Unbroken (45 page)

Together, there is nothing that can stop us. Together, there is nothing that can separate us. Together, we are strong, we are fierce, we are one.

We are unbroken.

THIRTY SIX

I KNOW SHE HAS SOMETHING up her sleeve. She always does every single time she asks to drive the Denali.

But this time, I know something is up because of the fact that she has me blindfolded in the passenger’s seat. We’ve been driving for what feels like forever, but that’s because I can’t see where we’re going, and I’m not very good with surprises.

I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She was blatantly ignoring me the week leading up to the wedding, and right before we left the reception an hour ago, she was huddled up with Nickayla, who then promptly disappeared. That should have been a red flag right there. When Nickayla is involved, it can never be good.

“Are we there yet?” I ask.

“Oh, don’t be grumpy, Dear,” she says, in her best Lucille Ball impression. “We’re almost there. Keep your hair on.”

I laugh, but really, I’m anxious. I want to know what she has up her sleeve, what she’s been hiding. And she’s definitely hiding something.

I wanted to get her home immediately, so that we could celebrate our first night as a married couple in our own home before we head out for our honeymoon tomorrow. But she objected, insisting that she had something to show me, something that couldn’t wait until we got back from the honeymoon. This whole blissful oblivion thing is killing me.

I hate being left out of the loop.

“Are we there yet?”

I know she’s getting tired of me, because I’ve been asking the same question ever since we got in the car—even before we started moving.

“Yes. But keep the blindfold on. I’ll be around shortly, to help you out.”

Oh, great. It’s not bad enough that I’m still physically injured, but I also have to be blindfolded? This is beyond ridiculous. I can’t wait to see what’s going on, if not for the sole purpose of getting this blindfold off of me.

The car shuts off, and I hear her get out. Her high heels clack against the ground as she makes her way around the car, and my door opens. She grabs my hand and guides me wherever I need to go. With her arm around me, I feel safer than I’ve ever been. But I’m still skeptical about this surprise.

“Okay, there’s four steps. Try and take it easy, okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Slowly and carefully, I make the trek up the small amount of steps. I try to gauge my surroundings by focusing on my other senses, but none of it is working to my advantage. Suddenly, she takes my hand and walks me forward a few paces. Finally, I feel both her hands grasping mine, and she takes a deep breath.

“You can take the blindfold off in three…two…one.”

The instant the word ‘one’ is out of her mouth, I am snatching the blindfold off my face and taking in my surroundings.

Holy.

Shit.

I’m standing in the middle of my mother’s house.

I gape openly at my wife, but not for long, because I start taking a mental inventory of everything in the house.

The furniture is different. The walls have been scrubbed clean. The carpets are sparkling, just like they used to before Mom passed. Everything that needed repairing, from that broken piece of the banister to the hole that used to be in the wall that one time I punched it, is fixed. It all looks different. It looks like a home. It looks like the home it used to be, the home it should have been even after Mom passed away, but wasn’t.

“What…How?” I ask.

She shrugs. “With a lot of help from your baseball buddies, a few donations from some people in high places, and with a little tapping into my savings account. Also, a lot of ignoring you so I wouldn’t spill the beans.” She waves her hand over the lower floor of the home. “This house is rightfully yours, Brody. For the past six years, it’s been tainted with the most horrible memories anyone could ever have. But it wasn’t always that way. This was the last place you were with your mother. This was where you were raised. This was where you were made into the brilliant, handsome, strong man you are today. You don’t have to…agree, or even like what I’ve done. But I wanted to show you that this house can still be a home. We can rid this place of the memories that have haunted you and replace them with good ones, with new ones. We can create new memories here, the two of us, and when the baby comes, we can give it all he love it deserves. For the past six years, it’s been a house. For the past six years, it’s wanted to be a home again. I think we should be the ones to make that happen.”

I have no words. I don’t even know what to say.

This past week, all those days leading up to the wedding, so many scenarios went through my head. I wondered if she was having second thoughts about marrying me, if she was having a hard time seeing me hurt. Shit, every bad thought I could muster came to mind, and I never expected that this is what she was doing.

Changing shit and rearranging shit and turning this house into the safe haven it once was.

Her words have struck a chord.

Yes, this place was my own personal version of Hell for the past six years. It has haunted me day in and day out, and given recent events, I never thought I would set foot in this place again. But my wife is the queen of forcing me to face my demons head on.

Nothing about this place looks the same. And nothing about this place feels the same. It feels different. It feels safe again. It feels welcoming. I’ll never know if it’s because the danger of my father no longer lurks around every corner. I’ll never know if it’s because I’m here with the woman I love. I’ll never know if it’s because this woman makes me feel fearless.

But I can never thank her enough for what she’s done here, for what she’s faced for me. This place holds demons for her, too. This was where she was attacked. This was where she found my almost lifeless body. This was where she soothed my sister after my sister murdered our father.

And somehow, she faced those demons for me, for us, for the possibility of the happy ever after neither of us thought we would ever have.

“Please say something, babe,” Sabrina says, wringing her hands together in front of her.

I don’t even know what to say. I grab one of her hands and squeeze it tightly. “Show me what else you did.”

