XO

by Melissa Jane

  Having put me somewhat at ease, I laugh at his enthusiasm. “You had me at rebel,” I say, fighting off his tickles. I walk over to the edge and lean against the concrete barrier while staring at the orange and red hues illuminating the sky. Beneath us, the quiet town still hasn’t woken to start the day.

  Can I really just leave? Do I really have it in me to go against my parents’ rules and just do something completely radical? Consequences be damned?

  I turn on the spot catching the moment of worry fade from Jacob’s handsome face.

  “Okay,” I simply say.

  “Okay?” he asks, his smile asking for confirmation.

  “Yes! The answer’s yes. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We eat first. I’m famished.”

  ~

  Jacob pushes his scrambled egg around the plate seemingly preoccupied. While I’ve hoovered mine down, including a stack of pancakes, an orange juice and now a coffee. Jacob I’m certain, hasn’t even had a bite.

  “Not hungry?” I ask, one eye on him, the other on the new patrons entering the diner.

  “Not really a breakfast person.”

  “I am.”

  “I can tell,” he says with a cheeky grin.

  I gently kick him under the table. “Watch it, buddy. We aren’t on the road yet.”

  Jacob bites the corner of his bottom lip, again zoning out of the conversation.

  I swallow hard, fearing he’s harboring a secret I won’t like to hear but will drive me crazy not knowing.

  “You’ve been acting really strange since I woke this morning. If there is something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean we are about to go on a road trip together, so I kinda need to know now if you’re planning on axing me to death.”

  His eyes have glazed over, his head lost in thought.

  “Jacob!”

  “Yes?”

  I place my knife and fork neatly on my empty plate and carefully observe the stranger sitting before me. Something is drastically wrong, but whatever it is he needs me right now.

  “Let’s go.”

  His brows raise. “You’re ready?”

  “Yep. Let’s get on the road and as far away from here as possible.”

  ~

  Jacob perks up once we’re in the car and on the move, some of the etched worry lines fading. As a result, I begin to relax, knowing whatever is troubling him, he’ll tell me when the time is right. Studying the surroundings whizzing past as we pull onto the highway, I grow a little panicked. I’m all for a road trip, but a girl needs to be prepared. And right now, it looks like I’m the girl who partied a little bit too hard at her high school prom.

  “Um… Jacob?” He squeezes my hand and raises his brow in question. “Where are we going?”

  “I told you, babe, we’re winging it.”

  “Yeah, I get that part, but look at us. We have no other clothes, no toiletries… nothing. We may start resembling homeless people if we don’t have supplies. Perhaps we should go home first and gather some—”

  “No!” Jacob blurts far too quick for comfort. “No. I’ve got plenty of cash. We’ll stop at the nearest store and get some stuff.”

  “Wow… you really thought this through, didn’t you? Cash and everything.”

  “Here,” he says, handing me his cell. “Pick some music. Can’t be a road trip without music.”

  The first screen that pops up in his recent call list, Mr. Reign the last number dialed. I look at the time.

  “You rang my dad at two in the morning?”

  Jacob clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I was just letting him know you were with me and safe. He, ah… asked me to call him so he knew you were okay.”

  I smile, my heart warming to my father’s overprotectiveness. “I think he’s getting used to you. I think he sees how good you are for me.”

  Jacob continues staring out the window, one hand on the wheel, the other hand’s index finger sliding back and forth under his bottom lip. I’ve lost him to his train of thought once again.

  “Jacob?”

  “Yep?”

  “I said I really think my father sees how good you are for me.”

  He nods. “Your father is a good man. More of a man than my father is and ever will be.”

  I gently brush his cheek with the back of my knuckles, and he turns to kiss my hand. Scrolling through his music, I opt to play a song on YouTube my father’s been listening to the last few months. ‘Yer Blues’ by The Beatles. Not usually my cup of tea, but it has some soulful grungy vibes I’m currently digging.

  ~

  An hour later, we pull off the highway and park outside a store that looks like we can find everything we need for our trip, plus end-of-the-world gear in case it comes to that. Jacob drapes an arm over my shoulders, and I notice the further we get away from home, the more relaxed he’s becoming.

  “Here, babe,” he says, handing me a wad of bills. “That should be enough to get what you need.”

  I don’t want to ask why he’s already carrying such a hefty amount of cash around since this road trip is supposedly a spur-of-the-moment decision. If only I knew what had happened in the hours I was asleep, I’d be more understanding of his bizarre behavior.

  The double doors slide open, and the clerk greets us with a smile since we’re the first customers of the day. While I feel her eye up our disheveled attire, she makes no remark and allow us to get on with our shopping. Wheeling a cart through the aisles, I head to toiletries first because I desperately need to wash my face and brush my teeth. Jacob carries a basket and meanders through the men’s section, grabbing things like deodorant, a toothbrush and paste.

  It’s only after I’ve grabbed some food supplies that I make my way over to clothing. Grabbing some pairs of shorts, tops and undies, I search for any relatively nice-looking sundresses. Glancing over the clothes rack, I search for Jacob. He’s no longer in the men’s section. Wheeling the cart back the way I came, I continue scanning until I see him with his cell pressed against his ear. The glass double doors sliding open every time he paces in front of them.

