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MADISON

T ears course down my cheeks as I stand at my father’s graveside, the leaves falling from the trees around us, floating on the breeze. My gaze tracks to a brown, withered maple leaf scampering across the ground, dead and pathetic looking. It looks like I feel. Alone and lifeless.

My dad was my best friend. Now that he’s dead, I’m bereft, a hollow shell of who I used to be.

God, I miss him.

My mother stands on the left side of me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders, but I barely feel it. I think she squeezes me, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s hard to feel anything.

My father, Michael Jacobs, only forty-three years old, is gone. Although I didn’t witness the motorcycle accident that claimed his life, the horrific condition of the crumpled bike haunts me day and night. I hope his death was instantaneous. The thought of him suffering nearly kills me.

Like a bad dream, my mind goes back to that fateful day I found out he was dead, every detail clamoring inside my head.

A day I wish I could forget.

Or better yet, one that never happened.

M y cell phone rings as I walk inside the empty apartment I share with my boyfriend, Ben Cromwell, and my best friend, Chloe Jenkins. Both are working at Rizzo’s Bistro until 9:30 p.m. tonight so all is quiet and still in the apartment.

Flicking on the lights, I set my purse on the table beside the doorway. Retrieving my phone from it, I smile when I look at the screen. “Hi, Mom.”

Instead of her normal greeting, hysterical crying greets me.

This can’t be my mom. She seldom cries, let alone sobs hysterically.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” My feet are rooted to the spot, and I hold my breath, desperate to hear what has caused my normally unshakably calm mother to lose her mind.

Nothing could have prepared me for what she told me. The news caused my entire world to collapse beneath my feet.

“Your dad… He’s been in a motorcycle accident.” Mom’s voice quivers and shakes with each word she says.

“Is he… Okay?” My stomach is rock hard as I wait for her answer, my intuition screaming he’s not.

“No, Maddie.” A loud sob escapes from her, sounding like a desperate plea to an unknown entity. “Your dad… didn’t make it.”

A loud buzzing is in my ears. Shaking my head frantically, I say, “No. That can’t be true.”

My mom’s voice is barely audible. “I wish it were, sweetheart.” Her voice cracks, and she’s silent for a few beats.

“No. No, no, no . He can’t be gone.” My voice raises higher and higher with each word I speak, my fingers clutching the phone so tightly they hurt. “Dad is too strong. He isn’t…” my voice trails off. Swallowing hard, grief wells up inside me, and my limbs start to shake. I hold my breath, hoping against hope she’ll tell me something different.

Anything other than what she just said.

“I’m sorry, Maddie. Your dad… He’s dead.” Mom barely gets the words out. It’s as though she lacks the strength to speak and saying those words has depleted her energy as she quietly sobs on the other end of the phone.

My legs tremble beneath my weight. No, this can’t be. Not my dad.

Stumbling to the kitchen on my left, I barely make it before my legs give out completely, my back sliding down the wall as I fall. I hit the hard wooden floor with a loud thump, a momentary pain in my ass before it fades.

And like a dam, I break.

Leaning my head back, I stare at a vacant spot on the ceiling, tears coursing down my face. My body shakes uncontrollably, my insides torn apart by the grief that barrels over me.

“Mom, I can’t…” I mutter, and then I end the call, unable to say another word.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I drop my forehead to my knees and wail, unleashing all the agony that erupts from deep inside me. It burns as though my soul is on fire.

My dad is dead.

I’m heartbroken… And pissed.

What kind of world do I live in where a man who strives to do his best every single day, who spends his days fighting for justice, who is one of the nicest, most honorable men I’ve known, would be taken away from those who love and need him?

How is the world fair when a man, who firmly believes in the power of good and when he believes in someone, fights every single day to get them the help they need, yet in the blink of an eye, his life is over?

The screaming siren of an ambulance blares on the streets outside my apartment windows, the flashing lights turning the white walls the same shade of red as the roses on the rosebush my father planted for me in the backyard of my childhood home. The noise pierces my ears, matching the screams that erupt from me. I give into the grief, letting loose. Throwing my head back, my howls resemble a wounded dog returning from a fight to defend her puppies, only to find them slain.

