I know already, but I need Eight to finish the story. “What’d she do?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eight
“What’d she do?” Selkie asks.
I’d already thought the worst had happened, but I was wrong.
“She had Oscar and then, after she saw him through the baby stages, she took her life.” I choke as I try to hold back tears.
This is met with silence. Not horrified or sympathetic, just a quiet patience I didn’t know Selkie had, waiting for me to further bare my soul.
I focus my gaze on the wall across the room. “I came home one day, a police car with lights flashing was parked at the curb. The neighbor woman was standing on my doorstep, holding Oscar. Telling me that Chloe was dead.”
The memories are so vivid that my soul starts to splinter. I think I should end the story there, but Selkie has to know everything. She has to understand who I am. I need her to believe in me, trust me despite the blood on my hands.
“It wasn’t like she had this sudden urge; it was clear she had planned it. She left Oscar with the neighbor, went home, took a bottle of pills, and let herself die.” I take a shaky breath. “She left a note. It said, Take care of Oscar. Not sorry, not I love you. Nothing. After she was raped, I think she lost her ability to feel. I told myself she still loved me. Loved Oscar. I needed to believe that she forgave me.”
I turn my head so I can see Selkie’s face. It’s blank, thank god. I couldn’t handle soothing words or meaningless gestures.
“But I couldn’t convince myself. The guilt, the self-hatred, the bewilderment. All the could’ves, should’ves. I had known she was spiraling but didn’t insist she get counselling. I didn’t insist she file charges. All I wanted was for everything to go back to normal because I didn’t know how to handle anything else.”
I let out a deep sigh thinking about how I failed my wife. She was soft, gentle, maybe even a little naive despite growing up in care. She believed in me, depended on me and I let her down in every conceivable way.
Selkie gently touches my thigh, rests her hand on it.
“I was respectable back then,” I tell her. “Had a job, looked like what a decent husband and father should look like. Family Services offered their support but there was no talk of taking Oscar from me. They never called or came back and I never reached out to them. I was dead inside. I couldn’t reach out to anyone.”
Selkie makes an ‘mmm’ sound, not disapproving, but understanding.
“I went through the motions for about a year. Went to work, came home, slept or tried to. Rasheeda, the same neighbor who found Chloe after she took her life, looked after Oscar during the day. When I was home, I fed him and clothed him. Did all the things a parent is supposed to. He was a good kid, even back then, so I never felt overwhelmed. But I also didn’t give him the care and attention he needed.” I take Selkie’s hand from my thigh, kiss her knuckles, and let it drop into her lap. Her presence is reassuring but right now I can’t stand being touched.
“You have to understand, I was catatonic, consumed by guilt. I didn’t care about anything, couldn’t find it in me to love that kid. Not then.
“A year later, Hangman shows up. Roars up on his bike acting like he belonged to the neighborhood.” I chuckle at the memory. “I was drinkin’ heavily by then. Any friends I had were long gone. Most of them disappeared even before Chloe killed herself.”
“People are like that,” Selkie muses softly.
“Yeah,” I reply, knowing I would probably be like that. I think of Reaper who took my brother under his wing in prison, who showed for the funeral, who knew my past and still stuck around. He ultimately became the closest friend I have. He wasn’t like that.
“Anyway, Hangman practically busted down the door, wanted to know where Oscar was.
“I remember wanting to punch him for daring to show his face in my house. Irrational, yeah, because he did so much for Chloe and me, but he was also a reminder of the hell I was going through. The fact that he was the hero and I was such a loser made me crazy. I didn’t want him there. I started to tell him to get out but never got the chance because he grabbed me by the collar and slammed me into the wall. I’m askin’ where the fuckin’ kid is? he snarled.
“I couldn’t process why he was there. Worried he was going to take Oscar away from me. It made me wake up, realize how much Oscar mattered. I told him it was none of his fuckin’ business.
“He punched me hard enough I hit the floor. Kicked me a few times. Raised his boot like he was gonna stomp my head.
“Sleeping, I told him. In the bedroom.
“He picks me up and throws me onto the coffee table, so hard it splinters under my weight. I try to get up but he kicks me in the gut.
“Stay down, you prick, he said in a voice that scared the shit out of me. I was drunk, I was grieving and I was not a violent man. So I rolled away from him, but I fuckin’ stayed down.
“What do you want? I said or something like that.
“He says, You got a goddamn kid to look after. You’re lettin’ yourself slide into an alcoholic coma. You’re gonna lose the kid and how’s that gonna help your fucking dead wife?”
