A Love So Tragic (29 page)

Outside, the sky is pitch black, the wind’s picking up. Something hits the roof, and then it sounds like golf balls rain down over the house. I glance out the window and watch large pieces of hail skip across the ground.

Clutching Olivia to my chest, I run to the bathroom, my entire body shaking. I stare at her, and she is somehow still sleeping peacefully.

BOOM. More thunder rumbles, followed by a bright flash of lightning that causes me to jump. All I can imagine is her tiny little body being ripped from my arms. How on earth could I keep a hold of her? She is so small. I sprint back out to the living room, nearly losing my footing and tripping. Quickly, I place her in the car seat, my heart hammering in my ears.
If it protects them in a car crash, it has to give her a better chance than just me holding onto her.

I run back down the hallway and slam the door to the bathroom. My phone rings in my hand as I set the car seat on the floor.

Before I've even brought the phone to my ear, I hear Nic shouting: “Get in the bathroom, Peyton. Now! Do you hear me? Now!”

“I am,” I say between deep breaths. “I've got Olivia in her car seat.”

“Get in the bathtub. Cover the back of your head.”

“Where are you at?”

“They're taking us all down to a basement in the student center.” I hear people shouting and scrambling in the background.

“Nic, I'm scared.”

The lights in the house flicker and buzz and the wind screams around the corners of the house. Static comes over the line as Nic's phone tries to cut out. “I....you.”

“I love you too.”

The call drops. I don't know if he heard me or not, and thinking that he may not have makes me want to scream.

The sirens blare. All I can think about is how much that noise reminds me of movies when there's a nuclear fallout. It's the type of noise that gives you chills, that tells you something terrible is coming. My stomach twists and turns. The rain pounds over the roof, the thunder shakes the entire house. I actually believe I am about to die. This is the end of my life—I glance at Olivia—when it has just begun. Tears stream down my face, my chest tightening with each ragged breath I drag in.

The power flickers as I set Olivia over in the tub and climb in next to her. I glance around at everything that could possibly become a projectile: the mirror, the shower rod, a comb...I loop my arm through the handle, turn sideways in the tub, and lean over her because all I can do is try to protect her.

The lights buzz on and off again. And then, I
feel
it coming. The floor to the tub shakes, the walls tremble, and pressure builds in my ears. Olivia starts screeching.

“Shhh, it's okay, baby. Shh.” I try to calm her by rubbing the inside of her palm, and she latches on to my finger.

There’s an explosion and all the lights go out. I’m in the pitch black, and all I can do is listen. I've always heard it sounds like a freight train when you're in a tornado, but this sounds like Niagara Falls. Loud. Violent. Turbulent. My ears pop and ring as I cradle Olivia's car seat. The rushing wind grows louder. I can feel it all around me.

The walls groan, the windows throughout the house shatter. My heart pounds, my skin crawls with anxiety. There are so many noises: bangs, pops, slams, and the wind—the wind sounds like an angry beast growling and screeching. It’s like it’s a living breathing thing. Wood splinters. Rain and debris hit me from all sides, and I cling to the car seat. There is no more house. I'm inside the belly of this tornado, and for the first time in my life, I pray.

I try her phone for the hundredth time, but all the lines are clogged.  I'm a mile from our neighborhood, and nothing is standing. Trees, houses, everything—gone. The roads are impassable, so I pull over to the shoulder and park my car. Ambulance sirens wail. Fire trucks line the street. Everyone has to go in on foot because this looks like a damn warzone. It looks like a bomb blew everything up. I take off in the direction I think our house is. I say think because I can’t tell what anything is anymore.

“Sir! Sir?” I stop and turn around to see a policeman running up behind me. “Do you live here?”

“What?” I shake my head. “Yes…” I point at the devastation.

“It’d be best if you waited until the emergency crews went in.”

“No. I’m not fucking waiting.” I take off running again, and the farther I go, the stronger the urge I have to throw-up grows.

Gas hangs heavy in the damp air, car alarms and sirens blare all around me, downed power lines hiss against the wet ground, snapping and popping; and there's not one bit of landscape around that I recognize.

A woman sits on a set of concrete steps now leading to nothing but a foundation. I stop to see if I recognize her, and when she looks up at me, I see the shock on her face.

“He's under there...somewhere,” she says before weeping.

“I...”

And before I realize it, my shoes are pounding over the rubble again. I slip, catching myself with my hands before I slam down over a car tire. I stumble to my feet and continue down the littered street, the rain pouring down in sheets, soaking through my shirt.

I pass a man wandering over mounds of debris screaming out a woman’s name. All that does is make me run harder. I just need something to tell me where the fuck I am. And then I see one house, half of it swept away, but there's just enough that I realize it's the house across the street from ours. I spin around, dragging my hands through my soaked hair as I stare at the mountain of wreckage in front of me. My gaze drifts over the downed trees, the overturned cars, and then they land on Olivia's crib standing in the middle of the ruins. It's splattered with mud, but aside from that, it's fully intact. My head spins. My heart slams against my ribs like it's going to break out of my chest.

“Peyton!” I shout so loud my throat burns. “Peyton?” I want to hear her screaming, crying—something because then I’ll know she’s alive.  “Peyton...”