Excited, and with a new pep in her step, she leads me upstairs, waiting patiently each time I start to struggle or falter.

The first room I notice is my old one. There’s a bed in there now, which is something I didn’t think I’d ever see after I gave mine to Cason. It’s been years since this has looked like a normal room. Cason’s room has been turned into something of a guest room, and I can barely breathe, registering all the work this must have taken. And the money.

She leads me to Dalis’s old bedroom next. There isn’t much to be seen here, because it’s been painted white, all the furniture has been removed, and a single rocking chair sits in the corner. I turn to face her, and she smiles tentatively.

“I figured this could be the baby’s nursery. If you decide you’d like to live here,” she says.

I nod, taking it all in.

Finally, the last bedroom we approach is my parents’ old bedroom. There’s a California King in the center of the room, clearly new. The bedroom set that was once my mother’s is still here, repurposed and looking as good as new. On the table beside the bed is a picture, one I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

I grab the frame from it’s spot atop the table, staring down at it.

It’s my mother. Her hair is long, falling backward as she laughs, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen lighting up her face. She holds a baby in her hands, high above her, and she’s looking up at the baby with an expression only a mother’s love can give. She looks so young, and I choke up a bit, realizing how much Dalis really does look like her. I can’t tell who the baby is. I don’t know if it’s me, or Cason, or Dalis. As babies, we were pretty much identical. So I do the only sensible thing in a moment like this.

I open the back of the frame, pulling the picture out. It was my mother’s habit, writing on the back of pictures. Usually, there was a beautiful quote or inscription, and when I flip the picture over, clear as day, is her writing.

Home is where Mommy is.

Larissa, 17

Brody, 6 months

I can’t breathe. The weight of the emotions that course through me are so powerful, I can barely stand. I let myself fall onto the bed, elbows resting on my knees, holding the picture in my hands as I continue to stare down at it.

“You don’t have to answer right now, Brody. I know this is sudden, and this probably isn’t what you expected,” Sabrina says quietly. “But I want you to know the option is here, if you choose to take it. And if you choose not to, we can always sell. I would understand completely, you know that.”

I nod, opening my arms for her, and she comes. I wrap her up, and I hold her like I’ve never held anyone before.

…

THIS IS OUR LAST STOP before we head back to the apartment. I couldn’t help myself. After Sabrina’s surprise, I knew I had to come here. And once I told her what I wanted to do, she didn’t object. She was more than happy to accompany me here.

True to my promise, I bring her flowers: lilies, with a few snapdragons. I know if she was here, she would love them.

I spread a blanket out for Sabrina to sit on, because I know we’re likely going to be here for a little while. I kneel before her, raising my hand to trace the letters on her headstone.

Larissa Greer Durham

She is an object of beauty and strength. -Henry Van Dyke

Sabrina smiles at me from her spot on her blanket, watching as I remember my mother with a heavy weight in my heart once more. I’ve never done this with an audience, not even with Dalis or Cason. But Sabrina is a different story entirely. She has seen me at my worst and she has seen me at my best. I don’t mind sharing this experience with her.

I hand the flowers to Sabrina to hold, and she carefully takes them out of their wrapping. I prep the silver cup by filling it with water before sticking it back in the ground. When I turn to her, she hands the flowers to me, and I gently place them inside the cup. I fall back onto my heels, getting myself comfortable.

I am about to speak, readying my words for what I need to say to my mother, but Sabrina beats me to it.

“Hello, Mrs. Durham,” she says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I wanted to thank you for everything. Thank you for bringing me Brody. Thank you for raising him to be such a wonderful man. I will never be able to thank you enough, but I’ll cherish you always, because you’re responsible for raising the man who changed my life forever.” She leans forward, kneeling beside me as she kisses her fingertips and presses them to my mother’s headstone. “We love you. And we wish you were here, always.”

I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath until Sabrina nods at me, giving me the go-ahead to speak.

“Hi, Mom. I miss you every single day. Today, I married the woman of my dreams. You were right. She’s everything I ever could have hoped for, and so much more. I know this probably isn’t the life you planned for me, married and expecting a baby right out of high school. But I can promise you that this is more than I deserve, and I’m not going to take a single moment of our life together for granted. I have never felt more whole in my life. And it’s because of you. It’s because you told me, once upon a time, that the right girl was worth waiting for. Because you told me never to fall in love with someone who doesn’t care what my favorite song is.” I laugh a bit, and I shake my head. “Sabrina cares. She knows that, and so much more. Thank you for everything. I love you so much, Mom.”

I press my fingers to her stone once again, but my mother and I, we have unfinished business.

As soon as Sabrina and I finished our first dance as a married couple, Mama Quinn presented me with the letter that Mom wrote for me. I figured now is as good a time as any to read it. So I take the letter from my wife, slide my finger under the flap, pull the letter out, and read.

To my son on his wedding day,

Congratulations are in order, baby boy.

You’re not my baby boy anymore. You are a man, a man who is about to start his own life, and his own family. Soon, your poor old Mom will be second to your wife, to your future children. And that’s okay. I know you won’t forget me.