Only Love (27 page)

I didn’t want to do this now. I just… I wanted to walk away but I couldn’t. I had more respect for my mom than to walk out on her. I did turn though and she moved from behind the desk, placing her hand on my back.

“Aubrey’s going through a lot, yes,” she paused rubbing, “but she needs you. She needs you so much right now and you need her. Especially now. Perhaps, if you talked to her about Lia. About Abigail…”

The shakes had returned to my hands, the symptoms as if withdrawing. Nausea surfaced when the world tilted, a headache hitting my brain in a wave. This always happened. It always did when I need something, when I needed a drink.

A hand slipped into mine, a warm one. “Check in the bag when you get home,” my mom said. “Don’t hate me for keeping it from you. I just saved it for today. I promise you that. I hoped it would help with today is all.”

I fought the urge from checking the bag, waiting until I got home like my mom requested, but each step I made toward my door, one foot in front of the other, my anxiety thickened, the influx of it representing an intense fear. I feared what was inside this bag I held. I feared the unknown, and as I sat in my apartment, empty, just me for so long, those fears came to fruition. There was an envelope there, right near the cucumbers my mom grew and packed in the bag for me.

Dampening my mouth, I took it out, setting the bag aside. It was addressed to my mom, and though I didn’t recognize the sending address, I recognized the name of the sender.

Ophelia Donavon
, it said. I knew her as Lia once upon a time, but her last name wasn’t Donavon then. It had been Holloway.

I couldn’t even open the letter at first. My hands were shaking so bad, my stomach tied in so many knots. I didn’t think I could physically open it, but it turned out I had the strength. The flap had been severed already, lifted. My mom had done it no doubt as it had been addressed to her. Opening the envelope, I saw a letter on regular lined paper, and unfolded it, seeing a date. She sent this months ago. This must have been why my mom said what she had. She told me not to hate her, that she was just holding it for today. She said by doing so would make today easier for me. I had a feeling her labor had been for nothing. It had to be because of what today meant. Today nothing could be made easier.

Nothing.

Adam
, the letter read.
I’m sending this to your mom, as I didn’t know if you were still at the old address. I wouldn’t have kept our house, so you probably didn’t.

She was right. I sold it well below market value just to get rid of it. I figured I had already lost everything, so why live in the memory of that very loss.

Taking a breath, I decided to continue reading, my eyes itching with emotion. I must have been a glutton for torture.

Lowering the paper, I rubbed my hand over my face, my eyes.
She knows about me. She knows who I am.

I didn’t know how I was able to see the photo, my eyes were so blurry but I did. I’d been staring at the same photos for so long, the ones I only had up until her fourth birthday, shortly before I lost her. I’d come to terms that she was only that, a memory. I had very much mourned her, as that had been the only way I could deal with losing her. But she wasn’t gone; she wasn’t because she was in my hands, squeezing my heart and making me shake with emotions I’d tried so hard to contain. I noticed the hair first, that damn bright red hair like Lia’s, and I laughed. She could never manage its bushiness, never, and this little girl had the same problem, the same wonderful problem, that fell down past her shoulders in curly waves.

Pushing my thumb over the glossy image of her cheeks, I noticed they were no longer round but had thinned out, as she was older. She was eight now. She was eight today. Today was her birthday. And when I got to her eyes, my own lingered there, the brightness, that bright blue. She did have my eyes.

She sat there in the photo, a large smile missing a tooth on the lower right side, and I couldn’t help smiling as well. The warmth that rushed over me played with my heart as well. She looked so happy. My Abby looked so happy.

In my joy, I wanted more. To hold her, hug her and make her real but this was only a tiny photograph, limited by the tight box of the frame, and though its scope was limited I still saw what was behind her. No matter the angle of the photograph they couldn’t hide that they had made accommodations to take her photo. She wasn’t mobile like the other children, couldn’t take a quick photo like the others and move along. She could but it took her a bit longer. It would always take a bit longer, and even though Lia said what happened was just as much her fault as it was mine, she forgot something. I had freewill.
I
could have handled things differently when it came to her unfaithfulness but I didn’t. I let myself get lost, drowned in my addiction, and in my absence, I allowed my child to suffer because of it.

Setting the photo down, I stared at it in my lap but no longer at Abby. I looked at what was behind her, the padded backing of what would forever bind her, make her unlike most children, and when she was an adult, make her unlike most people.

Her wheelchair.

Rissa’s eyes were glued to the television screen as she sat on the floor between my legs while I styled her hair in four ponytails. Thankfully she didn’t fuss too much. Lord knows my nerves couldn’t have handled that—not another breakdown like the one she had a few days ago when Adam came and went too quickly for her to grasp. Having him back and then
not
having him was more than she could handle. More than
I
could handle. It was that sort of back and forth that I didn’t want. The instability wasn’t fair to Rissa and I wouldn’t have that, which was why Gabby’s interference upset me so badly. Still, though, I shouldn’t have blown up on her like that. If I’d seen her lately I would’ve apologized… but I hadn’t.

