I call two people on my way to the police station where River is in the custody of child protective services.
One answers.
He doesn’t.
I’m given information. Some I knew. Some I didn’t. I’m told Ava was killed instantly and Cullen died in transport. They swerved to miss a motorcycle that came into their lane on Mulholland Highway between Malibu Canyon and Kanan Dume Road and hit an oak tree head-on.
The motorcycle rider left the scene. Never stopped.
I’m told where my sister and Cullen’s bodies are. Where they will go from there. I’m asked if we want an autopsy and told that they were organ donors and asked if they can have their eyes? It’s been hours since their death and someone wants to cut their eyes out to give to a donor?
I’m asked to sign papers and given pamphlets on grief and loss.
I’m hugged and offered condolences and a million “I’m sorrys,” that essentially mean nothing to me. I’m sorry doesn’t make this any better. It doesn’t take away the pain.
There’s a girl wearing a pink and purple princess dress and a loosened side braid. She’s clinging to a purple blanket, rubbing her nose with the soft fleece tainted in her mother’s blood. It’s midnight, a time when little girls like her should be sound asleep, tucked away safely in their homes, but not this little girl. She’s in a room surrounded by social workers.
Unaware, she doesn’t know or ever realize it’s her mother’s blood she’s rubbing against her face, but then again, it might be her father’s. Regardless, oblivious, she holds on to the only memory she has left of them.
The walls around her are stark white, blinding, obnoxious. The girl’s stare is unfocused, uninterested in anything around her. And in this moment, I pray she keeps that innocence because when she realizes her parents have been ripped from her life by the sounds of breaking glass and the violent bang of metal on metal, her life, that memory she has of them, will never be the same. It’ll fade until it’s gone completely and all she has left is that blanket.
Swallowed by heartache, I remain out of sight, afraid, watching, waiting for her to react to those around her. She doesn’t. They fuss and obsess, asking questions they won’t get answers to. Her eyes, dark and mysterious, remain distant, her auburn curls falling helplessly in her face. Next to her is her pink bear, the one she sleeps with, and if you look closely, it too holds a memory of her perished family. The necklace around the bear’s neck, it’s actually a bracelet her father gave her mother on their first wedding anniversary.
Tears burn my eyes, but they don’t break free. They surface and pool like the memories of Ava. My knees shake, a need to move, but I don’t go to her even though in those moments, I want to comfort her. I want to rip her from that plastic chair and take her far away from here and this nightmare. This child, she’s my three-year-old niece, and I know in the days to come, when she realizes Mommy and Daddy aren’t sleeping or on vacation, that they’re never ever coming back, those are the moments I hope I can offer her familiarity. Those are the moments she’s going to need me to take her from this and hold her tight. I hope she knows I’d give my own life if she never had to feel another ounce of pain the rest of hers.
But that’s not a guarantee I can ever give her. What I can do now is hold her close.
It’s minutes after my presence in the room is made that she notices me. She looks from the window where she’d been lost, and then to me. The grief surges inside me, every expelled breath a struggle to keep it together for this child. Tears began to form as helpless eyes hold mine.
It takes her a moment for her eyes to focus and react. It’s then relief washes over her innocent features. Chubby cheeks rise with the twisting of her full cherry red lips into a small smile. Dropping her blanket on her lap and the bear on the floor, her hand brushes her curls from her face as she points to me. “Amble.”
It’s a lot to ask of a three-year-old to say your full name so I’ve always settled for whatever she calls me. For the last few months, it’s been Amble. Before that it was Bear, so we’re getting closer to my actual name.
My heart bursts with happiness that I still have her and the sense of contentment only a child’s love fills your heart with. And though the ache for losing my sister is never going to fade, I see her now, in her daughter, River, smiling at me with her arms spread out wide. It’s an invitation, a reaction, a need for someone to give her what she’s looking for. Reassurance she’s safe.
Hold it together. Stay strong for her.
Those thoughts, they’re in my head. I know that, but it’s not my voice saying them. It’s Ava.
Immediately, I pick her up, holding her head to my shoulder, swaying the two of us back and forth. She’s so small, so innocent, and I’m so scared, devastated and confused.
What does this mean? What happens next? Can I take her away? Can I have her? She’s all I have left of my sister.
I can’t imagine what River’s seen today, what’s she replaying in her head of the accident, if anything, but I know in this moment, when I pick her up and she wraps her tiny still baby-chubby arms around my neck, she’s giving me so much more than I’m able to give to her.
The touch of her, the smell of her, it brings back the pain. When you lose someone suddenly, it’s like a lightning bolt to your heart and any reminder of them, that’s the electricity coursing through your veins. A reminder you will never be the same.
River draws back, still in my arms and stares at me. My stomach rolls and weight bears down on my chest. She touches my cheek with her hand. “Amble, I missed you.”
It’s only been a week since my sister took her to Disney Land. Did she know it’d end in tragedy on the way home? No, no one could have predicted that.
