Instead of You (5 page)

   His hands started as smooth waves across my skin, wrapping around me like a blanket, but soon they were clawing at me, desperately trying to sink into me, as if I were the only thing keeping him from slipping away.

   When it seemed like the worst of the waves had passed, he pulled away, his body slowly drifting from mine, the space between us full of grief and sadness.

   “I’m sorry,” he said, finally speaking after heavy dragging moments of silence.

   “You don’t have to apologize,” I whispered even though I didn’t intend to.  I wanted to sound strong, as if I meant the words with everything I possessed, because I did. 

   “Yeah, well,” he said, sighing as he stood from the bed, “I didn’t mean to come in here and disturb you.” 

   Looking around the dark room, I realized I still didn’t know exactly where I was.  “Where am I?  And how did I get here?”

   “You’re in my bedroom.”

   His words registered in my mind and I realized I must be in his bed.  It was completely inappropriate the way my body responded to that thought. 

   I vaguely remembered feeling faint and my father taking me to the back of the house.  He had started to head for Cory’s room, but I didn’t want to be there.

   There had been so many lazy afternoons spent napping in Cory’s bed, so many late nights when both our parents thought I was at home when I was really lying with him.  We’d fall asleep together, setting an alarm to wake us up before dawn so I could sneak back into my own bedroom.  I was torn.  His bed sounded like the only safe place in the world, but it also felt like it could be the saddest. 

   Hayes’s bed had been comfortable, until I’d realized its owner.  Now it felt electric.

   “I should probably go see my parents.  They’re still here?”

   “Yes.  My mom….” I watched as his shadowed hand came up and ran through his hair.  “She’s a mess.”

   I didn’t want to go out there.  “I should go out there.”

   “Hey,” Hayes said as I started to stand up and regain my bearings.  “Are you all right?”

   I shrugged even though I didn’t know if he could see me.  “I don’t know.  One minute he was here.  He was talking and breathing and living, and then someone I’ve never seen tells me he’s gone.  It feels like a lie right now, like it can’t be possible.”

   “Well, it’s not a lie, Kenz.”  His voice was tinged with anger, but I didn’t think he was angry with me.

   “I know.  I’m so sorry.”

   He let out a loud sigh, then said, “Come on, I’ll walk back with you.”  He cracked the door and light slipped into the room, illuminating everything.  I walked past him as he opened the door.  His hand just barely brushed the small of my back as I passed, gently guiding me through the door.  My breath halted as my lungs seized.  It had been two years, almost to the hour, since I’d felt Hayes’s hands on me, and I’d forgotten their power, forgotten the way they’d lit me on fire.  I’d never forgotten how guilty his hands had made me feel, but nothing could have prepared me for the shame of liking his hands on me in the wake of his brother’s death.

   I hated myself in that moment.

   We walked into the living room and I saw my parents and Mrs. Wallace sitting around the table in the dining room attached to the kitchen.  They all had coffee mugs sitting in front of them, and used tissues were scattered on the table. 

   “McKenzie,” Mrs. Wallace said, standing and opening her arms to me.  I let her hug me, but honestly I was afraid I’d break her.  She sounded fragile and I wasn’t sure how she managed to seem so put together.  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

   “I don’t know,” I replied honestly.

   “You scared us, baby,” my mom said, giving me a sad smile.

   I took in a deep breath, then let it out, not sure what I was supposed to say next.  I wasn’t even sure where we all went from here.  I took one of the empty seats around the table.  “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

   “I don’t think any of us have really processed this yet,” my dad offered.  “But it’s important that Chelsea and Hayes know we’re here for them.”  He looked at Hayes, who had stopped in the kitchen and was now leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.  “I’m serious, Hayes.  You need anything at all, you call us.  That goes for you too, Chelsea.”  Hayes gave a very slight nod of his head, indicating he’d heard my dad, but giving nothing else away, while Mrs. Wallace gave the saddest weakest smile I’d ever seen.  She looked terrible, exactly how I’d imagine a woman who’d just been told her husband and son were dead would look.

