by Rachel Leigh
She stops walking. Her eyes close as she presses her lips into a thin line before she speaks, “Gemma took her own life, Nash.”
“No,” I blurt out on impulse. “Gemma wouldn’t do that.” My head shakes. No, it’s not possible.
“She left a note.” Lori digs into her purse and pulls out a folded up piece of paper. “When you are ready, you really need to read it.”
My eyes dance from her face to the paper. She holds it out to me, and I take my wife’s last words into my hand.
I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to read this, knowing that no matter what this letter says, I am the reason Gemma is no longer here. She took her own life because I failed her.
“How?” I ask with my eyes dead set in front of me.
When she doesn’t respond right away, I ask again, “How did she do it?”
After a grave moment of silence, as if the people around us suddenly stopped walking, talking, moving, she responds, “She overdosed on her medication.”
Stopping in my tracks, I close my eyes and bite down on the urge to lose it right here.
She may have committed the act, but I set her plan in motion when I left her.
I left her.
Now she’s gone.
The morning sun peaks through the window as I stretch my arms over my head. I smack my dry lips together and attempt to swallow, though my mouth feels like I’ve eaten an entire box of saltine crackers. Still tasting the last drop of whiskey on my breath, I push myself up. The empty bottle falls to the side and the letter I must have held on to all night sticks to my sweaty bare chest. That’s when the memories of yesterday hit me full force. Like a tsunami. I snatch up the bottle and beg for more as I tip it back. One single drop slithers out and I take it on the tip of my tongue.
“Nash,” Lori says with a knock at the bedroom door. “I’ve made you breakfast.”
Lori has been so gentle and kind, but her presence and help is not exactly what I want nor need right now. I’d be perfectly content just being alone and drinking away the pain. She doesn’t seem to think that’s the best option. Gemma has never announced that her aunt Lori is a mastermind, so what the hell does she know?
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I force out the words through my dehydrated vocal chords.
In an attempt to sway my decision, she tries again. “You need to eat. Keep up your strength.”
“Later.”
When she doesn’t respond, I assume she’s gone. Pushing myself up even further, I peel the note off from me. I can see the ink through the thin white paper. Her beautiful cursive handwriting peeking through.
I’m just not ready to go there yet. I’m not sure if I will ever be ready.
Her last email, every email she sent, ended with until next time. How will this letter end?
I should have called her. When we went into town, that was the plan. I never expected the ambush to happen. While we were under attack and I was fighting to save my friends, she was taking her own life.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand next to me. Reaching over, I grab it. Without even looking to see who the caller is, I hurl it into the wall in front of me. “Fuck!” I howl, fisting my hair into both of my hands. “Why did you have to leave me, baby?” I whisper into the air.
“Are you okay in there?” Lori reemerges outside of the bedroom.
I want to scream and shout and tell her to go home. Leave me alone to grieve in peace, but I know Gemma wouldn’t want that. Being one of her only living relatives, she’d want her here. It dawns on me that Rowan probably has no idea. I wouldn’t even know how to contact her.
Dragging myself up, I get to my feet and pull on a pair of gray sweatpants that were lying at the foot of the bed, then open the door. Lori is still standing there, concern written all over her face.
“Has anyone got a hold of Gemma’s sister?”
“Did you read the note yet?” She looks down at my hand that’s draped at my side.
I follow her gaze and realize I’m still holding it. Shaking my head, I grip it tighter. “I will, but not yet.”
Smiling through her own grief, she offers sentiment, “When you’re ready, read it. I think it will give you a good start to finding the comfort you will need in the days ahead.” With that, she begins to walk away. “Oh, and food and water never hurt. Maybe a shower.” She winks.
I imagine a shower would do me some good. I smell like I took a bath in whiskey. Stepping back into the bedroom, I shut the door behind me and walk toward the master bath. Grazing my fingers over Gemma’s jewelry box on my way that sits on her vanity, my heart aches at her absence. Turning around, I set the note down. Then I pick it back up.
Without giving it a second thought, I begin to read it.
My love,
The first time I saw you, I knew I wanted to spend my life with you by my side. You loved me through the tears, the pain, the constant battle in my head. You held my hand when I was scared. Talked me off the ledge when all I wanted to do was jump.
My leaving has nothing to do with you, or anything you could have done to prevent this. Ever since I was a child, living was a struggle for me. Each day felt like an impossible uphill battle, and every night, I felt myself slide back down. I can no longer burden you with my demons. I can only hope that once the ash settles, you find a way to move on and be happy. Whenever you think you feel me, you do. I will always be with you.
I know I’ve been selfish, and I do not deserve to ask for any favors, but I am going to anyway. Please look after Rowan. Now that I am gone, she has no one left, aside from Aunt Lori. We both know how reckless my little sister can be. There will come a time that she will need someone. Please be that someone for her.
Time has an unusual way of giving us exactly what we need, when we didn’t even realize we needed it.
Until next time,
Gemma
Xoxo
Chapter Three
Three Months Later
Brown glass shatters against the concrete wall and drops of whiskey trail behind, dropping on top of an eroded two-by-four.
