Present Day, Summer 2016

The room was crowded with people, but more than that, it was full of feeling: the bubbly, thrilled smiles of Winston and Kaycee as they regaled us with the story of their elopement; the love radiating between Adelaide, Kyle, and little Grace; even Stevie’s weepy-eyed grin as he made the rounds refilling people’s champagne glasses.

“I am still going to insist on throwing some sort of party for you two,” said Adelaide, faking a frown as she talked to Winston and Kaycee. “It’s just not right to elope and steal all hope of indulgent celebration from us. So get ready to tell me all your favorite party foods, cause this one’s going to be a doozy.”

“Oh, we couldn’t do that,” said Kaycee, but Kyle soon raised his eyebrow.

“You’d better believe that Adelaide means business here. As soon as you two posted that picture from Bali, the one with you two, the sunset, and the caption, she freaked out.”

“I did,” said Adelaide.

Grace fussed a little, probably uncomfortable with the level of noise in the room, so Kyle and Kaycee went to fetch a bottle that might placate her.

I hear you on that one, Grace. It’s too much.

Underneath the gruff exterior I knew I was projecting, though, I was less certain of my convictions. Sure, I could blame the volume of the room, but that would hardly excuse my mood given that I played bass guitar in a rock band for a living. It was more that the flood of good will, the cheer and happiness and energy of the group was reminding me of things I’d tried my best to forget.

To swallow and compress and store somewhere deep inside where they would never resurface, only it was looking distinctly like they’d come back up to confront me.

Adelaide noticed me staring into the middle distance and waved me closer.

“Jack,” she said. “Are you ok?”

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink so I would have an excuse not to speak for another moment.

That was my life now: a collection of unbearable moments, strung together indefinitely.

But that also wasn’t fair. Adelaide was far from unbearable. There was no fault of hers pushing me to this pain.

It was all my own doing.

She leaned in closer. “Would you mind?”

And before I knew it, she’d passed Grace over to me. “I just need to run to the washroom,” she said. “Be back in a sec.”

But it took less than a second for the panic to choke me, for Grace’s clear, brilliantly blue eyes to stare up at me and plunge me into darkness. She burbled pleasantly, tiny pink lips smacking as she amused herself with noises.

“Brrrpt,” said Grace.

“Hey,” I said to her, softly. Grace blinked at me, those innocent eyes somehow piercing through to the painful core of my heart. Another gurgle and chirp, and then she grabbed at my beard with a fat hand.

The action shot me back through my past to a memory of Ava. I didn’t want the memory, and I fought it as I leaned my head to the side to try to dislodge Grace’s grip, but she was too strong.

Ava used to love my beard, plunging her baby hands into the wiry hair and often ripping out several before she could be stopped. Truth be told, though, I often didn’t mind the pain, because her fascination, the closeness of her, was more than worth the price.

Adelaide rushed back from the washroom while I was sinking into my memories even deeper: Ava, grabbing my beard just after I’d picked her up from taking her first steps. Sarah, hugging us both with such pressure that Ava wailed at her, not realizing that her parents were drunk on the elation of that moment.

Sarah.

Ava.

The two were inextricably linked in my mind, two drawings by the same artist. But I knew that I needed to stop shying away from thinking about Ava because of Sarah.

Somewhere out in Minnesota, Ava was living a life she didn’t have to live. Her experiences were shaped irrevocably by my undoing. By the way that I broke, when I heard the news of Sarah’s death.

By the way I kept myself broken, avoided everything that could remind me of Sarah and how much pain losing someone caused.

“Ah jeez, Gracie! Be nice to Uncle Jack,” Adelaide said, wresting Grace’s hands from my facial hair. “So sorry about that, my bladder was about to burst,” she said to me.

“No trouble,” I responded. But the truth was that something had been unleashed inside me that I always struggled to contain. Every second of each day since Sarah’s accident had involved that struggle, that fight to cut off my feelings.

I wasn’t sure I could keep being around Grace.

Hell, looking at the festive, love-soaked room, I wasn’t sure I could keep being around any of them: not my brothers, not their wives, not Stevie.

I belonged alone.

More than that, though, I belonged to suffering.

And this was a world of happiness that didn’t need a black-hearted ghost of a man slinking around in its shadows, his weary sadness draining from their every celebration. I could see the concern in my brothers’ eyes when they talked to me, could feel the way Adelaide’s attention followed me if I tried to isolate myself.

Though I told myself I was just doing what I needed to do, the effect was undoubtedly painful for everyone involved.

There had to be a better way to live.