   Her hair, which had been pulled into a tight ponytail, was now just a loose bundle of hair at the nape of her neck with half her hair hanging around her face.  Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose a deep shade of pink, and her hands shook slightly as she lifted a tissue to it.

   “I’m afraid to go to sleep,” she said quietly.  “This was the last day they were alive.”  Her voice dissolved around her words, quaking more and more.  “If I go to sleep, I’ll wake up, and it will be the first day they’re both dead.”  She dropped her head into her hands, crying in earnest, quiet sobs slipping from her.  “I don’t want to live in the world I’ll wake up in tomorrow.”

   The tears slipped down my cheeks before I realized I was crying.  I hadn’t had any time to process what had happened, and suddenly it felt more real than it had before. 

   Cory was gone.

   And he was never coming back.

   I had never, not for one single day, gone without a best friend.  Cory had always been there.  From the beginning.  And now I’d have to live the rest of my life without him.  It was as though I had been reading a picture book and all the pages were in color, but now the rest of them were just dreary images in black and gray.  What had once been a vivid depiction of a beautiful story, a story of a friendship so deep even the word
friends
couldn’t contain it, was now a dark charcoal, and each page seemed like it weighed a ton, dripping with wet concrete.

   “What happened?” I asked quietly, not even positive I wanted to know the answer, but a large part of me needed to hear the words.

   “Honey, we can talk about it later.”  My mom took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and then shifted her eyes to Mrs. Wallace, raising her eyebrows.  It occurred to me she didn’t want to talk about it in front of her.

   “Lucia, she deserves to know,” Mrs. Wallace said through sobs.  “I’m okay.”  She was definitely not okay, but I figured she was as okay as she was going to get that night.

   “McKenzie,” my father started, his deep voice always soothing, “this is a pretty terrible story, and I don’t want you getting upset again.  If you need me to stop, let me know.”

   I nodded, having no other response.  There were no appropriate words for this situation.

   “Mark and Cory stopped at a convenience store on their way home from the bakery.  They were at the counter, trying to buy lottery tickets, when a man entered wearing a hoodie and ski mask.”

   Just listening to his words made my heart rate speed, thundering through my body, rioting through my veins like stampeding stallions.  I closed my eyes, trying to focus on his words and not the way the room felt as though it was getting hotter.

   “The man had a gun and demanded the employee behind the counter give him the money from the register.  Instead of opening the register and just doing as the man asked, the employee pulled out a shotgun, but before he could shoot him, the robber fired first.”  My father let out a shaky breath, his voice warbling like I’d never heard in my life.  He was a tough guy; only a soft spot for his girls.  My mom and I were spoiled by him: loved on, supported, protected.  But other than that, he was tough as nails.  “The man then turned his gun on Mark, shot him first, then immediately shot Cory after.”

   Mrs. Wallace broke down, burying her face in her hands.  Hayes walked over, knelt next to his mother, and wrapped his arms around her.  She melted into him, crying into the space between his shoulder and his neck, her hands grasping at the back of his shirt.

   My parents were both crying.  My mother cried softly, wiping tears away every few seconds as they rolled down her cheeks.  But my father cried silently, holding a tight fist to his mouth.  Both were looking at me, watching and waiting for me to crumble.

   “So, he just shot them?  For nothing?” I asked, confused about every single part of what I’d been told.  Confused about why any of this had to happen.  Confused about why someone would just randomly shoot a father and son who hadn’t done anything to him at all.  Confused about why it had to be Cory and his father.  And although the confusion was so palpable, so real, it could have had its own seat at the table, it was slowly turning into anger.  “Why would someone do that?”

   “Sweetheart, we’ll probably never really know why,” my mother said, reaching out for my hand.  I let her take it, but I didn’t want to be touched.  Anger and fear were coursing through me, making my skin feel as if it were electric.  I was practically shaking with energy.  “Mark and Cory both died, as well as the employee.  The robber took the money from the register and ran.  The police are looking for him, but odds are, when they find him, he’s not going to tell us why he killed them.  I’m sorry.”  She wiped her cheeks again, then took a breath to continue.  “He’s probably a man down on his luck, and didn’t intend to shoot anyone.”

