Then
Nic stayed in the car as I walked across the driveway and stepped onto the pristine green grass. My steps were slow. My feet felt heavy as I weaved between stones placed by countless loved ones.
My palms were sweating from nerves against the cool stems of the flowers in my grip. I found my destination. I decided to go with the easiest first. Though none of this was easy. The top of the wide headstone was inscribed:
Our brief partings on Earth
will appear one day as nothing
beside the joy of eternity together.
God, they really loved each other. I guessed that was why she never moved on. It broke my heart that they didn’t have more time with each other. And that I didn’t have more time with them. I pulled out the first white calla lily and placed it on the left side. Directly underneath, I found the name of my father.
Alexander Josef Dobransky
Loving Husband, Father, and Hero.
Always in our thoughts…
“I’m sorry I forgot you. I don’t think that says anything about you as a father. By all accounts, you loved me with all your heart. I’m told I was once a daddy’s girl. I wish I knew what that looked like. I do love you. I hope you’re taking care of Mom, wherever you guys are.”
To the right, I placed the other white calla lily.
Catherine Rosita Dominguez Dobransky
Beloved Wife, Mother, and Friend
…Forever in our hearts.
Tears broke free and ran down my face. I used the end of the scarf to wipe them away from my chin.
“Mom—” My voice cracked. “I can’t—you don’t know how much I miss you. It’s… I need you all the time, and you’re not here. I’m trying really hard to be the best mom I can be to the girls. I fuck up more than I do good. I hope they see my breakdown as proof of my love for their father, and not just another in a long line of screwups when it comes to them. You’d have loved them fiercely. They’re so beautiful. I named Cat after you, but really, Cora is just like you. She has that calm, quiet grace that I’ve only seen from you. She’s also fierce like you. I know you’re probably disappointed in the mess I made of my life. But I’m getting better. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
I stood in silence for a bit longer before my feet found the will to move to the next spot. I weaved through several more rows before I found it. Grass had grown over the grave, but time hadn’t fully flattened the earth that covered him. My hands trembled as I placed the final red calla lily on the gravestone in front of me. When I touched it, my knees gave out, and I fell to the ground. I stared at the name, letting the harsh reality sink in once more. The blood. The cold. I wouldn’t ever forget.
“Jared,” I choked out. “God, I loved you. I still do. You were my first love. And I’ll probably still love you with my dying breath.”
My fingertips traced over his name. Jared Ethan Wilson. Such a tragic end to such a beautiful soul. I knew all the angry words said, all the violence and temper, wasn’t him. He was sick. So, I chose to remember the good in him. The guy who told me he’d love me forever. The one who would play me songs to tell me how he felt. The one who used music to guide his emotions, to connect with his soul, and taught me to do the same. I was forever changed by this man.
My fingers followed the veins of the white marble down to the inscription.
Though his song has ended,
the melody lingers on.
His parents chose that, not me. I was rather catatonic in the days, weeks, months after his death. A weak, horrible fiancée. A shitty mother. I feared what my epitaph would say. Turning, I sat and leaned my back against the cold stone.
“I’m sorry… for everything. I think life boils down to those moments. The ones that are tough to handle. You show what you’re really made of when pressed to act on instinct. You were right about me. I found out a couple of months later that I was pre—pregnant. I wasn’t eating right, drinking enough fluids. My body was shutting down, so it did what it needed to do.” I sighed. “I’m really starting to rack up the body count. You know the fucked-up part was that I won’t ever know if it was his or yours. I’d like to think it was yours. That the girls had a little brother on the way. One that would look like you but have my hair and eyes. The physical polar opposite of the twins. He would’ve been so handsome. We would’ve loved him. That would’ve been a beautiful future.”
I closed my eyes, and I could see his face. My doctor told me that it was important to visualize the good times, that focusing on the bad only feeds into the nightmares and flashbacks. And it made the panic attacks more frequent.
“I’m going to open a music school or someplace for children, in your name. I know you would like that as your legacy. You taught me to love music and saved me when I really needed saving. You need to continue to do that for other kids.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tissue to blow my nose when I could no longer breathe. I said goodbye and got up to leave. I’d said that today was a beautiful day and I was happy, but it was a lie. I was putting on a good front for everyone, but inside, I was dead. I was just living in a hell of my own making. This—all of it—was the punishment for my sins, and I’d suck it up and take what I deserve.
