Wood: A True Lover's Story

He rounded the corner with his head down, not thinking anyone would still be in the park so late, or that her family would’ve been by a lot earlier to see her on this day. But by the time he realized he wasn’t alone, it was too late. He recognized the man immediately. Even in the low dusk, he could see those damn sad green eyes. Eyes he remembered lasering into the back of his skull while he stood trial for his wife’s murder. Eyes that’d haunted him for many years before he broke down and got help, counseling. Wood pulled his collar up around his jaw trying to conceal himself. Maybe they’d think he was a groundsman. Besides, Mr. Dulenaka had a huge bouquet of beautiful white calla lilies and roses in his arms, and all Wood had was a trash bag in his hand.

“Excuse me,” Wood mumbled and kept walking.

“Coward,” the man said to his back, causing Wood’s steps to falter. “Even after all this time, you really think I don’t recognize you?”

Wood turned around and came back with his shoulders slumped. “I was just trying to give you your privacy, that’s all.”

“And avoid facing me,” the man said harshly.

“Daddy,” the young woman tucked under his arm whispered. “Who is this?”

“He’s no one. Why don’t you go wait in the car, honey, I’ll be right there.” He kissed his teenage-looking daughter on her forehead and waited until she was out of earshot. “A member from the parole board called and told me you’d gotten out. But I didn’t think you’d have the gall to show up here.”

“I’m sorry,” Wood said with his head down. He wanted to lift it, but he couldn’t. Damn, it’d been a long time since he’d felt like this. Completely worthless. Brody was right… he shouldn’t’ve done this alone. It was far harder than he could’ve ever imagined, and he hadn’t even gotten to speak to his ex. What if he blamed Wood too? What if his life was in shambles because of him?

“That’s why you came here? You’re trying to ease your guilty conscience.” The man laughed harshly. “Leave my wife’s grave. You’re not welcome here. If you come back, I’ll call your parole officer faster than you can mutter the word alcoholic.”

Wood clenched his jaw together to avoid arguing or trying to plead his case. This man deserved his anger, and his bitter words were more than justified. Look at what Wood had stolen from him. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a drawing of a woman standing in a field of wildflowers in a sundress with the breeze lifting one side of her long hair. He’d drawn it with a charcoal pencil, but he hoped she could envision the colors he saw when he thought of her. It would’ve been nice to buy some real flowers, but unfortunately he didn’t realize how much roses cost these days.

“Can I just… can I just leave this here? I drew it for her,” Wood said around the boulder lodged in his throat. He bent to place it on the ground, but Mr. Dulenaka stopped him.

“No. She wants nothing from you.” He glared up into Wood’s eyes, and he felt too meaningless to stare back. “She wanted to be a mom more than anything. To raise a little girl.” He rubbed his trembling hand over the top of the pale gray tombstone as he whispered brokenly. “You ruined our lives, Herschel Wood Jr. And now you get to go on and live yours as if nothing ever happened.”

Wood didn’t tell him how wrong he was.

“Go. If you have an ounce of decency left in you, leave now, please.” Mr. Dulenaka continued to caress his wife’s headstone as Wood crumbled the sketch in his hand and walked away.

He didn’t think he had enough energy to make it back to the bus stop, so he pulled out his cell phone. He hadn’t realized he had more tears on his cheeks until he scrubbed his hand up and down his face. He was completely numb all over, as if his body was shutting down on him. He needed help. He was about to call Bishop, but he didn’t want him to see him right now, not like this. Not so defeated. Brody either. He scrolled down his minimal list of contacts and pressed Trent’s name without thinking.

Trent had seemed upset when he left that morning, but Wood was sure he’d answer his call. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk on the darkening street and gaped at his phone screen as if he was in a daze. His hands shook so badly he barely managed to dial again after getting the automated voicemail a second time. Trent had to be off work by now, at home about to shower and eat dinner. He’d be so grateful if his roommate could come and give him a ride just this once, so he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts on the crowded bus for another hour. Wood got Trent’s voicemail again and decided to text him when one came through from Trent first.