all over friend. She moved to Beaumont three years ago to escape an abusive husband and fit in instantly with me and Katelyn.

  “How are you holding up?” she asks. I shrug, not really wanting to talk about things right now. I need to get through the day. As word starts to spread old classmates will be coming back and, as vain as it sounds, I want to look good. I don’t want to look like I just got dumped because that is what most of them remember anyway.

  “I just…” I hide my eyes behind my hand. “I don’t have memories that don’t involve Mason. I don’t know what’s going to happen on Monday when I open and he’s not here to buy Katelyn’s flowers. He’s done that for over ten years.”

  “I’m so sorry, Josie. I wish there was something I could do for you guys.”

  “Just being there for Katelyn is enough. I’ll handle my own feelings.”

  Jenna comes around the counter and gives me a hug before going to put on her apron. I’m thankful for her help, especially today. Maybe I can pawn off the funeral arrangements and focus on the happy.

  But then again, maybe not.

  Standing out front, staring into the shop is Mr. Powell. He looks lost. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Jenna as I slip out the door. The weather is breezy with a chill in the air. Definitely not your average Fall day here.

  “Mr. Powell,” I say, reaching out to touch his a
rm. He lost his wife last year to cancer and now his son – I can’t imagine.

  “Josephine.” His voice is broken, horse. His eyes are hollow and bloodshot. “I was just walking and when I looked into the window here I remembered the first time I had to take Mason to get flowers for Katie. They were going to some dance and I was going to drive them.” He shakes his head as if he’s not sure if he’s making it up or if he doesn’t want to remember anymore.

  “That was a long time ago, Mr. Powell. Do you want to come inside and I’ll call Katelyn for you? Maybe she can come pick you up.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother Katie. She has enough to worry about than to babysit her father-in-law.” He stops speaking suddenly, his eyes glaze over. I look around to see what, if anything has caught his attention. “Am I still her father-in-law?”

  My hand covers my mouth but it can’t muffle my cry. “Of course you are,” I whisper. “She’s your Katie, you’re the only one who gets to call her that, ya know. She loves you as if you’re her own father.”

  Mr. Powell looks at me and nods before walking off. I want to follow him and make sure he makes it home or wherever he decides to go, but I stand frozen on the sidewalk watching him walk away.

  Mason will never know the impact he’s had on everyone in Beaumont.

  When I make it back into the shop, Jenna is pulling the roses for the funeral sprays. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to ask her. She just knew. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her, hugging her, thanking her for being a good friend.

  Orders come in like crazy, most of them for Katelyn or for the service. I keep my delivery boy busy today and each time he walks in he’s smiling from ear to ear. I can’t imagine why. Most people don’t tip when they receive flowers for a funeral, unless of course, you’re Mrs. Bishop, Katelyn’s plastic stuck-up mom who is everything that the word ‘proper’ stands for.

  Jenna and I work side by side. I try not to pay attention, but can’t help but look over every few minutes. The arrangements are turning out beautifully. I’d like to think that Mason would be impressed.