Children of the Fog (15 page)

At first Sadie had been hesitant. A funeral would make Sam's death more real. And she didn't want it to be real. Then there was the matter of a coffin. Philip had argued that they could just bury a plywood box, something symbolic.

"A box." She gaped at him as if he had lost his mind. "Sam deserves more than a cheap wooden box."

She ventured out alone and bought a child-sized coffin.

The morning of Sam's funeral was appropriately dreary and filled with a flurry of well-meaning but unwanted visitors who dropped off indistinguishable casseroles and obligatory fruit baskets. By lunchtime, Sadie had run out of counter space and there was no room in the fridge.

Then there was the family to deal with. Philip's brother, sister and father had bused in from Seattle, while her parents, looking tanned and healthy, had flown up from Yuma. Her brother had shipped out to Afghanistan the week before, leaving her sister-in-law Theresa with the kids.

"Damn, Sadie," Theresa said on the phone. "I'd give anything to be there. I know Brad would too. I-I'm so sorry. I'm going to miss Sammy so much. His sweet little face, his laugh, his—"

Sadie hung up on her.

She felt a flicker of remorse. She hadn't meant to be rude, but hearing Theresa talk about missing Sam made her clench her hands into fists. This is
my
loss, she wanted to shout.
Not yours!

Philip called at lunchtime. "How are you holding up?"

"How do you think?" she said, trying to keep the resentment from her voice.

"A wreath is being delivered to the cemetery at two-thirty."

"You should be here for this, Philip."

"I tried, but they won't let me out. It's not fair."

"Sam is dead," she snapped. "How fair is
that
?"

There was an empty pause. Then she heard him clear his throat. "Say goodbye to my boy for me, Sadie."

"I can't even say goodbye to him for me," she said bleakly.

Two hours later, she allowed her father to tuck her into the backseat of the Mazda and they headed for the cemetery, her mother beside her, sniffling into a tissue. Chuck, her father-in-law, drove Philip's brother and sister in the Mercedes.

The service was painful yet brief. Other than family, Leah, Liz, Jean, Bridget and Jay attended. Matthew Bornyk sent his condolences, even though Sadie hadn't thought to invite him. And why should she? His daughter might still be alive.

After a short prayer from a pastor her father had found, she waited while everyone placed a single white rosebud on the coffin lid. Since there were no human remains, they were burying a single object—the blackened baseball cap. Slowly, the small white coffin with its white satin lining that only Sadie had seen was lowered into a muddy pit in the Cherished Children section of Hope Haven Cemetery. She watched it disappear into the gaping hole and her heart sank with it.

Tears streamed down her face, and she shuffled closer. As she hovered at the edge, she yearned for someone to push her in. She wouldn't even fight them if they did.

She closed her eyes, inhaling the soft scent of a white rose.

Then she tossed it into the pit.

"Sleep, little man," she said in a trembling voice. "Snug as—"

She broke down, sobbing hysterically.

"Come on, honey," her mother said, gently taking her arm.

"I'm so sorry," Sadie wailed. "Forgive me, Sam!"

"Let him go, Sadie."

"How do I do that, Mom? How do I say goodbye to my baby?"

"I don't know, honey," her mother said, batting away a tear. . No mother should ever have to bury her child."

They shuffled toward the car, each engulfed in misery.

That evening, Sadie couldn't take it anymore. The constant bodies and mundane conversations in every room irritated her. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and she told her mother so. Finally, Philip's family went back to their hotel, and her friends went back to their own homes, their own lives.

She curled up on the sofa and rested her head in her mother's lap. "I've lost everything, Mom. Everything."

Her mother stroked her hair. "I know it feels that way, Sadie, but it
will
get better. I promise. It'll hurt less, with time."

"Time. That's all I've got left."

"Time is a gift, honey. Use it wisely. Do something for Sam, something to remember him."

But Sadie wasn't listening. Another voice spoke to her, and it was far more compelling.

"Mommy, where are you? I can't find you."