My hands ball into fists, and I pound them against my thighs, not caring if I’m hurting myself. I can’t feel it over the intense grief that careens through me like an ocean wave, slamming me against the sand, and making me dizzy. I’m lost to my anguish, losing track of time.

The next thing I remember, hands grip my arms, tugging me from my thoughts. I finally stop screaming when I realize Ben is crouched in front of me, shaking me. He looks puzzled by my behavior. Chloe is on the other side of me, her wide, frightened eyes roaming over my face, then down my torso and legs, trying to determine what’s wrong with me.

I look from Ben to Chloe, barely seeing them. My voice is hoarse as I say, “My dad is dead.”

Ben and Chloe are silent, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. Like they don’t know what to do or how to help me.

There’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do to shake the hold my grief has on me.

B en shifts his weight, his elbow bumping into my side, snapping me back to reality. He mumbles an apology. I glance up at him, nodding, as though it’s okay. But nothing is okay.

Ben heaves out a sigh, giving me a quick smile, then turns his attention to the minister. He grabs my hand, gently squeezing it, offering his support, but I’m numb to it.

The minister’s monotone voice drones on, flowing over the mourners gathered around my dad’s gravesite, a tent over his casket, shielding us from the bright sun.

Why is the sun shining so brightly, not a cloud in the damn sky, on the darkest day of my life? My hands clench into fists, pissed at the weather.

It should be a gray and gloomy day, fog blanketing the cemetery while a light mist coats everything around me. It would certainly match my morose mood.

Sighing, my gaze goes back to my dad’s casket. I’ve become apathetic since I lost him. I haven’t been able to go to work, I barely sleep, and I don’t eat unless Chloe or Ben reminds me to. They usually end up bringing me food or snacks because after I grunt out a “yeah, I need to eat,” I immediately forget I should.

They go on living while the dark cloud of depression drags me under, weakening me to the point I no longer care if I wake up in the rare moments I fall asleep. Although I’m lethargic and tired, I don’t want to sleep. I have nightmares about my dad’s motorcycle accident.

My mom came over to visit me the following day after my dad’s death, and I pestered her until she gave in, providing the details of his accident. I thought I could handle it. I wanted to know.

But ever since, images of a car speeding down the road, losing control and careening into my dad’s motorcycle infiltrate my thoughts and dreams.

Except in my nightmares, I’m standing there, watching the accident happen. It’s horrifying as hell to watch my dad’s body being flung into the air like a rag doll when the car careens into his bike. He lands on the road with a sickening thud, his blood spraying all over my face, hands, and clothing. I wake up screaming, sweat pouring from my skin and soaking my clothing, tears streaming down my face.

That first night I was haunted by the nightmare; Ben and Chloe flew out of their bedrooms, eyes full of panic, unsure what the hell was happening. Guilt crashed over me for not only disturbing their sleep, but causing the fear blanketing their expressions.

My attention is drawn to my dad’s best friend, Ryan Walls, as he moves in front of my dad’s casket. His eyes are red and swollen as he solemnly gazes at the mourners until his blue eyes lock with mine. We exchange a silent conversation without saying a word. Ryan is like a second father to me.

My heart squeezes inside my chest, all the breath leaving my lungs as I stare at Ryan. He’s in most of my memories due to the time he spent with us. He was my dad’s best and longest friend, as well as his partner on the police force for many years.

He takes a deep breath, then begins speaking, his gaze still on me. “It’s hard to believe that Michael Jacobs, father, husband, detective, friend, and active community member, is gone.” He shakes his head, sorrowful eyes still locked on mine. “He was my best friend, as well as my mentor. When I first started working at the Falls Creek Police department, it was because of him. He not only encouraged me to apply, but took me under his wing, making me a better cop. His strong sense of values and morals made me a better person. He had great instincts, but more importantly, he was a defender and protector of the citizens of this small town and a seeker of truth and justice. He knew when someone was bullshitting him and when to give someone another chance, and he worked tirelessly for them to get it.” He paused, his gaze moving to my mom. “But Mike’s first priority was always his family. He tirelessly devoted himself to his wife, Maura, and his daughter, Maddie.

