Chapter Eighteen

The Next Tragic Story

For the first time in over a week, I felt like half a human. Mainly because I forced myself to get dressed and go to work. The teenage angst floating through the halls of a high school was just the medicine I needed to distract me from the shit show my life had become. Any day now, Lifetime Movie Network would be calling me for the rights to my story. It will be the next tragic story to hit cable.

Until then, I’ll just continue avoiding Jimmy and pretend like everything is great in front of Christopher. I’m going to need to come up with a plan for when I see Gabby in school, though, because dodging into the janitor closet isn’t very professional. Not to mention I didn’t do such a great job of avoiding her. The closet escapade only got me so far and by sixth period Jimmy’s little protégé entered my office, playing it off as though she wanted to go over her grades. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from that tree.

That’s horrible to say.

It’s not her fault, her father is a liar.

Gabby’s a great kid. Sure, it was a bumpy start, but she really pulled herself together and now, her grades are excellent and her attendance perfect. There is no doubt in my mind that girl is going to walk with her class this June and as much as I’d like to see her graduate, I don’t want to see her father’s proud smile in fear I won’t recover.

Like Gabby, Jimmy has a fantastic smile. They’re both charming and if one isn’t careful, they will get sucked in by their charismatic ways. That theory was proven when Gabby stood to leave my office and paused, asking if I wouldn’t mind giving her a ride home from school. She quickly added her father was working, and she had to finish an assignment before heading to night school, claiming she wouldn’t have time if she took the bus home.

It was obvious she knew her father, and I weren’t speaking by the subtle hints she dropped here and there along the ride to her house. Whether she knew the details behind our uncoupling, I couldn’t be sure but she made it a point to tell me how miserable her father was over the last week.

Thankfully, she wasn’t lying about her father working. When I dropped her off, there was no trace of Jimmy anywhere. I expected to feel relieved and was shocked by the ping of longing that stirred in my gut. I missed him.

Lies and all, I missed the man who made me laugh. The man who was content watching a movie with me on the couch as long as it meant he could hold my hand. The man who liked to dazzle me with his cooking abilities and promised to teach me how to make cannoli’s from scratch. The man who made it okay to want a future, the one who rid me of my grief and taught me there is more to life than being stuck in the past.

The man who broke my heart.

I missed that man.

The doorbell rings, dragging me away from my mind and I glance down at the vegetables neatly lined on the cutting board that I haven’t so much as touched. Wiping my hands on the dishtowel, I decide working and cooking dinner was a little ambitious for a woman who spent the last week crying in bed until it was time to pick her son up from school.

Tossing the dishtowel onto the counter, I pad out of the kitchen and into the living room. As I make my way towards the door, I pause and smile at Christopher who is playing on the floor watching an episode of Paw Patrol I recorded on the DVR.

“Hey, buddy,” I call out. “Instead of tacos, how do you feel about pizza for dinner?”

“Can we get pepperoni?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the two figures in his hands.

“Whatever you want, baby,” I reply, reaching the door. With a sigh, I glance through the side window to check who it is. Pulling it open, I greet my chipper sister.

I swear the girl doesn’t have a care in the world and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Who's to say her carefree lifestyle is any better than my troubled one. At least she seems happy—that’s a lot more than I can say about myself.

“There’s my beautiful sister,” she says, pushing her way inside my home. “And, where’s my favorite nephew?”

“Aunt Amber!” Chris boasts, tossing his toys on the floor as he scrambles to his feet and runs into her arms. At his happiness, a small smile plays on my list. When everything feels so hopeless, there is always his smile that makes things better.

“I didn’t know you were coming by,” I say, watching as Amber lifts Christopher into her arms. Spinning around to face me she gives me a cheeky smile.

“I thought I’d swing by and see how your first day back to work went,” she says.

“It was like any other day,” I reply, reaching for my phone. Pulling up the pizza delivery app, I start to order a pizza and some veggie wrap for Amber—this week she’s a vegetarian. Next week she’ll be at the butcher ordering a whole cow.

“Nothing happened?”

“Was something supposed to happen?” I counter, looking at her. Wearing a somewhat perplexed expression, I can’t tell if she’s genuinely confused or if she’s angry. “Oh, I did take Gabby home after school.”

“Ahah! So, you saw Jimmy then.”

“No,” I say, pocketing my phone. “What’s going on with you?”

Without answering me, I watch her turn her attention to Christopher and gently lower him onto his feet.

“Why don’t you go get a game from your room and I’ll play with you?” she tells him, making it clear whatever she has to tell me, I’m either not going to appreciate or is not appropriate for little ears.

Loving the attention, Christopher runs off to fetch a game him and his aunt can play. Once he’s out of sight, Amber reluctantly turns to me and mutters a curse.

“I may have done something stupid,” she starts.

Just as I’m about to roll my eyes, I catch sight of the television and I freeze. The DVR recording must’ve ended because it was now broadcasting the news and a horrible fire that spread across five homes. Glancing down at the ticker rolling on the bottom of the screen, I realize it happened on Staten Island. That knowledge alone has me brushing past Amber and reaching for the remote. Raising the volume, I stare at the screen, as the cameraman spans across the street showing the dozens of firetrucks blocking traffic. I scan the trucks, squinting to read the ladder and engine numbers.

“Holy shit,” Amber says from beside to me.

“Shh!” I demand as the news reporter continues to speak.

 

Once again, this Rosanna Torres reporting from the New Springville section of Staten Island, where the FDNY has been battling a five-alarm fire for three hours. Several firefighters have been injured and three are trapped inside trying to rescue a little boy who allegedly started the fire. We do not have the names of those firemen at the time.

 

“Melissa?”

My eyes snap to my sister and I force myself to breathe.

“What if it’s him?” I rasp. “Oh my God, Amber, what if Jimmy is one of those men?”

What if this is another piece of the tragic story?