   “Don’t make excuses for a murderer, Lucia.”  Another first.  I’d heard my parents fight before, get into arguments, but I’d never heard my father talk to my mother as though he thought she were stupid.  As though he thought her words were careless and insulting.

   “I’m not making excuses, Edward,” my mother replied, obviously trying to remain calm.  “I’m trying to make sense of a senseless act.  I’m trying to come to terms with something that has no rhyme or reason.  I simply can’t believe that someone woke up today and decided to kill three innocent people who have nothing whatsoever to do with him.  I can’t live in a world like that.”  The more words she spoke, the harder she cried.  My father pushed away from the table and stood, walking into the living room with such purpose it was as if he thought walking away would make the situation less tense.

   “If I’d have just picked up the cake from the bakery on the way home, both of them would still be alive.”

   Her words silenced everyone, made the room stand still like a painting.

   “Mom, you can’t think that way.”  Hayes’s deep voice finally cut through all of us.  He was still kneeling next to his mother, still rubbing his hand on her back, but she was sitting in her chair and looking at nothing in particular.

   “It’s all I
can
think.  Mark and Cory left the house and I know nothing after that.  I don’t know if Mark knew what was happening until it was too late.  I don’t know if either one of them died instantly, or if they lay on the floor in pain until they bled to death.  I don’t know if my baby boy cried out for me.  Was he scared?  Was he hurting?  Did he watch his father die before he slipped away?”  She was becoming frantic and yet, she was the only one making any sense.  “Did Mark see his son die?  Did he try to protect him?  Did he die panicking because he couldn’t save his son?  I’ll
never
know the answer to all these questions.  But one thing I know for sure is that it never would have happened if I’d just remembered to pick up my son’s birthday cake.”

   The saddest part, the part that I knew would more than likely eat away at Mrs. Wallace for the rest of her life?

   She was right.

   It wasn’t her fault, and no one in their right mind would blame her, but I knew none of that mattered.  Mrs. Wallace would blame herself and that was enough punishment—more, in fact.

   “I think I’m going to go to bed.  I don’t want this day to be over, but maybe if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up to find it’s all been a dream.”

   Mrs. Wallace stood, didn’t say anything to anyone, and walked down the hall.  We all watched her go, and when we heard her bedroom door close, we looked to each other again.

   “She’s going to need a lot of support for the next couple days.  Weeks even.”  Mom wasn’t talking to anyone in particular.  She might have even been talking to herself; thinking out loud.

   “Hayes, is there anything you need from us right now?”  Dad’s voice had calmed down, and I could tell he was trying to help Hayes in any way he could, trying to do anything to make his loss not seem so huge.

   “I don’t think there’s anything else to do right now.”  His eyes darted to me for just an instant and the sadness was almost painful to see.  He looked back at my father, pulling his shoulders back as if he were trying to appear less broken than I imagined he was.  “Nothing to do now until the coroner releases the bodies.”

   “Right,” my father said.  There was nothing he could say in response.  It was a sentence a twenty-two-year-old man should never have to say about his brother, or his father, and certainly not both of them together.  “We’ll be back tomorrow, late morning, to see how we can help.”

   Hayes nodded, but said nothing more.

   My mom and I stood to leave.  We silently walked toward the door, but I couldn’t just leave.  I couldn’t just walk away from Hayes like that.  His mom in the other room, the only person left in his family alive losing her mind.  I couldn’t just leave him there thinking he was alone.  So I turned, walked up to him, lifted onto my toes, and wrapped my arms around his neck.  He didn’t move at first.  I wondered, with my arms slung over his shoulders and my cheek pressed into his chest, if I’d made a mistake and misjudged what he needed from me in that moment.  But then, slowly, his arms lifted, closed around my waist, and his cheek came to rest upon the crown of my head.

   It was a strange moment.  Strange because having his arms around me was comforting, but also confusing because having his arms around me felt like I’d gotten back something I thought I’d lost.  I chalked it up to emotions, but let the embrace linger longer than it should have, not caring that my parents were probably watching.