“Mike’s pride and joy is his daughter, Maddie. Since the day she was born, she was his world. And, of course, Maura’s as well.” He gives my mom a distracted smile, then looks back at me. “I still remember helping him plant the ‘Bright Melody’ rosebush for you, Maddie.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I had so many scratches from the thorns, but Mike was insistent that he wanted one that was blooming so he could show Maddie.”

My mind drifts to that moment when dad took me by the hand and led me out to the rosebush. The huge bush sat at the corner of the yard where I could see it whenever I played on my playground set.

M y dad’s bright smile lit up my world, even when the sun wasn’t shining. But on days like today, when the sun was a glorious bright orb in the sky, my dad’s smile shone even brighter.

He pointed at the rosebush and said, “The ‘Bright Melody’ is known for its fragrance and ruby red roses. Do you know why I chose it?” He pauses as I shake my head, then continues. “What you don’t know is that I wanted to name you Melody Rose, but your mom wanted Madison Rose. I agreed with her when you were born, face bright red as you screamed bloody murder, fists flailing like you were angry at the world. Your mom smiled at me and said, ‘See, she’s mad, so Madison fits her better.’ I agreed to name you Madison after researching the meaning of your name. ‘Strength in battle is another meaning of the name Madison.’ It suited you. You’ve always been my strong-willed girl, displaying strength whenever life gets tough. I have no doubt you could rally and lead an army to victory because of the strength you possess inside you.”

A wave of fresh tears fill my eyes as I return to the present. Ryan is talking about my dad’s contributions to the Falls Creek community, both professionally and personally. He’s captivating as he speaks about the family vacations we’ve taken together over the years. By the time he’s finished, there isn’t a dry eye among the group of people surrounding us.

He walks over to my mom, hugging her and saying a few words before he moves to me. Ben releases me as Ryan steps in front of me. I practically collapse in his arms, and he holds me, rocking me just like my dad used to whenever I was upset or hurt.

After several long minutes, he steps back, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Your dad was a helluva man, Maddie. I know you miss him, and you’re in hell right now. But if there is anything I can do, please let me know, okay?” He waits until I give him a watery smile and nod, then he says, “He’s so fucking proud of you, Maddie. Always remember that, okay?”

I nod again, barely able to see him through the tears, as he repeats, “I’m here for you. Aimee is here. If you need anything, let us know.”

Nodding again, I give him the first genuine smile I’ve given anyone in days. “Thanks, Uncle Ryan.”

He squeezes my hand, his brown eyes soft, before he releases me, then steps back beside his wife, Aimee, and their two kids.

The minister begins speaking again, but I tune him out as memories of my dad assault me. Like a montage, I see him and I throughout the years. My first bike with training wheels, my dad running beside me to ensure I didn’t fall. Then without them, his whoop of excitement when he released the seat, and I steadily peddled away, causing me to smile so wide my cheeks hurt. Every time I was sick or hurt, my dad was always there. Despite his job, every award I won at every dance competition, my dad was there. When my first crush and boyfriend, Cameron, broke my heart when he dumped me, my dad held me in his strong embrace, wiping my tears.

My trip down memory lane is interrupted when Ben nudges me in the side. “It’s your turn to lay a rose on his casket,” he whispers.

It seems like time slows down as I move, my gaze locked on his casket, until I’m finally beside it. Clenching the rose so tightly in my hand, the bite of the thorn penetrates my apathy as it cuts my skin. The pain feels good, serving as a reminder that I’m alive. Still breathing.

My hand trembles as I force my arm away from my body. It’s strange, but it feels like I’ll let him go once I place this rose on his casket. Somehow, the red rose in my hand is my last link to him, and once I let go, things will be irrecoverably changed.

My eyes move to the collage of pictures beside his casket, locking on his honey-brown eyes that are so much like my own.

Suddenly, the images morph into my dad on his motorcycle, cruising down the road as a speeding car careens toward him. I scream, and my dad turns his head, looking at me instead of the danger ahead. I point and open my mouth, but it’s too late. The sound of the crash is deafening, making my ears ring as my dad flies off his bike, sailing through the air. I close my eyes, not wanting to see, and yet… I open them, staring at his broken body lying on the road, blood spilling everywhere. My skin feels sticky, and when I look down, red streaks trail down my hand.

I don’t know who the hell is screaming, but I hear the loud wailing before the buzzing in my ears drowns it out, and the world goes black.