Adelaide nodded in the direction of Winston and Kaycee, their post-elopement bliss so palpable it was as if they’d brought containers of the Bali sunshine back with them.

“You must be so glad they finally figured out they belonged together,” she said.

And I was.

“Yeah, only took, what, ten years?” I said, a half-smile blossoming on my face. Talk about second chances. Winston and Kaycee had dated in high school, then remained infuriatingly unaware of the feelings they had for one another until just a few months ago.

Maybe if they could do it, something could be possible for me.

I squashed the thought as soon as it arose.

No renewal for my life. No second chances for me.

Winston found his way with Kaycee because they were meant for each other.

And the only person I was meant for died in the snowy wreck I still pictured each night before I fell asleep.

Still, something lingered at the edges of my thoughts. An irritatingly unshakable feeling.

Survivor’s guilt?

No.

Grace smiled at me, lunging towards my beard as she grinned. Adelaide dissolved into laughter at the sight of her daughter completely transfixed by my face.

And I realized something.

I missed my daughter.

She deserved better than a father absent because of his own fucked-up headspace. The realization shattered what was left of my resolve to stay at the party. I smiled at Adelaide, excusing myself quickly, and walked out without further goodbyes.

Outside, the same warm night air that Los Angeles had offered me for countless weeks did nothing to melt the chill inside my chest.

* * *

“Jack,” Stevie said.

“Can’t a guy skulk away from a party in peace these days?” I said, staring out the window of my dingy apartment at the tent city a few blocks away in Skid Row. The phone cast a glow against my face that reflected in the glass, highlighting all the sunken lines of my skin.

I’d aged since Sarah. Who knew how much?

It already felt like a lifetime.

“I’m worried about you, man,” said Stevie. I let him listen for my response in silence for a moment, and then I spoke.

“Sorry.”

“Can I come by?”

Though I was sorely tempted to say no, to push Stevie away one more time, something about tonight felt different. I relented.

“Ok, fine,” I said.

“Be there in twenty.”

I hung up on the call and watched as the minutes elapsed, their digital lines crisp on the display. I knew I should eat, or at least pretend to be doing something when Stevie showed up to alleviate some of his concerns. But I couldn’t muster the desire to move from where I sat.

When he knocked, I snapped out of another spiralling daydream, the kind that drew me years back into a scenario where somehow, against all odds, I’d saved Sarah. Maybe I’d convinced her that the roads could be treacherous on her drive, or maybe I’d offered to drive her there myself.

Whatever the choice I made, it magically kept her from dying. Kept her from leaving me and sweet little Ava.

So it was that Stevie pounded on the door and broke yet another spiral of self-flagellation and sadness. My depressing apartment, with its vague smell of old cat piss and unappetizing cooking smells, was the perfect location for these thoughts. I wasn’t sure what Stevie would want to talk about, but at least I was in my element.

“Hey Jack,” he said, his voice overly casual when he came in. I saw him try not to react with disappointment at the way my apartment looked. Each time he visited, he tried to convince me to buy some new furniture or a potted plant: something, anything. I hadn’t taken him up on that suggestion, and it showed.

“Stevie,” I said, offering him a spot on the sofa.

“How are you doing, man?”

It was a hell of a question.

I could have saved thousands of dollars if I’d been paid each time someone asked me that, could have swum in the twinkling coins like I was a cartoon millionaire. Yet the multitude of times I’d been asked still hadn’t prepared me to lie convincingly.

“I’m ok,” I said. The falsehood was as obvious as the beard on my face.

“What’s happening? Is it Sarah?”

I shrugged, knowing that nearly all of my life these past few years was in some way about Sarah. There was no way to answer that question without acknowledging I was still running, still a shell of my former self.

“Winston and Kaycee sent their love,” added Stevie. He searched my face for a reaction, so I smiled, trying to imbue the expression with the affection I truly did feel for my younger brother. I was happy that he was happy.

It just wasn’t enough. Their happiness buoyed me, yes, but it didn’t keep me from bobbing back underwater moments later.

“And Adelaide said that you were great with Grace tonight,” Stevie said. His leg was jangling, maybe from nerves, and I cringed to think that I was causing that much discomfort to my best friend.

“She’s a peach,” I said.

Unbidden, images of Grace’s perfectly round cheeks flashed in my memory. The remaining words I’d planned to say were erased in an instant.

Grace. She was so innocent, so full of wonder about the world around her.

Ava.

Like a knife tore through me, I leaned forward and crossed my arms to shield my belly. The gesture did nothing to placate the cramping, miserable feeling inside me. It wasn’t the ever-present dull ache of missing Sarah.

It was something else.

