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For years I blamed my father.
The therapist he sent me to was under the impression she took her own life because all they did was fight and there were concerns about my mother’s sudden erratic behavior. Concerns that wound themselves around whispers of drug use.
I blamed my father because I thought he did it.
He wasn’t home when it happened, but that was nothing new. He was never around on the weekends. I was in my bed, but the house was so cold. The air conditioner was turned down far too low.
I remember thinking it was odd that the heat had been turned off. Our house became an icebox.
The moment I clicked it on, I heard the shower upstairs. Maybe I was waiting for the telltale sound of the heater, but until then I hadn’t realized I could hear the shower.
I remember how I knocked on the bathroom door, but didn’t go in at first. I waited and waited, wondering why she’d be in there so late. Wondering if she was crying again.
I only opened the door an hour later because I’d convinced myself she couldn’t still be in there. Not after so long. The water had to be cold by then.
My parents’ bathroom door wasn’t locked. The knob turned easily and when the door opened and I didn’t see a shadow behind the curtain, I was confused but relieved to discover the water had just been left on. Everything felt so off that night, like something was horribly wrong. I was genuinely relieved.
It wasn’t until I pulled back the curtain that I saw her.
I slam the computer shut, willing the memory to leave me.
The vision of my mother dead, her body at an unnatural angle. The water was freezing, and it’d turned her lips blue. It didn’t stop me from shaking her. From trying to make her wake up.
I screamed and cried out helplessly even though I knew we were alone. There was no one to help. I had to leave her to call the police. I couldn’t though, not for a long time. I was shivering in my wet clothes by the time I ran down the stairs to call the cops. I couldn’t believe she was gone, but she was limp and heavy and so cold.
It didn’t take long for the police to come. Commissioner Haynes was there first.
My father took hours to arrive, though. Hours of sitting on my bed, being questioned over and over until I wasn’t sure anymore what had happened.
I only knew I felt completely alone in the world.
The first thing my father said to me was, “I thought you were staying over at your friend’s this weekend.” No sorrow was evident. No sympathy that I’d found my mother dead in the shower.
His tone carried an accusation even. I remember staring up at him. The police moved around the house, blurring my vision as my father came into focus and the pieces clicked into place.
For years I’ve felt he was responsible and even now, even after he’d managed to convince me on the phone that it wasn’t him, I imagine he’s somehow involved.
I can’t shake my gut feeling.
I want to murder him.
The thought makes me close my eyes, trying to rein in the anger from today and from all the years of second-guessing what happened to my mother.
When I open them, they’ve adjusted to the darkness and I stare at my phone.
I’ve asked him, but he’s a liar. I already know he’s capable of murder.
Everything in me is telling me it’s my father who hired that man and possibly left the note to scare Jules off before deciding to kill her. I have no other leads.
The person who left a note had different handwriting than his though, more feminine. Perhaps he has a partner or maybe he hired someone but who would he trust?
The only other enemy I have is Liam. He’s married, but I can’t see it being him and having his wife involved. And Liam wasn’t around when my mother died.
I run my hand down my face, feeling exhaustion weighing down on me, but not wanting to sleep. I can’t. I’m too afraid to take my eyes away from Jules. My guard refuses to go down for even a second.
I know she hasn’t forgotten everything and that maybe the other night, the moment we shared, was a mistake in her eyes. It kills me just to imagine her thinking of it as if that’s all it was. A mistake.
The sound of her stirring on the bed and the accompanying slow movements catch my attention. A soft sound of pain carries through the air, and I rise to see if she’s all right.