“Damn, Whitmore. What did that bottle ever do to you?” Grant says as he walks farther into the garage. I didn’t even know he was here. Don’t even care that he is.
Kicking my feet up on an old tire, I sink further into the beaten up recliner that sits in the garage. “It ran dry, that’s what happened.” I crack open a can of beer and tip it back, letting the liquid slide down nice and smooth as it puts any emotion to rest.
“Why don’t you go clean up and come with me to Lulu’s Diner for some grub. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”
“I’ve got breakfast, lunch, and dinner right here.” I pat the cooler sitting to my right.
Grant has good intentions. Hell, he’s had the same good intentions for the past three months. The thing is, I don’t want to go sit at Lulu’s and shoot the shit. I don’t wanna go to Hooligan’s and share a pitcher of the light garbage he drinks. I want to sit my ass right here, drink until I pass out, and dismiss any thoughts of her.
He takes a few steps toward me, concern written all over his face. “Nash, it’s okay to miss her.”
I twist my head and narrow my eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I miss her, too. She was a beautiful soul who—”
“Get out!” I point at the single garage door that’s pushed wide-open. When he doesn’t listen, I grit my teeth. “Get the fuck out!”
He continues to stand there, staring at me with pity in his eyes. “Come on, man, I just want to help you.”
“I don’t want your help. I’m handling things just fine.” I tip back the can and finish it off then crush the aluminum with one hand.
“All right. You don’t wanna go to Lulu’s? Fine. I’ll stay here.” Swinging around a metal chair that’s covered in dry paint, he takes a seat. “Got one of those for me?” His eyes dart to the cooler.
Lifting the top, I dig my hand into the ice and pull out a couple, then to
ss him one. He catches it mid-air. Grant is a good guy. I know he means well. Everyone who checks in on me does. In my defense, I am doing better. I’m not lying in bed sleeping all day anymore. I’ve been drinking a bit more than usual, but it numbs the pain.
“How’s Emerson and Gwen doing?” I ask, making small talk to avoid the big stuff.
“Doing well. Just got Gwen’s costume for Halloween. She’s ecstatic for trick-or-treating tomorrow.” He pauses for a beat. “She’s also looking forward to seeing the Grinch.”
Fuck. I didn’t even realize Halloween was tomorrow night. Time keeps passing, and I feel like I’m still stuck in July.
“You are handing out candy tomorrow, aren’t ya?”
My fingers weave through my hair. “Probably not. I’m not even sure where that damn costume is.”
For the last three years, I’ve dressed up as the Grinch and handed out candy to trick-or-treaters. This would have been mine and Gemma’s first year as a married couple, and we had made jokes about her dressing up as Martha May. Grant’s daughter, Gwen, who calls me Uncle Nash, always looks forward seeing Grinch.
Grant chugs the rest of his beer then tosses the can aside. “Then I guess we better start looking for that costume.” He gets to his feet, and I want to stop him, tell him to sit his ass back down, but he’s already headed straight for the boxes I have piled up in the back of the garage. I’ve made progress in packing up the house. Even have the realtor coming out for a showing next week. The plan is to sell this place and get something smaller. Gemma and I bought this house a month before we got married and being here is just too hard. What’s even harder is packing up her things. I haven’t even begun with that yet. I start and then I stop almost daily.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. Looks like the Grinch is coming out tomorrow whether I like it or not. “Very top. Third row. It’s labeled Halloween.” I drop my face into my hands and shake my head. Part of me wants to smile, knowing that I’ve got such a good friend on my side. The other part wants to scream because said friend keeps pushing me.
Twenty minutes later, the shithead is stringing Halloween lights around my front porch.
An hour later, we’re at Lulu’s.
I’ll give it to him; he’s got a way with words.
“What’s the plan with work? You heading back over there anytime soon?” Grant asks as he takes a bite of his Rueben.
“Nah. A few of the guys are already back in the States. My deployment would have ended last week anyways.” She should be here with me, putting up the white picket fence she’s been asking for. She could have been pregnant by now. Sharing the news with me in some cheesy way.
“I guess what I’m asking is, what’s next for Nash Whitmore?”
What’s next? That’s a question I don’t have an answer for. “I’m gonna finish this burger. Have myself a beer. Go home, take a shower, and go to bed. That’s what’s next.”
The doorbell chimes as a couple walks in holding hands. Laughter rolls from them effortlessly. They’re probably mid-twenties. I catch the glimmer on her right hand, double bands. Newlyweds. I bet they know what’s next. Probably have their future all planned out. I bet his wife has no intention of taking her life before they even hit their one-year anniversary.
Tossing my burger back down, I stick my hand up to flag the waitress.
“What can I get you, Nash?”
“Tall Bud. Thanks, Rina.”
Looking across the table at Grant, I can see the disappointment in his eyes. He’s just gonna have to suck it up, because this is who I am now.
Even if I wanted to change, I can’t. I’m not the man I used to be.
That man died three months ago.
