Page 51 of His Last Shot

A Waste of Words to the Man Upstairs

Johnny

Five years after the breakup

Numb with shock, I sit on the couch, my elbows resting on my knees as I stare at the TV, the weatherman now telling me about how it’s going to rain tomorrow. Lowering my head, I run my fingers through my hair, the silent scream of my inner turmoil echoing in my ears.

Dexter is dead.

More than likely murdered by someone he pissed off. None of which surprises me.

I hate to say good riddance, but….

I shoot off the couch, and my mind becomes a car on a racetrack, speeding through a million thoughts all at once.

Rachel’s face immediately pops into my head. How is she? Where is she? Does she have people around her for support? Thank GOD she didn’t discover the body!

And the poor employee. They shouldn’t have seen that. I can’t imagine how traumatic that must have been.

In the end, regardless of how Micah and Rachel felt about him, he did raise them. He provided for them. I’m sure there was some love there, even if his actions tainted it. So this whole situation has to be so difficult.

As I pace the living room, the sudden buzz of my cell phone from the kitchen counter punctuates the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my own footsteps. I know, even before I reach it, exactly who it is.

Scott’s name flashes across the screen. I swipe to answer.

“Hey, man.”

“Did you watch the news? ”

“I did.” I sit on the couch again and remind myself that Scott doesn’t know the whole truth. And he never will.

“I mean, we both knew that man was up to no good, but God. It had to have been pretty bad to motivate someone to do this.” I hum in the phone in response, the pit in my stomach growing with each passing second. “Do you think you'll call Rachel?” he asks.

Hearing Rachel’s name perks me up. “No, and I don’t know if I will.” It’s the truth. At least not yet. Not until I know for certain that it’s safe.

“It might not be a bad idea. You guys were pretty serious, and she might appreciate the condolences.”

I sigh into the phone and once again remind myself that he doesn’t know. “I’ll probably wait. Maybe I’ll go to the funeral if they have one.”

“I’m sure she would like that. Micah as well.”

We both are silent for a beat. What else is there to say?

Scott speaks first. “Alright, I better let you go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“For that inspection on the plaza?”

“Yep. Later, man. ”

Silence falls after we disconnect, and a chaotic storm of questions floods my mind, each one a heavy, suffocating downpour.

Should I contact her?

He’s dead, but is it safe to be together?

How long should I wait?

Or will she contact me?

Does she still want to be with me?

Because God knows, I ache to be with her. If she knocked on my door right now, I would scoop her up in my arms, kiss her to high heaven, and never let her go again. These past five years have been hell without her in my life.

I hate all this uncertainty. So, I do the one thing that I do best. The one thing that clears my mind above all else. I grab my cue and head into the garage, ready to take my frustrations out on fifteen pool balls.

I’m leaning against a large oak tree in Spring Lake Cemetery. It’s a bright and warm sunny day. Even the weather’s happy about what has happened.

From a distance, I watch them lower Dexter into the ground. I’m far enough away that I can’t make out the minister’s words. Besides, it would all be false platitudes about the evil man. My focus, however, is only on one person.

Rachel.

She’s sitting in the first row of folded chairs next to her brother and some other people I don’t recognize.

She’s stoic, her back is ramrod straight, with oversized sunglasses covering her gorgeous brown eyes.

Behind her are the Oldies but Goodies. Slick has his hand resting on her shoulder.

I love that she has them as a source of comfort and strength.

No one is wearing black, and I wonder if that was intentional. Rachel is stunning in a green dress that hits at her knees. This is the first time I have laid eyes on her since that day in the ER. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she has gotten even more beautiful with time.

A prayer is offered (a waste of words to the man upstairs if you ask me), and one by one, people form a line, grab a handful of dirt, and toss it into the ground. Micah starts, Rachel follows.

After it’s over, I watch the mourners stand around chit-chatting. A war is raging inside my head because I know I should leave. Being here is probably not the best idea. But I am trying to will her to look in my direction. More than anything, I need her to know I was here.

Just like at her graduation.

Tiny glances around the cemetery and does a double-take when he sees me. He subtly nods.

I return it.

With rapt attention, I watch as he makes his way to Rachel. Without drawing too much attention, he casually places his hand on her back and whispers in her ear .

She pivots around.

Our eyes connect.

My heart stops.

A huge gulp of air lodges in my throat. We stand there in a wordless stare, full of emotion and love.

With a small wave and her soft smile, we share a silent acknowledgment.

Then she wipes at her cheek, turns, and heads to the row of cars parked along the narrow road of the cemetery with her brother and sister-in-law.

The encounter was brief.

But it was everything.

With a heavy heart, I walk to my truck, glancing one last time in her direction, but she’s nowhere. Climbing into the driver’s seat is a herculean feat because, more than anything, I want to run to her. As I sit here, my resolve is hanging by a thread, my self-control in shambles.

But deep down, I know she needs to take the lead in this. I’m not on the inside.

She is.

So I will be patient and wait.

I start the car, and when I do, my phone vibrates from the middle console.

With shaking hands from the adrenaline rush because of a ten-second stare, I grab my phone and read the text.

Unknown number: Soon, my love. But not yet.

It’s her!

Frantically, I search the row of parked cars, and there she is, the window down in a black Mercedes, watching me. The sun illuminating her face makes it all that more beautiful.

I love you , she mouths.

I love you too, I mouth back.

Then, the window goes up, and the car drives off.

I have no clue what her definition of soon is because it’s been three months, and I have yet to hear from her.

These last ninety days have crawled by, each one heavier than the last, unlike the blur of the past five years.

My phone never leaves my side, and I’m always home unless I have something important to do.

Like go to the grocery store because I’m out of food.

Which is where I am now.

Being fifty years old is doing a number on my digestion, so I’m trying to decide what kind of yogurt to buy when a flash of familiar brown hair catches my eye.

Turning, I look, and there, standing and studying the shredded cheese, is Rachel.

She’s wearing her usual casual style. Tight jeans and a red V-neck form-fitting t-shirt. Adorable white-painted toenails peek from her sandals, and her hair is in a messy bun.

It’s so Rachel. And she’s perfect.

I avert my gaze, taking deep breaths to regain my composure. Looking back, she’s still there with a bag of shredded cheddar, studying the nutritional label.

With a heart full of hope and nerves, I grip the handle of my grocery basket and head in her direction.