Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 (10 page)
Read Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 Online
Authors: Lena Bourne
I wake up just before dawn, the day only a band of light on the horizon. I bolt from my bed and run to my mom's room, terrified because I don't hear her breathing. Then I remember she's gone, taken by the sad black car yesterday afternoon.
Now she's lying in some cold room somewhere, with no blanket, because she doesn't need it anymore. The image of my mom in a morgue sends burning bile up my throat, but I can't chase the thought away from my mind for the rest of the day, the image burned into my eyes.
My aunt and cousins come at four to pick out a dress for my mom. The air is thick with my aunt's perfume, and full of their bickering. I snatch the blue dress my aunt picked out from her hands and throw it back into the closet. "Mom didn't like that one."
They're all looking at me with tears in their eyes, and my aunt tries to hug me but I push her away.
If they hadn't come yesterday to spill their grief all over the house my mom would have made it through a few more days. She was strong; she could live for another month. But they came and they made her sad, made her aware she was dying and then she did. And there's nothing I could do. Nothing I can do to bring her back.
"I'll bring her a dress," I say and rummage through her closet, looking for the scarlet dress she wore to my high school graduation. That dress made her look so young, so alive, and she should be buried in it.
"I don't think you should drive today, sweetie," my aunt says, and places her arm around my shoulders. "I'll take you."
I remember none of the drive. The lady at the funeral home takes the dress and disappears through a back door. Then I'm sitting on the patio again, stars shimmering above my head, and cold darkness all around.
"You should eat something, Gail," my dad says, sounding very far away.
But I tried that earlier and nearly choked on a piece of bread.
On the morning of the funeral, I have ten unanswered calls and a few texts, but I check none of them. The world beyond my mom's grave is a blur, has no substance. I have to get through today on my own, or never emerge on the other side. There's a Gail who knows this, maybe even has that kind of strength, but it's not the Gail pulling on her black skirt and turtleneck, fastening the buttons of her black coat because it looks like it will rain soon.
"Good morning, Gail," Gran says to me as I slide into the car beside her.
"Good morning," I echo.
Her voice is firm and strong and I wish mine was too. But it's shaky and weak. I clutch the paper on which I wrote out all the things I want to say to my mom before they put her in the ground. I doubt I will be able to speak them. But she knows, I'm sure she does, even though I don't feel her anywhere near me.
It's only us in the church. My mom wanted a private funeral, so I wouldn't have to face all the people she knew. She told me so, a month before she died, when today was still just a terrible thought.
The pastor is speaking of the pain of letting go, the joys of entering Heaven, the everlasting peace finally granted. I believe not a single word. They put too much makeup on my mom's face at the funeral home, she never wore so much in life and I want to yell at someone to wipe it off, because now she will spend eternity looking that way.
My dad's voice cracks as he's saying goodbye to her, and he pauses for a few minutes, his sobs echoing in the silent church. Then it's my turn, and all I'm thinking is how the bright red of my mom's lipstick clashes with her scarlet dress, and how the blue on her eyelids looks too much like her skin as she lay dying.
But none of that matters now, because she will never look in the mirror again, never smile, never hold me.
"I love you, Mom, and I do hope you're in a better place now," I hear myself saying. "I will miss you until the day I die."
The speech I prepared is crumpled in my fist, most of the words illegible now from my sweaty palm. But it doesn't matter. The words I just spoke are all I really want to say. Everything else is encompassed in those words, wedged into my heart.
I'm walking behind the casket, holding my dad's hand. The light is pure white, blinding, as though it's reflecting off snow, and I can see nothing beyond the casket and the pastor's back.
He speaks more words at the gravesite and then the casket is lowered into the ground, the rope creaking against the wood. Thunder echoes in the distance as the first clump of dirt hits the coffin.
But my mom is not in that box in the ground. She's waiting for me on the beach, walking barefoot and laughing in the wind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It's been five days since my mom's funeral and the first day I wake up knowing she's dead. The knowledge comes to me while my eyes are still closed and I'm still holding onto the peaceful world of dreams where all is well. Today I will go back to school and pick up my life, such as it is. Nothing will be well again for a long time, maybe forever. And perhaps that's how it should be.
I peek into Dad's room and find him packing his own suitcase. "Where are you going?"
"Geneva," he says while rolling up a belt. "The Special Rapporteur on Syria has called an emergency hearing. I'm leaving tonight."
"Tonight?" I echo. Suddenly I don't want him to go, can't face the thought of him going on with his life as though Mom didn't just die.
