The Unloved (20 page)

I had no clue what freaking language he was speaking to me, all I knew was that it sounded really bad. Especially the part about spinal fluid and blood being near her brain. I wasn’t the best with knowing the human body, but what I did know was that the brain was a sensitive organ and if it was drowning in spinal fluid and blood it couldn’t be a good thing.

Realization hit me hard as I worked it out in my head—I may never see my mom again.

After Dr. Emery left I couldn’t bring myself to sit down. I couldn’t bring myself to move. I was frozen. The tight feeling in my throat from unshed tears that I was trying to hold back desperately made it hard for me to breathe. An
aneurysm?
What the hell was that? How the hell did all of that fluid get near her brain? The kitchen floor wasn’t that far of a drop. I didn’t understand a fucking thing.

A hand squeezed my shoulder tightly. I knew it was Jules and this time I didn’t have the strength to fight what her touch made me feel—relief, comfort. This time I was glad that she was the person with me right now.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whispered. I could tell by her voice that she was trying to fight back her tears just as hard as I was.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to. Her hand dropped from my shoulder, but she didn’t move away. She just stood there with me while I wished for all of this to be a nightmare I’d soon wake up from.

“Should you call your dad? Don’t you think he’d want to know?” she asked.

I clenched my teeth together; the thought of him sent shivers of anger through my body. What if this was something all the beatings he’d given her had caused. I’d kill him if I lost her because of him and his fucking
disease
called I-don’t-know-my-own-limits-or-how-to-control-my-own-anger. “When I know something, I will.”

“Okay,” she replied in a small voice.

~

What seemed like hours passed without any word from a single doctor or nurse. I grew nervous and began pacing the length of the room, unable to relax. Jules sat curled up in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, dozing in and out. I’d told her to go home forty times, even though I knew without a doubt that she never would.

I’d finally decided to get a bottle of water from the vending machine and had just twisted the cap off and sat down when Dr. Emery came back into the room, this time without his white lab coat and instead dressed in green scrubs. I jumped out of my seat so fast that I spilled a quarter of the water I’d been holding down the front of me.

Dr. Emery didn’t speak, even when I stood, and from his demeanor I knew something was wrong. I looked into his eyes and felt my world shift beneath my feet. Mom hadn’t made it. I could tell by the sadness and glimmer of failure that flashed in his dull blue eyes the closer he got to me.

“The procedure proved to be unsuccessful…” I heard him start, but that was all I heard, all I could make out. That one word held enough meaning to shatter me completely—
unsuccessful
. The rest of his speech was drowned out by the thunderous beating of my heart and the shallow sounding of my breathing as it came in quick, erratic pulls through my lungs.

My mom was gone.
Gone.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

JULIE

I stood and listened to the doctor talk, trying to follow what he was saying and waiting for the words he was leading up to. My breath felt sucked from my lungs when he finished with, “We did our best, son. I’m sorry we were unable to save her.” I blinked and swallowed hard before allowing myself to look at Nick. His face had lost all color and I thought I saw him sway slightly, but maybe that was just me.

“I understand,” Nick said, but from the look on his face I wasn’t even sure he realized he’d spoken at all or that he could comprehend what had just been said.

Dr. Emery said something about sending someone over with paperwork soon, but I wasn’t paying attention to him, all I cared about was Nick.

I erased the few steps that remained between us while we were given the news and pulled Nick into my arms. He didn’t hesitate; he didn’t push me away like I’d expected. Instead, he held me too and sobbed.

We stood that way for a while, crying in each other’s arms. Him because he’d just lost his mom, the only parent who’d ever cared about him, and me because I couldn’t stand to see Nick hurt like this and know there was nothing I could do to help.

Nick broke away from me and darted down the hall. I stepped into the hallway, watching to see where he was going, worried. He cut into the men’s room and disappeared. It would be a while before he came back out; I was sure he’d gone to a stall to vomit. I sat back down in the stained maroon chair I’d sat in all afternoon and stared at my clasped hands as they rested in my lap. What would Nick do now? What would his life be like?

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

NICK

I pulled the black blazer I’d bought from a local thrift shop on over the crisp, black button-up shirt I’d found to go with the suit. I wasn’t wearing a tie; I felt choked enough, unable to breathe due to anxiety and strained emotions. I’d thought that the time I’d spent at the hospital had felt unreal, but it was nothing compared to having to call and arrange for my mother’s funeral or even dressing myself for it.

The only funeral home in town had heard all about my
situation
—dad in rehab, me losing my mother on my eighteenth birthday—and offered to wave all fees for the service and casket. They’d even paid for the headstone and a burial plot had been donated. I’d been more than happy, I’d been fucking grateful beyond words. Who would have thought that dying could cost so much?

I sat down on the edge of my bed and slipped on the shiny black shoes I’d bought to go to with the suit. I’d never been dressed in solid black before—hell, I’d never been dressed in a suit before—but I could tell that this would be the one and only time. I never wanted to see myself in another suit as long as I lived. I never wanted to wear the color black again. Not after today.

There was a knock at my door. “You ready, son?” dad called, and I gritted my teeth at the reminder that he would be present at my mother’s funeral. He’d arrived at the house this morning with his parole officer. It was like he’d been given a one-day pass, but his parole officer had to attend and babysit him.

I hated him. No matter what Dr. Emery had said about some people being born with aneurysms and how they were ticking time bombs waiting to go off their entire life, I still believed my dad had been the one to cause my mother’s and I’d never forgive him for it.

