The first anniversary of the accident came and went and was as hard as I thought it might be, despite my efforts to ignore the inevitable headlines about it. The candlelight vigil Shelby’s mom held at the side of the river where the girls lost their lives was all over the local television and radio channels. Just like when they first died, many of their friends and work acquaintances were once again interviewed about their relationships with the girls.
Everyone was still at a loss as to why neither Loretta nor Maggie had bothered to contact anyone. They both had co-workers and even close friends I thought they would’ve at least checked in with. Nolan had tried in vain for months to track Maggie down. All I could think was maybe her injuries were so physically devastating Loretta might be too consumed with Maggie’s rehabilitation to think about anything else. In spite of my suspicions that, just like Loretta had known all along about Madeline and me, she also knew about Maggie and Nolan, there was still one other possibility why Maggie hadn’t reached out on her own.
“We don’t know how bad her head injury was, Nolan,” I reminded him whenever he’d bring it up and sounded so frustrated and even hurt. “She came out of her coma and was released, but we don’t know if that was in a wheelchair or if she can even speak.”
I did attend the vigil my own way: parked on my bike on the hill that overlooked the very place where their lives had been taken. For months after the accident, I couldn’t even drive by there and see all the flowers and things people left. Even a year later, I still couldn’t bring myself to go any closer. I allowed myself to sob for her in the privacy of my shower where I usually turned the radio on and ended up on the floor of the shower, gasping for air because the pain was still so raw.
If my family noticed anything when I was out of the shower and went for long drives on my bike, they didn’t comment. My brothers had since gotten me a new phone transferring everything to the new one from my old one, minus the screen saver or any photos of Madeline. So I could at least check in when I was gone for a while as they insisted I do. Xavier made sure to mention the photos from my old phone were saved on a cloud if I ever needed them.
I’d yet to look through any of them.
Like the previous year, the second year rolled along with me still seeing a therapist on a regular basis because each time I thought I was well enough to stop I’d have another breakdown.
Near the end of the second year after Maddie’s death, I was out in the yard with Nolan, working on the addition to the chicken coop because of Ama’s ever-expanding chicken brood. It was as normal a day as any would ever be again since Madeline’s death.
There were two things I’d since learned to accept. One, I’d forever wake up, and there’d be one or two fleeting moments that the dull ache in my heart wasn’t there—until my brain adjusted and I’d remember. It’d take me at least a half hour, some days a lot longer, to snap out of the mood it first put me in. My therapist assured me that, too, would someday stop. That I’d learn to smile at the memories, not walk around brooding because of them. She told me for now to just look at it the way many people who openly admit they’re not morning people do: accept it and know that in a few hours I’d get over it. Only I never actually got over it. It was just my heart and mind remembering and accepting once wide awake that this was what life would always be for me from here on.
The second thing I’d gotten used to after all this time was that just like when I first met her, and every day after, she’d forever be on my mind. Even if it wasn’t all day, not a day went by that I didn’t think about her. And there was nothing I could do about it.
The day it first happened was no different. I’d gotten caught up with what I was doing, and my work had my full attention. Nolan and I were out back in the yard, working on the chicken coop together. Nolan’s iPod was set to some eighties channel. He was holding one end of a four by four as I nailed the other end to the top of the coop when it happened.
Nolan upped the volume as he often did when a song he especially liked came on. I was actually in a pretty good mood, even laughed when Nolan started shaking his ass along with the song like an idiot. “Hold it still, ass,” I said as the four by four he was holding for me to hammer moved with his dancing.
I wasn’t even paying attention to which song it was at that point. When the lyrics said something about a kiss, Nolan mimicked the sound of several consecutive kisses along with the song. Instantly, the memory of Madeline kissing me three times when she was trying to pacify me assaulted me. It was quickly followed by a visual of us in that photo booth, and the dull ache in my heart doubled over, making me clutch my chest and grunt in reaction.
I dropped to my knee, still clutching my chest, and Nolan was instantly at my side. “What is it, man? Your heart?” Before I could respond, he was already yelling out for my dad and Ama in sheer terror. “Nico’s having a heart attack!”
Before I could protest that I wasn’t, because somehow I just knew I wasn’t, my dad and Ama were out there. “Ay, Dios mio!” Ama cried out when she saw me. “Nolan, call 911!”