  I pause a moment, taking in his body language.

  He’s angry, frustrated. Then the call ends. He closes his eyes for a long moment before they slowly open and he turns to face the store, his gaze meeting mine.

  There’s a deep-seated sadness that passes between us before they become fearful and urgent.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ is all he mouths before he turns and runs to his car.

  “Jacob! Jacob, wait,” I yell, weaving my way through the store, the clerk’s watching on in shock. By the time I run through the double doors, Jacob’s Dodge is violently rounding the turn and heading back the way we came.

  He’s left.

  The asshole has left me stranded in the middle of place I never even knew existed.

  “Sweetie, is everything all right?” the once smiley clerk inquires, observing my trembling body. My mouth is dry, making swallowing the hard lump in my throat near impossible.

  “No,” I barely manage, embarrassment heating my cheeks. “Everything is far from all right.”

  ~

  I end the fifth phone call in an attempt to get a hold of my dad. It simply rings out, and this whole situation feels as empty as my heart.

  Letting my head loll against the head seat, I watch the scenery flash by as the cab driver takes me back home. Because we were so far out of town, I had to wait almost forty minutes before a cab came and picked my ass up off the curb. The sympathetic store clerk checked on me every few minutes, offering words of comfort and an office in case I wanted to wait inside.

  I wipe angrily at the tears that fall because I hate the weakness. No boy or man should ever make me cry, and if they do, they don’t deserve me. I should have listened to Dad when he spoke his words of wisdom.

  Despite the rage bubbling under the surface, my eyes managed to c
lose, and I only wake again when the cab driver asks if this is my street.

  “It is,” I confirm, feeling another pang in my heart.

  “Ah… is that your house?”

  “Number fifty-six,” I reply, while rummaging through my purse.

  “You sure you wanna go home?”

  I meet his eyes in the mirror, pulling a face at his stupid question. “Of course, I do.” The driver points ahead, and I follow. “What…?” I ask nobody, panic tearing through me.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “No! I… ah… I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Two police cars sit out front, one with its lights flashing as a paramedic truck pulls back onto the street from our drive.

  “Can you stop. Please, just let me out here.” Handing the driver some notes, uncertain if I’m giving too much, I run from the cab and into the house. “Mom! Dad!” I call. A policeman sticks his head around the corner and sees me in the hall. I head to the kitchen feeling like my legs are running in water. “Dad?” I call again, seeing a group of people surrounding the island counter.

  “Rosie,” Mom calls, her voice cracking with untold emotion. The police mumble their last words, something about being in touch at a later date, before giving us space.

  “Mom, why are they here? Where’s Dad?”

  She lunges for me, enveloping me in a tight embrace, stroking my hair while sobbing. “Baby, I’m sorry. Your father… he’s… I’m so sorry.”

  Stricken with panic, I try to push her away, but she holds me close. “For God’s sake! What’s happened? Let me go!”

  “He’s gone, Rosie. He’s passed away.”

  What?

  This time successful, I wrench myself free feeling a tightness in my chest. “What the hell do you mean, he’s passed away?” I yell. “Where is he?”

  She clasps a trembling hand over her mouth. “They’ve taken him.”

  They. The paramedics. The same ones who have already left the house.

  I run as fast as my legs can take me, down the hall, down the drive, past the police and down my street. Five houses toward the end, I see the junction, the paramedics long gone and supposedly with my father in the back.

  My world as I know it comes crashing down around me. It feels like something circling my throat and choking the life from me. I can’t breathe, and I panic, stumbling back looking for anything to hold. Tears blind me, and my heart shatters into a million fragmented pieces.

  Hyperventilating in the middle of the street, I call for my father, but my cries going unheard.

  A strange sensation washes over me as if gravity has been sucked clean from the atmosphere, and I’m suddenly falling, the painful thud on my temple knocking me out cold.

  17

  THEN

  “Shh, don’t move,” Mom gently urges, dabbing a cool cloth all over my face.

  “What happened?” I ask, groggy.

  “You ran out into the street and fell. Banged your head pretty bad on the road.”

  Ran into the street…

  Dad!

  Bolting upright, I throw the cloth away and search the room. “Where’s Dad?”

  “R-Rosie,” her voice cracks. “We’ve been through this, darling. He suffered a terrible stroke.”

  I watch her face flood with tears waiting for her to say it’s all a joke. But she doesn’t. She just keeps crying as if this is our new reality. But how can this be reality?

  “No, you’re lying.” Flipping the blankets off, I jump out the other side of the bed. “You’re lying,” I yell.

  Mom’s trembling hand covers her mouth. “I’m not, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop saying that,” I seethe. “Stop being sorry. Where is he? Where’s my dad?”

  She’s up on her feet, catching me before I fall into a heap on the floor. Lowering us both down, she rocks me back and forth, stroking my hair, repeating the same gentle shh sounds.