As soon as her parents went to bed, she armed herself with another bottle of Philip's Cabernet and barricaded herself in the bedroom. Within an hour, she had polished off the entire bottle and had staggered downstairs to dispose of the evidence.

Back in her room, she passed out in the chair.

The next morning, she walked unsteadily into the kitchen. Disheveled, reeking of stale wine and suffering from the most god-awful hangover she'd ever had, she almost didn't see her parents seated at the kitchen table. They were waiting for her, and the look of disapproval on her mother's face told her that something was up.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Her mother frowned. "You look terrible."

"Gee, thanks, Mom."

An empty wine bottle was dangled in front of her nose.

"I found this," her father said. "In the garbage can out back."

"What on earth are you doing, Sadie?" her mother asked.

Sadie massaged her pounding head, then moved to the window and crossed her arms. "I'm forgetting."

What else could she say? They didn't understand.

"You need help," her mother said firmly. "Counseling, AA, whatever you need, do it. We'll stay with you for a while. Until you're better."

"I don't need a babysitter, Mom."

"No, but you do need help." Her mother moved toward her, hands outstretched, pleading. "Let us help you. You've been down this path before, Sadie. It doesn't lead anywhere good. You know that."

"Don't tell me what I know! I know my son is dead! I know it's my fault. I know that drinking makes me numb. And I
like
that."

"You're saying that because you're grieving," her mother cried. "We're all grieving. You lost your son. We lost our grandson. We don't want to lose you too."

"Just go home, Mom. I'll be—"

"We're not leaving," her father interrupted. "Not until you agree to see a psychologist and go to AA."

Sadie clenched her teeth. "You're giving me an ultimatum, Dad? I'm not a child. I'm an adult and I can make my own decisions. Right or wrong, I have to do this
my
way. If that means I drink to forget, then I drink. Right now I just want to be left alone."

She flinched at the hurt she saw in her mother's eyes.

"Give me some space, Mom. I'll call you if I need you."

"You promise?" Her mother was weeping.

"Go back to the States. There's nothing more you can do."

Her parents left the next morning, depressed and defeated.

Sadie spent the day wading through paperwork. Then she called the realtor that Philip had found.

"Any news on the house?"

"We've got a buyer," the man said. "The deal's been finalized and the money'll be in the bank by tomorrow. How much time do you need?"

"I'll be out of here in a few days."

Jay called later that day.

"That bastard has us by the balls," he vented. "The balloon, the note, the bombs—they're all dead ends. But we're still hoping something will come up."

Sensing his frustration, Sadie thanked him and hung up. She'd watched enough Missing and Without a Trace to know that with each passing day there was less possibility that The Fog would ever be caught.

The following day, she stood in front of Sam's door. Holding her breath, she opened it and a rush of emotion bombarded her. This was the last place she had seen Sam alive, where she had watched a murderer take him away. She should have fought harder. Done something more. Remorse ate at her, broiling in her stomach and threatening to spew forth.

She shifted in a slow circle, taking in Sam's fuzzy slippers, the autographed baseball bat, his clothes…the empty bed. She sat down on it. Then she lay back and stared up at the same ceiling her son had looked at for six years. With her finger, she drew an invisible infinity symbol in the air. Again and again.

"I miss you, Sam."

She turned on her side, gripped his favorite blanket and cried until she was drained of everything, until an idea that had been brewing since the day Sam had died became the only thing she could focus on. She couldn't—
wouldn't
—live without Sam, and there was only one way to be with him.

With a heavy heart, she began the daunting task of packing away his room. Every object seemed to be haunted by another memory, each one cutting her heart even deeper than the last. It took hours of battling emotions, memories and tears before she was done.

Then she wandered through the house. The house they had brought Sam home to when things had been happy. Memories of him were everywhere. Like ghostly dust bunnies, they haunted every nook and cranny. She wanted to ignore them, but she couldn't. His first steps, his first tumble down the stairs, his first birthday party.

His last.

"Everything's different now," she whispered.

Sam was gone. Philip was gone. Her life as she knew it was gone. Everything had dissolved around her.

