The Death of Me (8 page)

Probably,
I thought with a smile.

Bill and Rose quietly got out of their respective sides of the car with me following close behind them. I walked up the splintered wooden steps behind them and waited while Bill unlocked the front door and stepped back to let Rose in. I waited until he went in, then followed closing the door behind me. My hands were starting to sweat and my legs were a bit shaky; I was honest to God terrified of meeting my son. What if I wasn't what he expected? What if he hated me for being absent for the first fourteen years of his life? What if he wanted Zaydee instead of me?

Maybe I should have waited until she was willing to come,
I thought nervously as they led me into a den.

"I thought you'd like to look around in here first," Bill said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "This is where we keep most of the family pictures and he's in almost all of them."

I cleared my throat and nervously started looking at the pictures. They seemed to be in chronological order, from when he was a small baby up until what age he would be now; around fourteen. I understood the haunted look on Rose's face when I first met them in the airport lobby. Looking at Scott really was like looking at a younger version of myself. The only traces of Zaydee I could see, was the progressive sadness in his eyes the older he grew.

The sudden thud of a glass being set on the wooden desk behind me got my attention. I turned slightly and saw that Bill had set down two square glasses and was currently filling them halfway with Scotch Whiskey.

"He was a great kid," he said, coming over and handing me one of the glasses. He took a drink of his as he looked at the pictures mounted on the wall. "He may have looked like you, but he was just like Zaydee. He loved Frances most of all and that tire swing out in the front yard," he said with a sigh.

"Was? Isn't he still?" I asked, in confusion.

Bill chuckled softly. "Scott was a manic depressive like Zaydee. It's hereditary, you know? Getting him to take his medication was always a hellacious fight. Garrett, I think it would be best if you took a seat."

I gave him a sidelong glance. Something about the way he said that told me that the rest of this visit wasn't going to be what I was expecting. I went over to the small leather two seated couch and sat down. I leaned forward and held my glass of liquor tightly in my hands waiting for him to speak. Bill lingered in front of the pictures for a moment longer before he went and sat down in the recliner almost directly across from me.

"Did Zaydee take it hard when Frances died?" Bill asked curiously.

"I couldn't tell you, honestly. She moved to Florida a long time ago and I didn't really see her until she came back for the services. I'm sure it hurt her, but she played the part of the rock for her family," I replied thoughtfully.

"Scott begged us to take him to see Frances when we found out he was terminal. It took me a little while to scrape the money together, but we got him out there. I thought it would have been good for him, you know? To be able to see the man that he loved the most one more time before he died," Bill said shaking his head.

"Bill. I'm starting to get a little worried here," I said, rubbing my forehead. "Where exactly is my son?"

He got to his feet and retrieved the bottle, topped off his glass, then came over and topped off mine. He sat down again with a heavy sigh and looked at me before he nodded.

"Rose! Can you bring Scott in please?" he called out.

I drank down the rest of the glass in one gulp and got to my feet. I faced the door waiting for Rose to walk in Scott, but I wasn't expecting her to walk in with him like this. I wavered on my feet slightly and landed on my ass in the chair. The glass fell from my hand and bounced on the carpeted floor as Rose came over and handed what looked like a small, decorative vase to me.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly as she handed it to me. "He couldn't take it when he finally realized that Frances was going to die. When we got back, he went into his bedroom and hung himself."

Zaydee

I
t was late Monday morning and I was sitting on the freshly restored green grass at Saint Raphael’s Cemetery. Grandpa didn’t have a headstone yet, but I managed to find him again after some driving around.

I figured by this point Garrett was most likely sitting around with Scott, so I wanted to be near someone I loved too.

I had my legs crossed underneath me and the envelopes that Grandma had given me sitting on my lap. I still hadn’t opened them and even though she told me to wait until I got back home to read them, I wanted to read them with my grandfather nearby. Something told me that I might need his strength and this was the closest I could get to feeling it anymore.

“How’s it going, Grandpa?” I asked softly.

The first envelope held a short note from Grandma.

Dearest Zaydee,

What you are going to discover in these letters may be difficult for you, but I know that you are strong enough to cope with it. Please know that I'm here for you if you need me.

Love,

Grandma Greta

I pursed my lips as I set the note down on one side of me and the envelope on the other. I didn't know what secrets the other envelopes held, but I was going to read them, no matter how bad the feeling was in the pit of my stomach.

I took a deep breath and picked up the second envelope. I smiled as tears brimmed in my eyes. I'd know Grandpa's writing anywhere, the way he wrote the Z in my name was artistic and always stood out to me. I pulled the letter out of the envelope, cleared my throat, and blinked back the tears as I read his letter to me. The way he addressed me in the letter made me laugh softly; he almost always called me Zaydee Gray because of my eyes. No one in my family had eyes the color that I did. 

Zaydee Gray,

You're reading this because I'm gone now.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was sick; I didn't want you to worry about me. You always worried too much, even when you were a little girl. Rita took good care of me and so did Greta, but there's something that's been weighing on me heavily. Something I know I should have told you when it happened.

Your son Scott; I and Greta adopted him and gave him to Bill and Rose to raise. I felt it was best to keep him in the family. We all did our best and hope that when you meet him, you'll be as proud of him as I was.

All My Love,

Frances Lettsworth

"Thanks Grandpa," I whispered, putting his note down on top of Grandma's and his envelope to the other side. I sighed and looked down at where he was resting beneath me, a sad smile curving the edges of my lips again. I never did meet a man as great as my grandfather, and I was sure I never would.

I was okay with that. Some people in this world weren't meant for happiness and true love and I didn't mind being one of them.