Closing my eyes, I lean over my knees, fighting the urge to vomit. When I open them, I'm staring down at pictures of Peyton and me from our senior year. I pick them up, my heart sinking to the fucking pit of my stomach.

I run over the broken glass, the mounds of sheetrock and brick to a set of steps. “Peyton?”

All I hear is silence.

I pull a piece of sheetrock up. I don't even know where to look for her and Olivia. I cover my mouth as I fall to my knees, screaming. The pictures crumple under my hand, and I panic trying to straighten them back out because this may very well be all I have left.

Stumbling to my feet, I pull a door up, throwing it to the side out of anger when there's nothing but heaps of wood and metal beneath it.

“You need help?” I turn, my vision blurring behind tears, to find a college-aged kid standing behind me.

“Yeah,” I swallow. “My wife and daughter...” I have to take a breath. “They were in our house, which was right here.” I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting the urge to completely break down. “It was right fucking here.”

He nods, not hesitating to help sift through debris. I pull up limbs and tires and countless pieces of sheetrock. And then, I hear that tiny cat cry.

“Stop!” I shout.

The guy stills beside me, and I hear Olivia cry again. I follow the noise, crawling on my hands and knees over boards and glass and nails.

A large piece of tin roof is at an angle over a pile of crushed cinder blocks. I yank it off, and find her covered in grey dust and shattered glass, strapped in her car seat. Every last ounce of breath flies through my lips. And then my gaze veers down to her hand, her tiny pink hand wrapped around Peyton's finger. I swallow. Peyton's hand is all I can see because the rest of her is buried beneath bricks and rubble.

Olivia cries again, her small eyes blinking open, and I quickly unbuckle her, unwrapping her hand from Peyton's.

I kiss her head, fighting back the tears as I give her to the kid helping me. “Hold her, please!” I say.

I frantically pull rubble off, struggling to catch my breath because surely God is not this fucking cruel? I grab piece after piece of debris, digging and sifting through the wreckage until I find her covered in shattered glass and dust. Scratches cover her body. Her eyes are closed.

“No. No! No, no, no.
Fuck
no!” I grab my head, biting down on my lip. She's not dead. She's not. I can still save her. I swallow as my gaze drifts over her body. She's still. Too still. “No, please. God...” I cry.

I go to move her, but a hand grabs my shoulders. “Don't move her. If she's...” he trails off because he doesn't want to say it. “If her neck’s broke, you know, you don't want to move her.” He adjusts Olivia in his arms, shielding her from the rain. “Hey! Hey!” the kid yells. “We need help. Someone help us!”

I brush the damp hair from Peyton’s face. I kiss her forehead, choking on sobs. I don't want to leave her. I just want her to wake up because this is not how this is supposed to go. I've loved her my entire life. I've longed for her when I thought I could never have her, but there was always some hope. There is no hope in death.

The cold rain pours down over me and I stand, turning away from Peyton and taking Olivia in my arms. I stare down at her tiny face and wonder how this is fair. What is it going to be like for this little girl to grow up without a mother? How will I ever manage to explain to her how wonderful Peyton was, how much I loved her? I'm in shock, and I'm wavering between denial and anger already, so I just focus on Olivia—my entire world now fits in my arms.

Firefighters rush over, and I walk away because I can’t watch them drag her out. As I step over the wreckage, I see Peyton's journal beside my boot. I bend down and pick it up. This is all I have—her words. Words…feelings caught in time.

Some moments you know your life has changed forever. I knew that the moment I laid eyes on Peyton in English class my senior year, and I know that right now. This is not the way I planned my life, but does anyone ever plan for things like this?

You may say this is a tragedy, and if this were fiction, well, then I guess it would be, but unfortunately, in reality, there are really no happily ever afters because everyone dies, and that is a tragedy, plain and simple.

And just like always with Peyton, things begin when they should be ending, and end when they should be beginning.

This should have been our beginning...

Four years later

Olivia crawls into her princess bed and I tuck the fluffy pink blankets around her, then turn on the Tinkerbell nightlight.

“Daddy,” she says, looking up at me with those round, blue eyes that remind me of her mother.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“What was Mommy like when you met her?”

I smile as I brush the hair from her face. “Oh, the most wonderful, beautiful woman that ever existed.”

“Favorite color?”

I smile at her innocence. “Purple.”

“Just like me?” She beams.

“Yes, just like you.”

“Favorite thing?”

“Well,” I sweep a finger over her cheek, “It was me until you came along. Then it was you by a mile.” She giggles and her eyes twinkle when she does that.

“Daddy?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Read me my story. The one Mommy wrote me, please.”

I walk to the purple bookcase in the corner of the room and take the worn journal off the top shelf. I'm thankful for this book because I can hear Peyton's voice anytime I read these poems, and I love that.

I flip to the last page, to the poem she wrote for Olivia, and I begin reading over the smeared ink:

Within the stardust you found me

Within silken dreams and skies

Our loving precious angel

With tiny nose and hazel eyes

One day under starlight, beneath the eyes of ancient gods, I'll tell you how you grew