Usually, she was here for breakfast, then came back to check in after school before doing the same with her mother, and then she was back again for dinner. Three whole days had passed since the incident and she was like a ghost. Even going to her apartment had turned up nothing. She was avoiding me like the plague and I couldn’t blame her. We needed to make things right. Worrying about her had my stomach in knots, as if I needed more things to worry about.

Rissa’s heavy tap on my arm drew my eyes to hers before she faced the television again. Her finger was aimed at the screen. I smiled. “Yeah, sweetie,
‘Olivia’
is on.” She loved that show and got excited every time she heard the theme song. She bounced a few more times and then settled again so I could finish the last section of her hair. When it was done, I had her turn toward me so I could evaluate the finished product.

Her smile was big when she stood, not taking her hands off my knees until her feet were firm on the carpet. She watched me watch her, patting her chubby hand to my cheek when a tear dripped. There was just so much of Javi in her. Looking at her in that moment was a reminder of where we were headed tonight—a reminder of why I’d just redone her hair in neat ponytails with pretty lavender bows so late in the evening. We were going to pay our respects to her daddy.

…One of the hardest things I’d ever have to do in my life.

Kissing the palm of Rissa’s hand, I dried my eyes and scooped her up, carrying her to her room where a matching lavender outfit hung on a hook inside the closet. I dressed her in silence, still trying to wrap my head around where we were on our way to. She held her feet still while I cloaked them in the flower-patterned shoes she got for her birthday.

“You look beautiful, baby girl,” I said, touching my lips to her cheek. It made me laugh when she grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me again, smelling of the apple juice and animal crackers she’d just snacked on. “Thank you! You’re so sweet!” My heart warmed in my chest. “Mommy needed that.”

One more kiss and then I watched as she scampered off to the living room to finish watching her show. I was close behind and placed her in her playpen so I wouldn’t have to worry about what she was getting into while I got myself ready.

Once inside my bedroom, I stared at the dress I’d laid out. It was a few shades deeper purple than Rissa’s outfit, but I wanted us to match tonight. Not because it really mattered all that much, but because Javi used to love when she and I would take pictures with our clothes coordinating. It’s funny how simple details like that stick with you.

“Ready, sweetie?” I said, shutting the television off before taking Rissa from her playpen. She protested for a moment when the screen went black, but stopped when she saw me grab her diaper bag. She was smart enough to recognize that doing so meant we were leaving. She loved car rides and settled down immediately.

I locked up and then took to the stairs. With each step, I was dreading the upcoming hours. I wasn’t ready—wasn’t ready to see Javi’s pics plastered everywhere, wasn’t ready to face his family, wasn’t ready for all the tears, and definitely wasn’t ready for the finality of it all. This vigil, for all intents and purposes, was his funeral. Because there was no chance of a burial, this was it. This was how Javi’s story was going to end.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed past the entrance doors, keys in hand, headed for my car. About halfway down the sidewalk, I came to a dead halt at the sight of Adam rounding the corner in his car, going a little fast, but not speeding. It just looked like he was in a hurry. Where he was headed, of course I had no clue, but he was definitely in a rush. For a moment, I stood there, wondering about him, thinking about him. Eventually, I put one foot in front of the other and refocused my thoughts on the vigil.

In less than ten minutes, I was parked in front of Mrs. Ruiz’s residence—a house I hadn’t been to in so long I couldn’t even remember when. I took Rissa from her car seat after stalling for as long as I could. On top of everything else, I’d have to face Javi’s mother, with whom I’d had a notoriously rocky relationship. She told Javi from the beginning that I thought I was better than him
and
his family. What I’d done to give her that impression, I wasn’t sure, but that was the furthest thing from the truth. However, I wouldn’t apologize for wanting more than what I already had—wouldn’t apologize for having goals.

Already the lawn in front of the Ruiz home was jam-packed with people who’d shown up to pay their respects to Javi. Yellow glints of light could be seen from blocks away as those who mourned held a candle in his memory. Taking a deep breath, I made my way up the sidewalk, deciding just to stay near the back of the crowd. Rissa rested her head on my shoulder as I hitched her further up my side. As usual, she wasn’t keen on all the unfamiliar faces. My eyes searched for those I might recognize, and I found a few—Javi’s cousin Carmen who went to school with us was off to the left. It’d been her who contacted me with the details for the vigil, not Mrs. Ruiz. I looked away when Carmen dabbed at her eyes with the wad of tissue in her hand. Javi’s uncle Emmanuel sat on the porch with the younger cousins, consoling the few who were crying while the others looked on in a daze. Javi’s death was hitting his family as hard as I expected it to, especially considering the fact that his death wasn’t the first they’d dealt with in recent years. Another young life lost had brought them to their knees only a short time ago.