I took a deep breath and raised my face to the warm sun for a moment. I felt like he was there with me. Standing over me as I read these letters, to make sure that I was okay. With a sniffle, I moved onto the next envelope, only this one didn't house a letter or a note; inside of this one were pictures.

Pictures of a newborn in my grandfather's arms, being held in the hospital nursery. Pictures of an infant learning to stand with a big smile on his face. The more the pictures progressed in age, the more I saw that he looked like Garrett. However, when I started to get to what I assumed to be Scott's teenage years, the more his expression started to look like mine. Stoic, unhappy, and distant.

"It'll be okay," I said softly to the last picture of my son. "It always turns out okay in the end."

I set his pictures down on top of Grandma and Grandpa's letters and looked at the last envelope that was sitting on the grass. I didn't recognize the handwriting or the sentiment scrawled across the front. It wasn't something I had been given the chance to do and I still wasn't sure that I deserved the title. But there it was; the one word that would always remind me of how deeply scars truly run.

Mom

My lower lip trembled and my hands began to shake. Did I really want to read this? Did he really think of me as his mother even though he had never met me and I never had a chance to hold him?

I closed my eyes for a moment and blindly reached for the letter. It was amazing how something as light as a piece of paper could feel like the heaviest stone in the world. Like an anchor that was slowly dragging my heart down to the depths of the ocean, threatening to crush me with the pressure of all of my past misdeeds.

Don't be a pussy; open the letter, Zaydee.

I ripped the back of the sealed envelope away and opened the letter. There it was again; the first word in the letter was addressed to
Mom.

Mom,

Gramps told me everything. He told me how sad you were that you weren't able to keep me and how alone you felt when Dad turned his back on you. I can forgive you for not physically being in my life because you didn't have a choice. What I can't forgive you for is never picking up the phone and calling me. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to hear your voice when I felt like everything was crumbling around me. I can't tell you how hard it is knowing what I'm going to do and never knowing if you honestly loved me.

Gramps is sick. I hated seeing him like that and I don't think I can do this anymore if he's not here.

I'm sorry.

I love you and I hope that you love me too.

Scott

p.s. Don't be sad. You didn't do anything wrong.

***

H
ours later and the sun was starting to set over the horizon somewhere behind me. I was still sitting at Grandpa's grave trying to fully understand what I had just read. If it was what I had assumed it to be, then Garrett must have found out by now too. I didn't know if I should cry and I didn't know if it hurt me yet, because I didn't know
him.
What I did know was that even without being in his life I had failed him; he hadn't stood a chance with me or without me and no matter what he said, it was most definitely my fault.

But the fault wasn't mine alone and I wouldn't bear what should have been the heartbreak of this by myself.

I
was driving to the airport with all of my bags in the backseat of the rental a week and a half ahead of schedule, because I knew that it was definitely time to go home. I had decided to stop by Rockford High and leave a copy of Scott's letter with Garrett's secretary on my way toward LAX. It cost me a fortune to switch the tickets around, but I didn't want to be in Los Angeles anymore. This really was the one place that seemed to continually break me the longer I stayed.

I knew that I would never have a reason to come back to this place and it made me feel a little less broken. As I pulled onto the highway I decided to turn on the local rock station. I needed noise to fill the short drive to LAX or else my own thoughts would consume me and it would drive me crazy. In my heart I knew that I wouldn't have time for torturous thoughts; not now at least. That would have to wait until I got home.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and glanced up to see the LAX signs starting to appear. I sighed and glanced at the letters, then raised the volume of the radio and gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were starting to turn white.

Easy Zaydee,
I told myself.
Deep breaths will keep the path clear and you need to see now more than ever.

Three more miles and the highway opened into the huge airport parking lot. I drove past all of the airlines that were sectioned off for easy arrival and departures, and went straight toward the garage I had gotten the rental from. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going to leave it, but I figured as long as it was close to where I got it from then it should be okay.

I pulled into an empty spot on the third level and reached over for the stack. I glanced in the backseat and reached for my carry-on bag, so I could put the envelopes in it. I didn't want to lose any of them because they would be the best way to explain everything that I was going to do. Forcing a smile onto my face, I dragged my luggage behind me as I walked over to the rental car attendant in the small booth he was sitting in.

"One moment while I look the car over, please," he said pleasantly, walking past me with a clipboard in his hand.

I waited, the envelopes boring a hole through my bag and onto my hip, while he looked over the truck with a fine tooth comb. When he was satisfied that no damage had been done to it, he had me sign the clipboard attesting to that fact, then let me go on my way.

I glanced at the clock mounted in his small booth and realized that if I didn’t get a move on, I would most likely miss my plane. All of the damn daydreaming in the car had made me lose time and I hadn’t realized it until now.

I hoisted my baggage onto my back and ran down the stairs as quickly as I could, readjusting them when I reached the ground level. I knew that airport security wouldn’t be too excited about me running through the airport, so I decided to power walk my way to security after asking a guard where my gate would be.

I went through the same scrutinization I always did when I handed someone my identification before I was able to get through security. I knew I would have to pay extra at the gate for my bags, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get the fuck out of California and go home.

The lounge area was damn near packed by the time I got there, and I ended up sitting next to a man that seemed engrossed with his cell phone. I dropped my bags in front of the chair and fell into the seat, a relieved sigh escaping me, before I glanced over at his phone.

My curiosity was soon satisfied when I saw that he had been texting someone named Jim and the last text message received from him made me roll my eyes. Apparently, the man next to me was being told about a strip bar where all of the strippers had “huge tits” and would most likely let them do lines of cocaine off of them once he got to Miami.