He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. "You're leaving today too, Gail, remember? It's what Mom would have wanted."
I lean against his chest and let him hold me. "I know."
"It's for the best, sweetie. You'll feel better once you get some distance," Dad says and lets me go. "We'll have dinner when I get back next weekend."
He's wiping away tears. I still haven't cried since that morning in Scott's arms. He must have called me at least twenty times since then, but I haven't returned any of his calls. I can't give him what he wants, not now, just as I knew I couldn't all along. And he deserves someone better than a broken, emotionless mess like me.
I spend the rest of the day packing. Later, when the car comes to pick him up, I kiss my dad goodbye and watch him drive away.
I shudder when the grandfather clock chimes four just as I'm closing the door. The silence that erupts once the chiming stops descends on me like a thick black shadow. I run to get my suitcases, stuff them in the car and am speeding away five minutes later.
I park next to the cemetery gate and walk purposefully to my mom's grave. She's not really here, but it's the only place I know to visit her, to say goodbye.
At the grave, I clear away some of the rotted flowers then sit down beside the gravestone. I imagine she's next to me, that we're still at home, in bed, watching a movie, laughing. But it's no good; the image flitters away before I have a good grasp on it. All I see is her glistening eyes staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. She's not here, she's not anywhere.
"Bye, Mom, I'll come see you again soon." I stand up and brush the dirt from my pants.
I turn around to get back to my car, and my breath freezes in my throat. Scott is walking with an older man along the path between the gravestones a few rows down. Kate's boyfriend is walking alongside another man a few steps before them. A second ago, I could still turn my back, but now it's too late, he's already seen me.
Scott stops and stares at me, but I'm too far to see his eyes, too far to feel his gaze. The older man stops too and looks at me, then smiles and nods as though to say hello. I nod back reflexively, and then Scott's walking towards me, and I want to run away, but he's blocking my path.
"Gail, how are you?" he asks as though I hadn't been ignoring his calls for the past week.
"Not great," I say, because it's the truth.
His eyes flick to my mom's grave. "Henderson? Is that your last name?"
"Yes," I say realizing just how little we know about each other, and how well that fits with the impossibility of whatever we started continuing, like it's a sign that I'm doing the right thing letting him go.
"What's yours?" I hear myself asking anyway.
"Turner."
"And that was your father?" I ask, glancing back along the path. Kate's boyfriend has stopped and is glaring back at us, but the other two are still walking away. "And your brothers?"
"Yeah," Scott says, looking at my lips and not my eyes.
"Where's your mom?" I ask, not really wanting to know.
"She's here too," Scott says, and I absolutely don't want to know the rest. "It does get easier, I promise."
I want him to hold me and I don't, until the opposing desires feel like I'm being drawn and quartered.
"How long ago did she die?" I ask.
"It'll be thirteen years in November. Today would've been her birthday," Scott explains, and the way he can do that without his voice cracking kindles my hope. But it's not enough to break through the darkness.
"Come on already, Scott!" his brother yells.
"I'll be right there," Scott calls over his shoulder, then turns back to me. "I have to go and have some early dinner with them, but do you want to get together later?"
I press my hands into my pockets, so I won't touch him. "I can't. I'm going back to school now."
A sadness passes though his eyes, which are grey like an overcast winter's day in this light. "And where's that?"
"Stanford," I lie. It's for the best. I might only be going as far as Connecticut, but it will be easier for Scott to let me go if he thinks I'm on the other side of the country.
"That's in California?"
I nod.
"Pretty far," he says.
"Scott!" his brother calls again.
"Look, I have to go. But you can call me sometime, if you want."
"Sure," I say and turn back to gaze at my mom's grave. He'll understand my need to escape eventually; he did the same to Janine when she needed him.
When I look up Scott is already walking away, arguing with his brother. I don't hear his words, just the sound of his voice.
I feel like my heart is buried in the grave behind me, rotting in the ground, already nothing but a shriveled, oozing black mess. I cannot love anyone ever again with my heart gone. But it is what it is.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thanks for reading! This story unfolds over a series of episodes in the form of short novels. The next episode of Not Looking For Love will be out in two weeks. Please sign up for my mailing list at
About the Author:
Lena Bourne is a young writer, but she has seen her fair share of the world, of love and loss, and all that happens in between. Now she's here telling the stories you might otherwise have missed, which all are made up, of course, but could very well be real and true. Not Looking For Love is her first serial, a steamy New Adult romance, which will be released in five installments over the next few months.