“No!” I said, finally able to catch my breath. “Don’t call.”
Taking a deep breath, I held my hand out to Nolan, willing him to put his phone down.
“If it’s your heart—” I shook my head again adamantly before my dad could finish.
“It’s not.” I tried desperately to swallow back the emotion. “It’s just a memory that hit me hard.”
They all stared at me silently, the alarm in their faces morphing into a mixture of understanding and sympathy. I somehow conjured up the strength to stand up. “Turn that fucking song off,” I hissed as Prince was going on with another verse of “Kiss.”
Nearly knocking the iPad off the table where it sat, Nolan hit something on it and turned off the music altogether. I did my best to explain that the pain I’d felt in my heart wasn’t as physical as it was emotional, even though the pain had been brutal. It really had been reminiscent of the pain I’d felt that horrific day when I first laid eyes on what was left of Madeline’s mangled car and, even more horrifying, the covered bodies on the ground.
Since the day of the accident, I’d had countless dreams of Madeline. In the beginning, it happened nightly. Every time my mind was finally asleep and away from my grim reality, I was either tormented by happy memories or brutal ones where I got the horrific news. Many times Xavier woke me as I cried out in anguish. But it didn’t even matter if the dreams were about the day I found out she was gone or of me making love to her. Each time, I woke in tears, regardless.
In the weeks that followed the incident out in the yard, the dreams began to change. In them, Madeline would always kiss me softly, sweetly. She’d touch her chest then mine and say something I could never make out. I’d look into those beautiful baby blues, but the only way I could describe what her words sounded like was the way the grownups spoke in all the Charlie Brown cartoons.
“It’s like she’s trying to tell me something,” I said, staring straight ahead, feeling as frustrated as ever. “She’s never upset or anything when she’s talking, but for some strange reason, it scares the hell out of me. Like whatever it is she’s trying to say is important. In my dreams, I’m desperate to understand but can’t.”
Dr. Windward continued to jot something down on her tablet before looking up at me. “When she touches her heart and then yours, what do you think that means?”
I frowned because I hated when she turned shit around on me. I was there for her to explain this to me. With a shrug, I shook my head. “I don’t know. Something about our hearts being one maybe? Or that I still own her heart the way she’ll forever own mine?”
She nodded but gave no indication of whether she agreed with my interpretation or not. “The day of the incident in your backyard, it was your heart that ached. You said it did as much as the day she passed.”
“Not just the day but the days, weeks, and months that passed,” I explained, feeling a little annoyed. “It’d only just begun to numb, and then that happened. It was like a reminder that the pain would forever be there, and that’s when the new dreams began.”
“Do you think maybe you’re feeling a little guilty that the pain is beginning to lessen?”
I shook my head. “I’ve accepted that the pain will never go away, doctor. It just isn’t so all-consuming as it was in the beginning. I still . . .” I paused, feeling a little weak about admitting the following, but this was my therapist. If I didn’t admit it to her, who the hell could I admit it to? I needed to let it out. I promised my dad—Ama. “I still wake up in tears,” I whispered. “No matter how pleasant the dream may be. If she’s in it, waking to the reality that it was just a dream is excruciating.”
“Dreams are just a manifestation of your actual thoughts and feelings in a subconscious state of mind,” she said with a soft smile. “Clearly, thoughts of Madeline still preoccupy your mind even in your sleep. The fact that you can’t understand what she’s saying to you just means you’re frustrated. Fear is a natural reaction to loss of hope. You say you’ve accepted that the pain will always be there. Perhaps the fear you feel in your dream, that desperation, is your subconscious trying somehow to find the hope that you just might move on already. That maybe if you did understand what she was saying to you, it could help you move on.”
“Move on?” I asked, confused. “As in try to fall in love again?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head when I frowned at the utter ridiculousness of the suggestion. “It could also mean move on from the pain. Nicolas, you say you’ve accepted the pain will never go away. Wouldn’t it be nicer if it did? Maybe, when you’re asleep, subconsciously the hope that the pain will go away someday is released. Maybe what you hold in while you’re awake, what you’ve made up your mind about, that you’ll never again be fully happy, is arguing with you in your sleep.” She shrugged with a smile. “Do you really believe that Madeline would want you to live the rest of your life alone and miserable?”
