Page 3 of June: Jess' Story

Amy holds out our daughter for me, so I drop my bags just inside the front door, right next to hers, and take Tally in my arms. I hold her tight, pressing my forehead against hers. She’s a lot like me. Quiet for a baby. Technically a toddler, but she’ll always be my baby. Her hair is a golden blonde, short with a few curls at the ends. She actually looks like my little sister Britain did at this age.

“Tally, you’re gonna go with mom today, okay?” I ask her, she nods. Doesn’t talk much, again, like me. “I love you, Tallulah June,” I whisper against her soft hair, swaying with her slightly. Her little hands grip my biceps. And we do what we always do, her and I. We speak without words.

I pull her against my body a bit tighter.I love you so much, Tally.And she reaches up a hand to run her small fingers against my stubbled jaw.I love you too, Daddy.I let time fall away because what else is there to do?

Amy leaving with Tally is probably the right thing. She deserves better than me not existing with her — just around her. That’s shitty. For everyone. Especially for Tally.

Amy gently clears her throat from where she’s been watching us. Probably with some regret and guilt, if I know her. But she shouldn’t feel guilty, I should. I could have tried harder, been better. But instead of saying that to her, letting there be some closure or helpful words, she reaches out for Tallulah and I pass our daughter to her.

“Can you help me load up?” she asks quietly, politely, the same way you’d ask a stranger.A stranger.I nod. Not exactly happy to help, but something akin to that.

A light drizzle starts so I grab multiple suitcases at once tospeed up the process while Amy buckles Tally into her carseat.

I check the weather app as the drops of water hitting the brim of my hat grow in size. There’s a storm pushing through this afternoon.

“Amy, I don’t think you should go.” I stop her with a hand on her forearm as she walks to the driver’s door. She looks up at me, surprised, hopeful even. “There’s a storm coming through. You should wait till tomorrow.” And just like a storm showing up and moving through quickly, the storm dormant inside Amy breaks loose. She scoffs at me, pulling her arm free of my grip.

“No, Alex, I’m leavingnow. I’m done waiting, and hoping, and praying for different. I-I thought you’d at least fight for me to stay for Tallulah’s sake, but you couldn’t even do that,” she looks away from me before finishing, “could you?” And then the tears begin to stream down her face. It’s the most emotion Amy’s shown me aside from the day Tally was born. I think about reaching out for her, but if I was Amy, would I want a stranger to hug me right now? No. I would want the easiest goodbye possible, no stringing her along. I’ve got to let her get on the road. She has a solid 5-hour drive ahead of her.

I get a pang of worry in my gut about it, a sour feeling, but what do you expect me to do? I can’t solve three years of hurting her while we stand next to her loaded-down car in the rain.

She’s staring at me now, willing me for something…anything…but…fuck!I don’t know what she wants me to do. I just came home and she’s springing this on me. She knows the first day is the worst. I’m not acclimated. My mindis somewhere else, fighting some other battle. But I just can’t muster the strength to give her the one she wants.I’m the fucking worst.

She sees the resignation on me, and nods. Accepting our fates. Accepting that I’m me. I’m broken, and she’s going to save herself from this broken life once and for all.

“Goodbye, Alex,” she says, somehow managing to fill the words with love and hope. She’s a good person at the end of the day. Far better than me, that’s for sure.

I try to swallow and push away whatever this feeling is welling up inside of me. It’s shitty. I can’t put a name to it, but it’s shit, I know that.

I watch my wife buckle up, close her door, and reverse out of her parking spot. Her small red SUV pulls out onto the main road, all while I just stand there, frozen.

I’m thinking about some of the other guys in the unit, how they’d handle what just happened. I think at least one or two would act the same as me. More in shock than anything else, but most would have lost it.

Migo would have begged, fallen to his knees, cried – done whatever was needed to keep his wife and kids. He would have bartered his soul to the devil.

Sacks would lose his shit, albeit a bit differently. He’d think there was someone else. Still, he’d try and get Meg to stay.

And then Blanks…I don’t know what Blanks would do.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, MAN?” Speak of the devil. He walks up to me, in what is now a heavy downpour and shoves me. “Get in your fucking car, man!” His words are venomous.

“WAKE UP, ALEX!” he yells at me again when I don’tmove.Wake up, Alex.I hear it in a different voice. It’s no longer Blanks’ deep tone, it’s my mother’s. It’s Georgia’s voice.Wake up, Alex.

Like getting hit by a bus, every emotion and thought and feeling I should have had catch up to me. “FUCK!” I yell, heading for my truck. Blanks does, too. He’s a good brother, won’t let me do this alone.

I don’t know how long I zoned out after they left. Five minutes, maybe fifteen?

“Red SUV, Virginia plates, QRB-4591. How long was I zoned out for?” I ask while Blanks keeps his head on a swivel as we hit the interstate.

“Longer than you should have been,” he says back to me, harshly.

“God damnit, Blanks. HOW LONG?” I raise my voice, and it startles him. I don’t raise my voice at people like this. That’s not who I am.That isnotwho I am.

“17 minutes give or take.” Blanks doesn’t bring up my outburst, just keeps his eyes on the road. That means she’s got maybe fifteen miles on us, at best. With this rain, more likely ten or eleven.

I call her cell, hoping I can convince her to turn around, but she declines.Fuck. I finally did it. I pushed her to the breaking point. Amy has always been soft, genuinely sweet, but all it took to break her was my fucked-up, half-life and three years of neglect.

Most drivers are being safe, driving five under the speed limit with the rain coming down this hard, but I’m doing ten over, trying to make up time. She should only be two miles ahead at this rate.