Throughout this agony, Stevie sat silently watching my reactions. We’d known each other since we were in high school, two ambitious kids keen to make Beech Lake into an independent music hub. Though we’d failed in that venture, our bond had been unshakeable since.

Stevie saw my pain, and without my speaking a word, he understood it.

“Jack, I think it’s time,” he said.

I wanted to pretend that I didn’t know what he meant. I wanted to reject it, just like I’d rejected everything that could bring me happiness these past few years. All I deserved was to live in the shadows, licking my wounds until I could join Sarah all over again.

But a small, persistent part of me rejected that fatalism. It heard Stevie’s voice and responded, clamoring to be heard in turn.

“I know,” I muttered. But I didn’t acknowledge what it was time for.

“You miss her,” he said.

“Of course I do.” The tone of my voice shimmered with the edge of a sword, hurt and ready to hurt.

“And Jack, I know that you’ve missed her every day since Sarah died. I know that social services taking her was a blow, but I think it’s time to fight.”

“Fuck you, what do you think I’ve been doing?”

I didn’t mean to lash out.

I never meant to hurt anyone.

But the thing was, when you were in a pit of your own despair, there were casualties. And often those casualties included the people dearest to you, the ones who tried to reach down and help you up.

I clawed at him, but Stevie was smart enough to know my tricks by now.

“You’ve been hiding. Punishing yourself. Maybe thinking that Ava’s better off with her foster family, for all I know. But I think it’s been long enough, and you’re only hurting yourself more and more each day.”

No words came to me, just a sound like a low growl, a primal, muttering echo of the pain that reverberated inside me like a shotgun blast.

“The tour’s gone well, things with The Avowed are as stable as ever, Jack. Kyle and Adelaide are going to be busy raising their daughter, and Kaycee and Winston are over the moon in love. They’d all understand if you needed some time to fix up your life.”

“Is that what they told you?” I said, my voice accusatory. I hated the idea that people talked about me behind my back, as if I was a problem to be solved and not a man. A person whose feelings raged sometimes, yes, but who could still play the bass, could still show up on time for practices.

“Not in so many words,” said Stevie. “I wanted to talk to you first. But as your manager I think it’s my duty to tell you that you should focus on fixing the things you’ve been avoiding.”

“Fuck,” I said, starting to rage again without thinking, the blind panic swirling up from the idea of changing anything so strong I choked on my words.

He was right, though. Goddamn Stevie was always right.

I sat stewing in frustration as I fought myself, fought the urge to tear into Stevie despite him not deserving a single ounce of my scorn. He just waited, his broad, friendly face patient and warm.

Instead of tearing into him like I wanted to, I took a deep, raggedy breath.

“I fucking hate it, but you’re right,” I said.

“Aren’t I always?” laughed Stevie. He exhaled as if relieved of countless pounds of pressure, and then stood to draw nearer to me.

“Yeah, but don’t let it get to your head.”

Stevie grabbed me in an unavoidable bear hug, his thick arms encircling me in a friendship I’d taken for granted. I fought the sore feeling in my throat, aching with the sadness of missing my girl.

My Ava.

I had to get her back.

* * *

Within a day, Kaycee had agreed to take on my case, applying for custody through the Minnesota court system as if she’d been waiting to do it for years. She was a damn good lawyer, and watching her work I could see that Winston had truly married up.

It warmed my heart, really.

But nothing compared to the shaky, nauseated sensation in my gut the day she called me and told me it was happening.

I was on a plane to Minneapolis the next morning, my shitty apartment emptied, the stuff I didn’t plan to keep piled on the curb for others to take. All I had was my suitcase, my bass guitar, and Gabe, my dog. It was a turbulent flight, the pilot making clipped remarks to expect ‘a little rough air’ as we traversed the mountains, but his words barely registered in my mind.

Even as we bumped and shook in the skies, the only thing I could think of was Ava.

What would she look like?

She’d be 6 now. Taller, older. Would she recognize me?

Would I recognize myself? I hadn’t been a dad in years. I’d barely been human, more a chaos of grief and the occasional bluesy bass rhythm.

My mind was so preoccupied I barely noticed our descent into the city. Somewhere down there, Ava was being told by her caseworker that her father was coming home. Her foster family would be saying their goodbyes, packing up her things.

Did she still love the color purple? What about dinosaurs?

I fought the itching notion that the girl I was preparing to collect was as much a stranger to me as I might be to her.

I should have done it much earlier, I knew that. Guilt and grief had obliterated my sense of what was right. Despite that, there was nothing I could do to change my past. To change our past.

All that mattered was that finally, after far, far too long, I was doing the right thing. I was going to be a father again.