Wanting to escape my own mind, I smile at River. “I missed you too.”
Content, she lays her head on my shoulder, playing with the ends of my purple hair. She loves the color of my hair. I continue to sway the two of us back and forth, my knee-high red rubber boots squeaking against the concrete floor.
A heavy sigh hits my neck from behind, warm and clammy, a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. They’re offering condolences, and I know it’s not the warmth of the devil’s touch I crave because he’s not answering.
I called Tiller twenty times on the way here. Not a single one answered. I called his house, too, but no one knew where he was. It’s just like him not to answer when I need him the most. He’s not my boyfriend, and at times, I can barely call him a friend, but he’s the one person I depend on to get me through anything.
“Do you want me to hold her?” Alexandra asks, coming around the corner and into view. I hadn’t realized she arrived until now. My sister, the middle Johnson daughter, thinks the world revolves around her and is so completely different from Ava and me.
I grip River tighter, refusing to let go of the one piece of Ava I have left. “No, I have her.”
See the self-involved woman beside me with the long stick-straight bleached-blonde hair? Her name is Alexandra Rae Johnson, soon to be Alexandra Rae Campbell. She’s been given everything from the Mercedes she pulled up in, to her beachfront condo overlooking Santa Barbara. See the tender blush under her golden skin? She’s upset I’ve denied her to hold her niece, to comfort her, to be the center of attention.
Do you, like me, take notice in the face full of strength and shining with an unfaltering and unflustered peace? Had she not gotten the same news I had?
I’m nothing like Alexandra. Never have been. She’s together, a thing of perfection, beauty, grace. . . . I’m awkwardly existing, a misunderstood mental drifter, happiest in deep thought. Standing with others, like the child in my arms, I’m miles away from everyone. It’s not that I don’t like people, because I do. I just prefer to see their joy rather than blind myself with it.
Lightheaded with emotion, I twist slightly, my boots creating another squeak.
Alexandra notices the blood on River’s dress, tiny blotches of crimson. “Is she okay? She wasn’t hurt, was she?”
I shake my head. “No. I guess she has a couple bruises, but other than that, nothing. They did a bunch of exams on her and everything came back fine. Just in shock, I imagine.”
River remains quiet in my arms, never acknowledging Alexandra’s presence in the room. It’s as if nothing besides my hair she’s playing with is in the room.
“What are we going to do?” I’m looking to Alexandra as my older sister for security, reassurance, something other than this ache in my chest I fear will never heal.
“I don’t know at the moment.” Alexandra’s chin shakes, struggling to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. Terrance, her fiancé, reaches for her and wraps his arm around her shoulder. She cries against his shoulder, burying her head in his chest. “I can’t believe this happened. It’s just so terrible.”
Terrible? It’s worse than that.
I remain holding River. Our eyes catch as a social worker steps forward. “Does River have grandparents who can take her until Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’s attorney can be contacted?”
“I will take her,” Alexandra says immediately, before I can even open my mouth. “Cullen’s parents died a few years ago. Our parents are in Germany until the end of the week. I’ve spoken with them and they’re on their way back.”
I didn’t call my parents. I’m not even sure why. I just didn’t. Probably because I didn’t want to see my father, and my mother’s reaction would be the same as Alexandra. The need to control the situation to avoid the reality.
“I can take her,” I offer, still keeping my hold on her.
River doesn’t move her head. She twirls my purple locks around her finger, then unwinds it, a process she repeats many times. It’s comforting to her. A distraction.
After a long pause—during which Alexandra sweeps her eyes to mine, then the social worker—she shakes her head, cold sarcasm dripping from her words, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Do you notice my expression? The way my heart drums wildly and my grip tightens on River? I’m not letting her take her. There’s a reason why I’m the one that was always asked to babysit when Ava and Cullen needed someone. River loves me. In her entire three years on this earth, Alexandra has watched her once. And she called me for help when River wouldn’t stop crying when she vacuumed cracker crumbs from her dress.
“I think it’s better I take her back to her home and put her in her own bed,” I insist, returning my sister’s impatient tone. “She needs a sense of comfort and going to your place in Santa Barbara isn’t comforting to her. Her own bed, her home. . . that’s what she needs.”
I want to point out that there’s no way River will even go to her, but I’ll save that for when she tries to take her from me.
Shocked I stood up to her, Alexandra stares at me, speechless for a moment. Terrance does the same, and if you look close enough at him, you can see he’s proud of what I did. It’s something he’s certainly never done to his soon-to-be wife. He gives her anything and everything she’s wanting.
The social worker, who brought me into the room with River, agrees. “Amberly’s right. It’s best to have her in her own bed if that’s possible. She needs to feel safe and secure.”
“I was house-sitting their dog, Kona. I’ve been staying there for the last week.”
The social worker gives me a card with her name on it. Gwen Perry. “Monday morning you should be contacted by Cullen and Ava’s attorney and child protective services to discuss guardianship of River. In instances like this, if there wasn’t a will in place designating custody of the minor, we urge grandparents to seek custody of the child, or an aunt or uncle.”