Anger bubbled rebelliously to the surface, like a tablet of antacid in water.
Plop, plop. Fizz, fizz…

But there was no relief in sight. Except in one thing.

Don't do it, Sadie!

But she couldn't resist fate.

16

She grabbed another bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet from Philip's secret stash. That left three in the drawer. She considered taking them too, but then changed her mind.

"I'll save you for something special."

Upstairs in the bedroom, she miserably flopped in the chair by the window and cranked up the antique radio on the windowsill. She needed something heavy, something to give her momentum, so she turned the dial until she heard the pounding bass of a rap song pumping out a rhythmic beat. A deep voice boomed scarcely recognizable lyrics about a woman walking out on her man.

"I axed you why…" the rapper sang.

Sadie held the bottle in the air. "To a life well axed."

She'd grown accustomed to drinking straight from the bottle and she tipped it back, taking a long swig. The wine's initial bitter flavor didn't shock her anymore and she savored its warmth as it trailed down her throat. Each mouthful enveloped her in mind-numbing calmness.

"What now?" she murmured.

In a burst of sudden clarity, she made two decisions.

First, she took a pair of scissors into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Between gulps of wine, she chopped off her long black locks to just below her ears. She felt no regret as she watched the strands waft to the floor. When she was done, there was more hair on the floor than on her head.

She stared at her hollow, shadowed eyes. "I'm nothing. Just an empty shell."

After sweeping up the hair and depositing it into the garbage can, she wandered back to the bedroom to prepare for her second decision. Setting the bottle on the nightstand, she pulled two suitcases out of the closet and tossed them on the bed.

"There's one thing left to do," she slurred. "But you can't do it here." She paused, her hand hovering near the zipper of a suitcase. "Well, you could, but it might not go over well with the new homeowners." She giggled drunkenly.

There was an unexpected knock on the door.

Sadie slipped the half-empty wine bottle in the recycle bin just seconds before Leah poked her head inside.

"Can I come—? Sadie! What did you do to your hair?"

"I cut it."

"Yeah, I can see that," Leah replied, moving into the room.

Sadie's patience was wearing thin. "I didn't hear the doorbell."

"I rang it a few times, but when you didn't answer, I got worried. I let myself in through the garage." Leah spied the suitcases on the bed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm leaving."

"But you can't just leave."

"Watch me."

"What about Philip? And the trial?"

Sadie tossed three pair of jeans into one of the cases. "There's nothing for me here anymore. I need to get away."

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room.

Leah sat down on the bed. When she finally spoke, her voice emitted quiet acceptance. "So where will you go?"

"Anywhere but here."

She placed Sam's photograph and a heavy photo album on top of her clothes. Then she zipped the suitcase shut. In the second suitcase, she packed away the plastic container that held all the newspaper clippings. Lastly, she tucked in the portfolio case.

"Are you going to finish Sam's book?" Leah asked.

"It'll be the last thing I do for him."

"Maybe it
is
a good idea. Take some time, get away for a bit."

Sadie nodded. "You've been a great friend, Leah. A better one than me."

"No, that's what friends are for. I'm here for you. I'll watch your house while you're gone, until you get back."

Sadie shook her head. "It's been sold."

Leah's brow arched in shock. "What? I didn't know you were selling." There was an accusatory edge to her voice.

"Look, I can't explain this. Things are different now. Now that Sam's…gone."

"Yeah, but running away won't solve anything. Jesus, Sadie! What's happening to you?"

In her anger, Leah backed into the recycle bin. When she looked down and spotted the wine bottle, she shook her head in disappointment. "Sadie, this isn't what you want—"

"Don't lecture me! I'm tired of everyone telling me how to act, what to do, how to feel. My son was taken from me, blown up right in front of my eyes. And it's my fault. So if I need to get away, that's what I'll do. If I need to drink, I'll drink. You don't understand, Leah. You never will."

Leah blinked tearfully. "You're right. I don't understand. Because you won't talk to me. You've closed me off, shut me out. And now you're drinking again? Sam wouldn't want this, my friend."