“Coming,” I responded, glancing at myself in the mirror above my dresser. I ran my hand over my freshly shaved head and sighed.

~

Dad’s parole officer, Bill, drove us since dad had no license and I really wasn’t capable of driving at the moment. This was the only time all morning I was grateful that my dad’s babysitter had stayed with him.

We pulled up to the large white building that resembled a colonial mansion more than what it actually was—a place to mourn over the dead before they were tucked safely into the ground in their final resting place.

I slowly climbed out from the backseat of Bill’s blue Honda Accord and started toward the funeral home director, Mr. Wilkins. He held out his right hand for me to shake and then gripped my wrist with his left when I did. It was the tough man
I’m sorry for your loss
handshake.

“I’m incredibly sorry for your loss,” Mr. Wilkins said, as expected.

“Thank you,” I muttered, unsure why people felt obligated to say those two words after someone said they were sorry for your loss. It made no sense. Why thank someone for feeling sorry for you?

Dad walked up behind me, Bill right beside him like a male mommy holding his hand. I entered the funeral home, stepping out of the coldness of the December morning air and leaving the two of them behind me. Warmth stung my fingers and cheeks as I passed through the threshold and into the foyer. It was like a sauna inside. A moldy, damp smell tickled my nose. At first glance I assumed it was from the numerous displays of live flower bouquets’ fighting for my attention at the far wall, but then a morbid thought entered my mind, maybe it was from the years of dead people that had passed through this room, like the walls themselves had absorbed the stench of it over time. I shivered and pushed myself forward to sit on the bench to the left of the entrance and beside the coatrack. Dad came in and sat beside me, leaving Bill outside.

“You okay?” he asked, sounding all concerned. I hated that he seemed to care. I hated how different he was now that he was sober. I hated how unfair it was that he was here with me and mom wasn’t. It should have been him we were burying today, not her. Not the parent that I loved. Not the parent that had always cared about me.

I didn’t answer him. The only answer you were supposed to give to a question like that was ‘fine,’ and I felt anything but fine with this day, in this situation.

“I understand, son,” he said, squeezing the back of my neck.

I shrugged him off. The feel of his touch didn’t comfort me like he’d intended, instead it pissed me off. “You don’t understand what I’m going through. Don’t you dare compare your grief to mine,” I spat in a low tone.

“I might not have shown it in the right way or even acted like it at times, but I did love her. I was even trying to become a man worthy of her; that’s why I agreed to go to the clinic, Nick.”

I glanced at him. It had been about six and a half weeks since mom had dropped him off at the clinic in Cambridge. He’d made it through the detox portion of his treatment, but I could still see the craving in his eyes. Especially today. Today would be what Bill, parole officer/sponsor of the moment, would call a
Trigger Day
, a day that triggers the want to drink. Hell, I was having a trigger day myself. I could relate to the want flashing in his eyes.

“Whatever,” I said. “No matter how hard you tried, you’d never have been worthy of her.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

JULIE

Blake pulled into the packed parking lot and took the first spot he could find. All five of us decided to go in one car because we didn’t know how much parking space was available at the Wilkins Funeral Home. I’d never been, and the million times I’d passed by I’d never once taken notice of the place.

As I stepped out I adjusted the black pencil skirt that Emily had let me borrow and wrapped the black peacoat I’d bought for the occasion around me tighter, careful not to tear off the tag that hung from the wrist as I forced the sleeves down around my hands. I was taking it back to the store tomorrow because there was no way I’d ever wear it again after this.

Wind whipped across my face as the five of us hurried toward the funeral home entrance. There was an old man dressed in a suit near the door who seemed to be waiting on us. He extended his hand and shook each of ours as we passed through saying, “Thank you for paying your respects to the family today.” It seemed unreal that we were here for Nick’s mom. I’d known her better than any of the others. We’d just had Thanksgiving dinner together a few weeks ago.

The five of us filed through the thick crowd of people dressed all in black. Anxiety tugged at my nerves and tightened my lungs. There were so many people crammed into one room. I had no idea Mrs. Owen even knew so many people. Then again it was a small town and with the way things had happened, plus the situation it had left Nick and his dad in, this many people was to be expected.

A line had formed now that the time for everyone to arrive had passed. I stood just like everyone else and waited for my turn to tell Nick and his dad how sorry I was for their loss. My anxiety from the closeness of the people, the room that seemed taller than it was wide, the stench of death that filled the place like a lingering scented potpourri, intensified.

“This place is creepy,” Tiffany whispered, turning around to face me in line.

I nodded. “I know,” I mouthed back.

Maybe that was what got me on edge, the creepy place mixed with people dressed in black. Or maybe it was because this was the first time I’d ever had to deal with death. Whatever the reason, I was sort of freaking out.

“And it stinks in here,” Blake replied, crinkling his nose.

“Have some respect, you guys. No one wants to be here, especially not Nick, but we are. So can all the talking and have some flipping respect,” Emily whisper-yelled to us all.

She was right; we all knew that she was so none of us spoke again as we inched closer to Nick and his dad. The line of people separating our group from him grew shorter by the second. My palms began to sweat as I thought about looking into his hazel eyes and telling him the same words the forty people before me had. It seemed fake and unnecessary, like I, of all people, should say something more meaningful, but there wasn’t anything else to say. I’m sorry for your loss was exactly what was supposed to be said in this situation.