I nod, and Alexandra looks as though she’s contemplating having this woman’s career ruined for suggesting I take River.
Shifting River in my arms, I motion to her bear that fell on the floor. “Do you want to grab your bear and I can take you home to your bed?”
Distant eyes stay locked on my hair, twirling, unwinding, repeating. She nods but doesn’t speak or answer. She’s in shock. She has to be.
I gather her up, her bear, her blanket, and I take her to my car. I realize I don’t have a car seat for her. I look to the social worker who followed us outside. “I don’t have a car seat. They had it with them.”
Gwen nods. “You’ll have to contact the Santa Monica Police Department to gather their belongings from the accident, but in the meantime, I think we might have one you can use.” She takes a step, then turns to face me. “The car seat they had can’t be used again. You’ll have to throw it away.”
“Excuse me?” I have these images in my head. Ones where the car seat had been destroyed or it’s covered in her parent’s blood. My stomach tightens waiting for her response.
“Once you’re in a car accident you have to replace the child’s seat.”
I nod. I didn’t know that.
The light rain that blanketed the city on my drive over here has stopped. Stars shine like sugar spilt on marble. I lean against my car, a now sleeping River heavy weight in my arms. Adjusting my hold on her, Alexandra watches me carefully, standing beside Terrance. “Call me if you need anything. I can come get her at any time.”
No you won’t.
I nod, but I’m not going to call her, not to take River from me.
Alexandra’s somber stare lands on my hair, then my face. She’s crying. “I’ll come over in the morning.”
I don’t point out it’s morning now, but I understand what she means. With a hug, she leaves, her and Terrance disappearing up the street to where her Mercedes is parked against the curb.
Gwen returns, holding a black car seat. “This should work. I can get it back from you later.”
Tears surface, but again, they don’t fall because for these moments where I have this precious little girl in my arms, my reminder of my sister, I hold it together.
Carefully, I set River in the backseat of my car, tucked into the seat securely. I check the buckle twice before draping her blanket over her lap. I wonder, if I wreck, will she survive again?
I shouldn’t have to think about it, but I do.
I swallow obsessively, but I can’t clear the rising lump in my throat. It stays there. A reminder.
Cautiously, as if she’s giving me a piece of broken glass, Gwen hands me River’s bear that fell on the pavement. “Here you are, honey.” And then she hugs me, drawing me in by my shoulders to her chest, as if to say she’s sorry. And I know this is something she does often, a part of her job, a way to offer comfort, consoling, supporting in the worst of circumstances; it gives me no relief.
Fearing a breakdown in the middle of a dimly lit parking lot in the early morning hours, I pull away, straightening out my yellow jacket, and sigh. A cool breeze unsettles my hair, whips around strands of deep purple in my eyes. I tuck them behind my ear, dropping my eyes to the pavement. “I’m going to get her in bed.”
Her voice is tender. “Please call me if you need anything at all.”
Inside my car, my eyes catch River’s sleeping form. Her head’s lulled to the side, lips pushed into a peaceful pout. I can’t imagine, I can’t comprehend what this is going to mean to her future. Both parents dead. Though I don’t like my dad, and I tolerate my mother in small doses, I can’t fathom being three years old and never seeing them again, let alone being in the car with them when they died.
I wonder if she remembers what she must have seen and if she’s going to have nightmares.
My phone vibrates in my center console. I scramble to pick it up, thinking maybe Tiller’s calling me back. It’s 2:00 a.m., and it’s around the time he actually answers his phone, but it’s not. It’s my mother texting me.
Mom: Please call me in the morning so we can discuss sending a car for River when we return.
Sending a car? Like she’s a piece of property. Anger rushes through me in a hot wave. I want to start the car and run away with her so no one can take her. She’s not property. She’s a child, one whose entire world has been ripped apart.
Me: She’s fine, Mom. I have her and it’s best she be in her own bed.
Over the years, I’ve contemplated blocking my mother’s number. I actually did for a week and told her I lost my phone.
She doesn’t reply.
Without meaning to, I select Tiller’s number. He doesn’t answer.
Setting the phone down, I stare at the screen. It’s cracked. Another reminder of him. He broke it three weeks ago when he tossed it off his balcony because I refused to tell him who I had drinks with the night before.
I’ve always been attracted to broken men. Not because I want to fix them, I don’t want to fix anyone. I can’t even fix myself. It’s that I’m connected to the broken. We know what it feels like to sleep with a broken heart and paint a smile on your face in the morning.
Instinctively, I’m drawn to the dark side of romance. The forbidden, the unrivaled passion only someone like Tiller provides when you’re lost in the euphoric mania of him. He plays with my heart, never giving in, but still, the sin of him draws me in.
I try him again.
It goes straight to voice mail.
The emotion built, I finally cry, unable to hold the tears back any longer. In the parking lot under a starry night, I cry for what’s been taken from me. It’s more than a cry. It’s the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope.