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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.
For someone you’d think lives alone, you might be surprised to know I live in a house with four other people and about twenty more who seem to think they live here too and rarely leave. No, it’s not the Play Boy mansion, but I assure you I see about as much pussy as Hugh does.