  I sob, the gut-wrenching type that tears you apart from the inside out.

  “Why is he gone? Why did he leave me?” I mutter, the words on repeat like a torturous song.

  “There’s nothing any of us could do, baby. Nothing.”

  For the next hour I sobbed on her shoulder as she attempted to comfort me. For hours after that, I sobbed even harder into the pillow, pummeling it with my fists, my wails loud enough for the neighbors to turn up their televisions.

  I cry so hard, my eyes feel like they’re bulging from my head, my rib cage aching like it’s been punched on repeat.

  I wish right now I could die.

  I want to die.

  I don’t want the grief.

  I want to tear my heart from my chest, or what’s left of it.

  I don’t want to live in this world without my father in it.

  ~

  I want to be numb. But I’m not.

  The pain is so indescribable, I can’t see beyond it. I can’t see how I will be able to just move on. I can’t imagine how I’m supposed to live every day without seeing my dad. I can’t fathom never hearing his voice again. I simply can’t understand him being dead.

  I stare at the Lynch’s house. It sits there like every other normal day. It looks exactly the same. I wonder if my house still looks the way it did yesterday. Or whether it’s now wearing a great big scar across the front. I wonder how men like Mr. Lynch go on living their lives beating up their family members when my incredibly kind and loving father is fatally struck down.

  What the hell happened in the world yesterday?

  And why?

  In a daze, I ring Jacob. Eight unanswered calls line my recent call list. Make that nine. Pressing end, I stare at the list, my eyes taking a moment to focus on what my head is telling me.

  Dad.

  I click on his name and listen to the rings. I listen until the rings run out, trembling as it switches to voicemail.

  “Hi, John here. Sorry I missed you. I’ll call you back if I know you.”

  “You know me, Daddy, please call back,” I cry, feeling my way back to bed. Crawling under the blanket, I hit dial again, and again, and again. “You know it’s me. Please answer.”

  ~

  By day four, I’m completely numb.

  In my dazed state, I wonder if this is what it’s like to be a zombie. The body moves instinctually, but the mind is completely blank, all human emotion dried up. For those around me, my father passing away is only just hitting home. Under the gray sky above, they cry fresh as they listen to Pastor Bryant give his Godly speech. The one where they justify your time on earth being up and how the deceased is now in God’s hands.

  Everyone wears black—black dresses, black shoes, black suits, black hats. I opt for the knee-length aqua color dress my father picked out himself for the junior winter dance I never went to. My mother begged, pleaded for me to conform, explaining people will talk.

  “Talk about what?” I’d said. “That I’m not wearing black to my father’s funeral?”

  I stared at her the same way she often did with me, like I had suddenly grown three heads. Since when did she care so much what others thought of her or me? I’ve been an outcast my whole life, and now suddenly she gives a shit because people will question her.

  My mother stands to my right, silently wiping tears with a carefully folded tissue. Next to her are the Lynchs. Mr. Lynch takes it upon himself to rub her back in what I assume to be a comforting gesture. I am yet to see Jacob—at all—his vanishing act truly that of a great magician. That is until I feel him press against my back. A subtle gesture making me aware of his presence.

  I want to feel rage.

  I want to stab him in the eye with the thorn on my rose stem.

  But I feel nothing.

  You see, when my father left me behind, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t tell death to turn around and come back later—say in about forty years.

  But Jacob, Jacob had a choice as to whether he got in his Dodge and drove off. He decided to humiliate me by leav
ing me stranded over an hour out of town. He made the choice to offer me no comfort and support when my father died.

  He’d abandoned me the way my father would never dream of.

  Jacob takes my hand in his and for the rest of the sermon, we stay linked because I’m too numb to fight him off.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Pastor Bryant concludes. “Dear heavenly Father, we trust you’ve welcomed John Reign with open arms…”

  My mother steps forward, placing her single rose on the black coffin. It should be my turn next, but when I don’t move, Mr. Lynch steps forward and then everyone follows, paying their respects before dispersing. For them, this will be over soon. They’ll move on, and my father will become a distant memory. Long forgotten. They might even share a laugh this afternoon about something that happened just last week. It feels like I can never laugh again.

  “Rosie,” Jacob speaks softly against my ear. I swallow hard but don’t flinch. “Rosie, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” He squeezes my hand gently before using his thumb to draw an X on my palm. That small gesture that just happens to mean the world to me is like a brutal kick in the guts. I step forward pulling away from him, desperately needing to break contact. I don’t dare turn around. I can’t stomach the sight of him.

  “Leave me alone,” I say flatly, tears cascading down my cheeks.

  “Rosie, please.”

  “Leave,” I seethe angrily causing alarm to the last few mourners. “Just. Leave. Me. Alone, Jacob. Trembling uncontrollably, I struggle to breathe, my chest aching with a giant weight on it.

  A few moments pass before I feel the air clear, and I know he’s left. I’m on my own, just like I wanted. Feeling my legs grow weak, I collapse beside the coffin, tentatively touching the cold varnished wood as if I will hurt the body inside.