I shook my head. I knew she wouldn’t, but it still felt way too soon for anything like that. “Interpretations of dreams are just theories, Nicolas. But my guess is maybe, just maybe, your subconscious is trying to remind you that Madeline would want you to stop suffering and be happy again. Maybe it’s what you know she might be trying to say to you in your dream, but you’re just not ready to hear it. The desperation could be your fear of letting go. Allowing yourself to get past the pain is not letting go, Nicolas. Remember that.”
That day was the first day I attempted to visit Madeline’s grave. After what my therapist had said, it got me thinking about why I’d never visited her grave before. Mostly, I just thought it’d be too painful. But the whole thing about me being afraid to let go made sense. I hadn’t attended her wake and burial for the same reasons. It made no sense, and I knew it, but my grief-stricken heart just wasn’t ready to say good-bye. They could call it a celebration of life all they wanted, but I knew what the services were really for. They were to pay our final respects and say good-bye. I just wasn’t ready to do that. Not even now. But what my family and the therapist had been saying all along, even as gently as they did, was true. My heart needed to lay her to rest once and for all or I’d never move on.
When I got to the cemetery in Huntsville, I was there an hour on the hillside near where her grave was. I could see it from where I stood, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk to it. I left without actually visiting her grave, but I figured it was the first step.
It took several more tries before I finally did it. I’d worn dark glasses as I’d done all the previous times I’d chickened out and for good reason. The moment I read her name on the tombstone I lost it. I wasn’t even there more than five minutes before I left.
It felt like the beginning of the end, even though the end had technically been almost two years prior. But I was finally able to visit her graveside at least on certain days without falling apart. Days like what would’ve been our anniversary and her birthday and then the anniversary of her death. I’d gotten as far as being able to hold it together while I spoke with her until I left.
The following year, three years after the accident, I attended the anniversary vigil Shelby’s mom put together again. I was asked about Maggie by several who were surprised to hear I, too, had completely lost touch with her and Loretta. I’d finally begun to feel like I was moving on—learning to live with her loss—and then I’d see or hear something that would trigger a painful memory.
I decided to leave Huntsville. Everything about the town would forever be a constant reminder of her. My family wasn’t happy about the decision, but once they realized I wasn’t changing my mind, my dad suggested Radcliffe. It was the city several hours away where Nolan had done his internship. We had family out there, so I wouldn’t be completely alone. I got a job fixing bikes and basically gave up the dream I once had. It was something I was supposed to do with Madeline, and without her, it just wasn’t happening. I had no motivation. We’d even had some business cards printed out just before she passed. It was the only thing I still kept in my wallet as a reminder of the dream we once had.
After a few months in Radcliffe and not having to be continually reminded of my life with Madeline, I could finally feel the cloud of despair thinning. It wasn’t gone, and I didn’t expect it to ever be, but even my family saw the difference whenever any of them came out to see me. I knew my dad was beyond relieved about it, but I hadn’t expected what he suddenly sprang on me.
“I’ve lived just about all my dreams,” he explained during one of his visits when he and Xavier came out to see me. “I always wanted to see my sons live out theirs and stay close together as they grow into their own and get married or start families or whatever. Mostly, I want us all together. Seeing how moving here helped you over that hurdle of depression that had us so worried for so long, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting you move back to Huntsville. But we’ve talked it over, and we’re all in agreement. We’re all moving out to Radcliffe to be near you.”
I’d been floored and attempted to protest. They didn’t have to pick up their entire lives, sell the family business and only home we’d ever known to come be near me. But it was pointless. They were all adamant about it. “With the money Dad can get for all his land, we can finally open up that bike shop we always talked about,” Xavier explained.
There was also enough money to help Nolan get his tattoo shop going and buy a home in Radcliffe big enough for all of us. While I felt terrible about them leaving everything they’d ever known on my account, I was secretly thrilled that we’d all be together again. Moreover, my brothers seemed genuinely excited about the move, new businesses, and new start.
Life was moving along, and I’d finally learned to live without Madeline. There’d forever be a hole in my heart, but I’d accepted it and I was finally normal again. Or so I thought.