Best of 2017

The blood.

I run my hands down my shirt as I wipe away the memory, but there’s no point.

The visions tear at my soul. I’m holding my father’s note. His last words. It grows heavy in my hand.

The note that brings it all back. That makes me remember.

A suicide note.

With a shaky hand, I force myself to read his last words.

I’m so sorry, Laura. My intentions were never to harm you. I don’t want to bring you pain. I don’t want you to be ashamed of what I’ve done. Sometimes I think this will pass. That I will get through this, and you’ll look at me like the husband you were once proud of. But now I know I have failed you too many times. I have failed our family. This is the only way out, the only way I can stop the pain I’m causing you. You were right. Everything you said was right. I failed you. I failed Eve. For that I’m truly and forever sorry. I hope you find the happiness you seek. This is the only way. I can’t stand the disappointment I see in your eyes.

Please don’t be sad, for I’m not worthy of your tears.

Please forgive me, and what I’ve done to us.

This is the only way. I know how to make it all better now.

Tell Eve that Daddy will always protect her. Tell her I love her.

My hand shakes. A sob breaks lose. Everything trembles. My body collapses forward. Every tiny shred of remaining strength breaks. What is this? What the hell is this? I have no idea what’s going on. No clue, but I can’t move. I can’t think. The world is shutting down. The walls are closing in. It feels as if I’m drowning. Ice-cold liquid fills my veins as I realize my entire life is a lie. Everything I know is wrong. Nothing makes sense.

Time stops. Everything ceases to be. Lying on the floor, I think of nothing but the betrayal. As the seconds turn to minutes and then hours, I realize I haven’t moved from my spot on the floor.

Nothing will ever make sense again, but in truth, it all makes sense. Every vague answer. Every sidestep. All to avoid this. But she won’t avoid it any longer. I need to know everything and she will tell me. I have that right. I deserve to know.

My anger fuels my body. I make my way out of Richard’s apartment and storm into hers. The hallway is quiet. No doubt she is curled up in her bed, hiding from the world. How nice it must be to hide from everything in your life.

“Mom?” She doesn’t answer, and I step farther into the room. “Mom. I’m talking to you.”

“I’m not well. Can we speak after my nap?”

“No. You will speak to me now!” With that her head rises from her pillow.

“What is this about?” She seems more alert than normal, but when I lift the paper into her line of vision she flinches, and the look in her eye fades as she shrinks back into herself.

“I’m dizzy. Can we talk about this later?”

“No, Mom. I deserve answers. How could you not tell me? How could you keep this from me? How could Richard?”

“I had to. We had to.” Her voice is so sad. She’s broken.

“I–I don’t understand.”

“I don’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I have the energy to tell it.”

“Please, Mom,” I plead and she finally relents.

“You were so young. We lived a good life. Your-your father was a good man. It was my fault. Everything is my fault.” She starts to sob uncontrollably. I don’t know how to help her. Her tears break out like a river. Never stopping. Always flowing.

“I don’t understand.”

“I said things. Bad things,” she whispers.

“Mom, please. I think you owe it to me to tell me the full story. What happened? And no more saying you’re sick. No more hiding. No more lying.”

“I told him he was a loser. That he wasn’t good enough for us. That if he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t provide for us we were better off without him.”

“But how is that your fault?” She looks down.

“What else did you say, Mom?”

“I-I . . . Don’t make me say it.”

“Please.”

“I told him we’d be better off if he was dead. I didn’t mean it. Oh, God. Oh, God. It’s entirely my fault. Everything is my fault.” I crawl into bed with her. Hold her in my arms. Tears seep through my blouse. They’re coming from my own eyes. I cry and I cry until I have no tears left to shed. When they finally dry, I turn to her.

“But why? Why did you lie to me?”

“I can’t.”

“You have to, Mom. For the first time since Dad died, put me first. I need to know everything. Tell me everything.”

I wait for her to wipe her own tears and then she looks at me. There is so much sadness. So much remorse. “When we found you—”

“We?”