Chapter Four
Pulling on the musky green suit, I think about all the possible ways I can get out of this. I eliminate all of them when I face the reality that Grant will not let me out of this. Aside from that, I can’t let that precious little girl down. I slide the mask over my head and dump the bag of candy into the big orange bowl. Porch lights are on. Sun is setting. It’s one night. I can step out of my comfort zone for one night.
After I finish off my whiskey on ice, I drop the glass into the sink and head to the front door when the doorbell sounds.
The door is wide-open, and just a screen door separates me and the person on the other side.
Expecting a band of costumed kids, I’m taken aback when I’m face-to-face with familiar eyes. My heart drops, then climbs back into my chest and hammers against the walls at rapid speed.
“Rowan?”
“Grinch,” she responds with a smirk.
A smirk I want to wipe right off from her face. Tearing the mask off, I let it slide out of my hand and drop to the floor.
“You gonna invite me in, or let me get attacked by the monsters coming up your driveway?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be heartbroken if that happened.” I walk away, leaving her standing there under the porch light.
Little good it does, because two seconds later the screen door creaks open. “One for you, and one for you. Have a happy Halloween,” she says in a high-pitched squeal as she talks to the kids. When the door slams shut, I brace myself for the likelihood of her being on this side of it.
Her footsteps come closer, but I don’t turn around. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“Sure am. Now, are you going to quit being a jerk and turn around and talk to me—brother?”
My eyes close as my teeth scrape forcefully together. “Funny you say that, because as far as I’m concerned you’re an only child. Sure as hell act like it, anyway.”
My steps lead me into the kitchen as I press my palms against the countertop. The cold of the marble feels nice on my hot and sweaty palms. If only it could cool my insides, because this girl has already fired me up after being here for less than five minutes. I should have known she’d come eventually. After all, you can only mooch off from your friends for so long before they kick you to the curb. She’s here for a handout, plain and simple.
“I understand that you’re upset. I expected it, and there’s no excuse.” Her words echo off from the three walls surrounding me. I’m wishing they’d fly out the open window, right along with her ass, but Rowan is stubborn and I know she won’t leave until I hear her out. Or give her money—it seems to be more important to her than family.
“You’ve got five minutes.” I turn around with my hands still pressed against the counter behind me—bracing myself. Her hair is shorter than the last time I saw her, the only other time I’ve seen her. Honey brown with a hot pink streak in the front. Same chocolate brown eyes as her sister. Same high cheekbones and same look of plea. She’s much shorter than Gemma. Can’t be taller than five-foot-three. She’s also six years younger than Gemma, with the fashion sense of a sixteen-year-old girl. Crop top, miniskirt that barely covers her ass, and heels that add some extra height.
Pulling a chair out at the small round table, she makes herself far too comfortable for only five minutes. “Listen, I know I should have been here, but I just couldn’t face everything going on. I had to deal with Gemma’s death in my own way.”
“And your own way meant not even attending her funeral? Not answering the calls of her only living relative?” I raise my voice. “Your only living relative.”
“Yes. Selfishly, yes. That’s exactly what I mean. Life hasn’t been easy for me—”
“Stop right there.” I cut her off. “Don’t even try and make this about you. Rowan, you should have fucking been there. Gemma practically raised you growing up, and you don’t even have the decency to attend her funeral. Even after your aunt and I offered to pay for the trip?” My head sways back and forth in disappointment. “You wouldn’t know that, though. You probably didn’t even listen to the dozen voicemails we left for you.”
“As a matter of fact, I did listen to them.” She jumps up and steps directly in front of me. Taking her voice up a few octaves, she continues, “Bu
t who the hell are you to try and tell me what I should have done differently? You don’t know me. Hell, you barely knew my sister before you slipped your dick in her and put a ring on her finger.”
My expression makes no attempt at hiding how taken aback I am by her outburst. “Get the fuck out of my house.” It’s all I can say. It’s all I really want. I point at the back door. “Get out!”
“Whoa, everything all right in here?” Grant rounds the corner with Grinch’s head in his hand and walks into the kitchen. His eyes dance from me to Rowan, and back to me.
“Everything is fine. She was just leaving.” I look Rowan dead in the eye. “Weren’t you?”
“No. Actually, I just got here and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath, opening them on the drawn out exhale. “You need money?” I grab my wallet off the counter next to my keys. “How much? I’ll give you whatever you want if you go back to Vegas and continue to live your life like no one else exists.”
Slapping the wallet out of my hand, she huffs. “I don’t want your money.”
Grant snickers behind her and points his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna grab some candy and go. Gwen can wait and see Grinch next year when he’s less grinchy.”
Brushing my shoulder against Rowan’s, I walk past her. “Nope. I’m not sweating my balls off in this suit for nothing. Gwen wants Grinch, that’s what she’s getting.” I snatch the mask out of his hands and toss it on my head.
Emerson and Gwen are standing at the front of the line of kids at the door. I notice a few walking back down the driveway. They must’ve gotten impatient.
“Hello there, little girl. I hear you want some candy from the Grinch.” I kneel down in front of Gwen, who is trying to shield her face with her mom’s leg. “Let me guess, you’re supposed to be a butterfly?” She’s clearly a ladybug, but it makes her giggle.