Now
The light switch flips with an audible click, followed by the hum of fluorescent lights as they warm up. I walk into the largest of the three rehearsal rooms we have at Mad Lane Records. Moving to pull off my leather jacket, I stop as the cool air kisses my skin and shrug it back into place.
My stomach is queasy with nerves. I won’t throw up. I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything this morning, so there’s nothing to come up. I wring my hands and look around. It’s the same empty room it’s always been. There are a few couches against the wall where the door is. Scattered wires, microphones, and a few amps are lying around.
But all of that the eye easily skips over. What catches my eye and seizes my attention is the stained glass window. It casts a kaleidoscope of colorful shadows across the room.
The scene depicted in this one is Jesus cradling the head of a blind man, bestowing the gift of sight. The blind man is on his knees, begging for mercy. The whole window is in shades of blues, greens, and purples, but Jesus stands tall in blood-red robes. The artist who designed these many years ago was really good. You can feel the emotion from the way their limbs are placed. Forgiveness.
I’m not the religious type. I believe there’s a higher power, but I don’t think anyone on earth is truly capable of understanding what that is. I think we all grasp at straws and believe the most convenient lies. Lies that feel comfortable, whether it’s ingrained from birth or, like a true rebel, you choose it on your own. It’s like those scientists who theorize that there’s another dimension, but we can’t perceive it because our minds are too limited. We just aren’t advanced enough to understand or comprehend the truth.
So, God, Buddha, Allah—whatever you want to call him or her—he’s not a being. It’s a force beyond comprehension. But there’s one thing that I do believe: love is as close as we can humanly get to it.
The door clicks open behind me. I know who it is. No need to look. I only lied to one person and told him we were starting an hour before we were scheduled to be in here.
“Sorry I’m late,” Asher says, his voice moving across the room behind me. “Where is everyone?”
“You’re not late.” My voice sounds hollow.
I look at the clock on my phone. He’s only five minutes behind schedule. Did he really think everyone gave up and left so quickly? I don’t really know. I’m too busy staring at Jesus.
“I know, Asher.” I try to impart the full subtext behind those two words with my tone. “I know what happened that night.”
The sound of his movement stops. I can feel his eyes on me like tiny laser beams burning through my back.
“But I suppose you’ve guessed that. You’re the only one who would know that Detective Martinez wouldn’t have confessed to murdering Jared.”
The silence is my answer. The fact that we’re standing in a soundproof room makes the stillness even louder. The kind of quiet that rings in your ears like the pounding blades of a helicopter as they whip through the air.
“I tried to stop him,” he says, finally. “It was an accident.”
I close my eyes. The tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. Despair and pain.
“How?” My voice feels like it’s detached from my body. “Tell me what happened.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod, my eyes still glued to Jesus for support.
“Come sit,” Asher coaxes.
I’m not sure that I can look at him just yet, so I stay frozen in place.
“I was here that night because I’d nothing better to do. I tried to go to the hospital, but they escorted me off the property. She wouldn’t let me in, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t sit alone in an apartment with my thoughts. I knew she was there, but no one would tell me why.”
I cringe at the mention of Holly. That was a rough spot for all of us. We still don’t know why she refused to tell Asher what happened. I know she still hasn’t.
“Jared showed up here, his face was scratched and bruised. His shirt was torn, and there was blood on it. More blood than what could’ve possibly been from those scratches. He had a bottle of Jack in his hand, drinking straight from the bottle, a gun in the other hand. He was riled up, too. He kept repeating that it was over. That he fucked up. You gave up on him and it was all over.”
I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter how much time had passed, this’ll probably always hurt.
“I was worried about you. I’d seen him come close to hitting you several times. And that was with an audience. I still have no clue what went on behind closed doors with you two, but I thought the worst.”
Jared had only ever hit me once, before he lost himself to his madness. I don’t think he would’ve ever done it again, but we never got the chance to test that theory.
“He had that gun. And my…” Asher’s voice chokes on emotion.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as tears silently track down my face.
“My first thought was that he had finally snapped and killed you. I asked him what happened—where you were. He was mumbling things I couldn’t understand half of. But I did catch the part where he said he hurt you and you broke up with him. I asked him for the gun because I was worried that he was going to use it on someone eventually. Especially the more that bottle disappeared… But he turned it on me. Started saying shit like I was after you, too. Slowly poisoning you against him.”