“Yes, Richard came over to discuss finances with your father. You see, we were bankrupt. Your father was always a dreamer. One scheme after the other, each one riskier than the last. The bigger the risk—”

“The bigger the reward.” I nod.

“I had no idea we were financially destroyed until I overheard him begging Richard to come over and help him. I stormed into the room after he hung up the phone and he came clean. We had lost everything. When I found out, I flew off the handle, screaming and yelling at him.

The last investment was a property in South America. The developer was supposed to build a hotel. He was assured it was a sure thing. When he first told me about his new project, I begged him not to do it, but the return on the investment was supposed to be incredible. He couldn’t say no.

I’m so ashamed of myself. It’s my fault he did it. I didn’t hear the gunshot. I left you in the house with him. I needed air. I threatened to leave him, to take you. I-I . . .” She starts to tremble. “I didn’t . . . ”

“Please, Mom,” I plead to hear the rest. To know about those fateful minutes before my dad took his own life.

“When I pulled into the driveway, Richard was outside knocking. No one was home, he said. But I knew that wasn’t true. I left you with your dad. He was out of his mind when I left but I didn’t think. I didn’t. You were in your room watching a TV show, playing with a doll. I thought you’d be okay. I thought he would be okay. Oh, God . . . He could have hurt you. What kind of a mother leaves her child?” She swipes at her tears again.

“When Richard said that, I knew something was wrong. The TV was still playing when we walked through the house, but you weren’t there. We found you, and you were covered in blood, lying on him. I don’t know how long you were like that. B-but you wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t cry. You were catatonic.”

“But why, if I found him, why did you tell me it was an accident? What are you leaving out? What are you not telling me?”

“When we found you that way, we weren’t thinking straight, or at least I wasn’t. Richard brought us to my room. He took care of us. Th-then he called the cops. He didn’t tell me he took the note until much later. He knew we were in financial ruin, and with your father’s life insurance policy—although there was a stipulation allowing payout—he didn’t want to risk it. So, he took the note, and he said it was an accident. When you finally came out of your trance and started to speak again, it was as if you forgot. So we never told you.”

“But there was no accident.”

“No.”

“And Dad killed himself.”

“Because of me,” she says through sobs. I’m numb. I stand and walk toward the door. “You’re leaving me?”

The walls are closing in. I have to leave. I can’t stay here. I need to get out. Get far from this hell I’ve been thrust in. I know I will break, but not in front of her.

“But I need you—” she cries out. I’m already out the door.

It’s too much.

My heart crashes in my chest.

Too much information.

It’s as if my heart has been ripped out.

Too many lies.

I’m not okay.

My shoulders constrict

. All my muscles have become corded. I place my hand on my shoulder blades and massage.

Needles tingle down my arm.

I move about uncomfortably.

The panic is starting. Spreading through my veins like a poisonous venom suffocating me.

It’s all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

You can control your own fear.

Own it.

Inhale.

Exhale.

In. Out.

In. Out.

My chest is still pounding.

The truth has broken me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking or how far my feet have carried me. I fall to the ground. The tears come heavier now. My broken soul bleeds out all over the streets of New York. I sob for everything I thought I knew. I sob for my dad, who felt so desperate that he had no other choice. I sob for the pain and guilt my mother carried inside her, and I cry for a decision Richard shouldn’t have had to make.

From a haze, I lift my phone and reach out for help. For someone to help me. My fingers do the dialing. It rings and rings, but no one answers, and all I can do is sob harder. But then I hear a voice coming through the earpiece.

“Eve?”

But the sobs don’t stop. They only increase in tempo at the sound of the voice on the other side of the phone. “Shh. Please don’t cry. Are you hurt?” Still no words come out, only endless whimpers. “Please.” He pauses a beat. His breathing pulls me out of my haze. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know where I am,” I finally say. My voice is raspy from the strain.

“Are you home?”

“No.”

“Are you out?”

“Street.”

“Okay, you’re doing really well. Tell me the street. What street are you on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you look up? Can you see anything?”