And despite everything, I know I’d give my damn last penny for her, if that’s the way to make her well.
***
The bedroom door remains firmly closed as I busy myself with the usual chores—cleaning up the accumulated filth in the trailer, doing the laundry in the laundromat down the road, trying to draw my mom into a conversation and maybe find out more about what the doctor said.
Useless. She says nothing more.
I order some pizza and end up putting most of it away in the fridge for later. Mom’s never had much of an appetite, but today it’s even less, and mine isn’t much better.
By late afternoon, the weather has turned to a drizzle, and it’s time for me to go.
Armed with the doctor’s name and phone number, I tell Mom goodbye—to which of course I get no reply—and march through the muddy park to reach my car. I start the engine and swallow hard.
What a fucking bad day.
By the time I pull out of the empty field that doubles up as parking lot and onto the interstate, I’ve managed to stop cursing.
The cemetery isn’t far. A few exits down. The scent of the lilies inside the pick-up is so strong it’s making my sinuses itch. I take the exit, the gears kinda sticking as I downshift. Frowning, I make my way to the gate and park.
It always hits me like a ton of bricks whenever I sit here, with my bunch of flowers, about to visit a girl long dead. The embodiment of my failure. The trigger of my downfall.
And listen to me whining. Fuck, she’s gone, she’s dead and buried, and I’m here feeling sorry for myself.
It’s still drizzling
, and my jacket ain’t stopping rain for shit, so I do what I always do in case of rain: I drop my cell phone into a Ziploc bag and put it back into my pocket. Not the first time my cell died because it got wet, and I can’t afford another right now.
Icons for text messages are flashing on the screen. I ignore them. Not now, dammit.
Let’s do this.
Sucking in a deep breath, I grab the flowers and climb out of the pick-up. I trudge down the familiar path, my feet moving of their own volition. They know the way, even when I’m lost inside my head, like now.
The grave is unremarkable, except for a faded doll sitting on top of the tomb, next to a bunch of dead lilies.
With a sigh, I take the dead flowers and place the fresh bunch in their place.
Then I turn my back to the tomb and slide down, resting against it, stretching out my legs in front of me and laying the dead flowers across my knees.
“Hey, Livvy.” I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Guess who’s here. The guy who promised he’d take care of you. The guy who failed you.”
I remember her running through the trailer park with my brother, giggling and yelling. Little terrors, both of them. And then they turned into teenagers and thought they could take on the world. They tried to do what I was doing.
One of them is now dead. Because I was a bad example. Because I didn’t look out for them as I should have.
The sky is darkening with nightfall and angry clouds. The light drizzle is turning into rain, and I let it run down my face, down my neck. I lick the raindrops off my lips, lacking the motivation to move.
Except I need to punch something. Break something. Punish something or someone, when the fault is mine.
For Livvy’s death. Raine’s anger. Mom’s sickness. For ruts that run so deep that no matter what you do, you can’t escape.
Holy shit. I really should get back before I do anything stupid.
I’m already drenched. Too late I pull up the hood of my jacket. A shiver wracks me as I make it to my feet and head back to my Chevy.
Fucking cold wet.
The weather suits my mood damn fine. I throw the dead flowers in the back seat and pull out onto the street. The headlights cut yellow cylinders in the dark and falling rain. The wipers swish back and forth as I re-enter the highway and step on the gas.