“He was sick.” My voice comes out crusty, and I clear my throat. “I wish I would’ve tried harder to get him help. But back then, I was so sure that it was me. That I needed to stop being me to please him. That if I were someone different he wouldn’t look at me like I was a monster. He would look at me the way he used to.”
“I wish I could’ve stopped him,” Asher says, then pauses. “We wrestled for the gun. I tried to get it away, but at some point, he got it turned in his direction, and he pulled the trigger.”
My legs give out, and I collapse to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Asher pleads, tears clogging his voice. “I’m so sorry, Maddie. I tried to stop him.”
Asher’s arms band around me. I turn into him, gripping his shirt in my fingers like a lifeline.
“The alarm went off and I ran. I panicked because—I don’t know why. He wasn’t dead when I left. And that’s my biggest regret—that I didn’t stay and try to keep him alive. I just freaked out, thinking the police were coming and if he didn’t make it, they would call it murder. God, I’m so fucking sorry.” A mournful wail wrenches out of him. He sobs for a bit until he continues. “I didn’t want to bring you here that night. I didn’t want you to see him like that, but I didn’t know how to stop you. I tried telling you that we should wait, but you didn’t listen, and I couldn’t—” His body trembles violently as his eyes take on a lost, faraway look.
My heart breaks for him. To be holding this all inside for this long. To go through this alone. I know he loved Jared. He would’ve walked away instead of sticking it out with us. I can’t imagine what I would’ve done in the same situation, but I don’t blame Asher for his actions. It was time to let this go.
“I let them call it a murder and kept my mouth shut. I thought it was better for you if you didn’t know. That it would be easier to not live with the guilt I felt.”
I don’t know why I do what I do next—a giggle bursts forth from my lips, and I can’t stop it. But it’s thin and reedy and holds a tinge of madness to it. Asher’s red swollen eyes turn to me.
“It didn’t work,” I say. “I held on to that guilt, convinced that everyone was lying. Locked myself in my self-imposed prison. I knew he killed himself because I could see it in his eyes that night when I made him leave. He was done. But I also couldn’t continue to be his victim. He took it too far when he attacked me.”
Asher shifts next to me, his arms falling away. He wraps them around his knees. Our sides are touching, but we face opposite ways. He stares at the carpet, unmoving. We sit in silence so long, the tears dry up on their own.
“I was only hurting myself trying to save him. We both did it. But I’ve learned something, Ash. You can’t blame yourself. Jared was one of the thousands who come home every year and do the same. Another body to add to the statistics. And maybe if we’d been a little smarter, we could’ve changed that. But you fought hard enough for the gun. Even Martinez tried to save him—he’s the one who smashed the door and set off the alarm. And I was not the horrible monster that drove him to do it.”
“Of course not,” he says, and I know he’s only answering that last thought.
“I forgive you.” I wait for a reaction, but none comes. I reach over and turn his face until he’s looking at me. “I forgive you. And now you need to forgive yourself.”
I look back up at Jesus and have the strangest sensation. Goose bumps prickle on my arms.
“Was it that easy for you?”
I snort. “Hell, no.” I cut him the side eye. “It took over four years to fully forgive myself. And really, it wasn’t until Dex knew the truth about me—everything—and still looked at me like I hung the moon that I realized that who I am was not to blame for Jared’s downfall.”
I lie back on the floor and stare at the carved wood molding on the ceiling.
“Everybody deserves to hang the moon in someone’s eyes,” I say to no one.
Asher snorts. “We don’t all get a fairytale ending.”
“You had it once,” I say before my mouth catches up with my brain.
Shit. I didn’t mean to dig that up.
“I remember believing that.” His shoulder sag a little further.
“Ash, I promised both of you that I’d never get involved because I don’t want to choose sides. But I feel like I need to offer you some advice. Call it a forgiveness freebie.” I wink.
He gives a half-hearted laugh in return.
“When we put our running shoes on and fight tooth and nail to hide from someone, it’s because that’s the person who really matters. That’s the one person you fear will see what’s inside you and cringe. You’d rather live with the not-knowing than to give it a chance.” I sigh, thinking about how much running I did from Dex. “I can guarantee you she has her running shoes on when it comes to you. That shit says something. Shouts it from the fucking rooftops. So, you can sit around and mope because she pushed you away, or you can fight for it.”