Reading Candy’s note again, I feel a tear slide down my cheek. It’s not from sadness, not really. And it’s not because I wish she’d given me this card because she didn’t. Sure, she gave me cards on my birthday, but she never wrote anything like that on mine. It’s because I realize that she—they—were right.
I didn’t consider how anyone else took his loss. Okay, that’s not true. I know everyone adored Chris. What I’m trying to say is––I didn’t think anyone took his death as hard as I did. Twins, you know. But after reading this card again, I think I was wrong.
IknowI was wrong.
Candy loved him just as much as I did.
Which means the things my sisters were saying the other day––as hard as this is to admit—they were true.
Even though the way they delivered the message was harsh, I get why they did it that way. Out of frustration.
Closing the book, I hold the card over my heart. Placing both hands on top, I lie back onto my pillow and cry.
And cry.
Because the realization that I’ve been a shitty sister and an even worse daughter hits me hard. Not only that, but I’ve not been part of this family for years. Not really. I’ve done my best to avoid spending time with them unless Mom demands my attendance, essentially forcing my hand.
Sniffling, I wipe off my face with my blanket and sigh. “God. I suck.”
The question is, what do I do about it now?
What if it’s too late?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Uncomfortable Silence
Sam
It’s been a few days since her sisters used me to get to her place. Believe me when I say I was hesitant to let them walk through my place to get to hers, but they seemed really concerned. Colette wasn’t answering their calls or text messages. I was worried, too, since I hadn’t seen her since the day she went to the laundromat. I’d heard her come home late that night so I knew she was around. I waited until morning to knock on her door, but she didn’t answer. I assumed she was still asleep. So, I tried again after work, but still no answer.
Each day, I tried once or twice, but she wouldn’t answer her door even though I knew she was home thanks to her car in the driveway and the sounds coming from her place. Our adjoining wall is thin, so I know when she’s moving about. Also, when she’s in the shower. Whenever that happens, I’ve got to find something constructive to do so I don’t spend that time imagining her wet and naked.
Enough is enough, though. A week has passed. It’s time.
I considered going to her back door, but since I don’t know what’s happening with her, I figured the front door is the safest. Knocking, I stand still, leaning in a little to listen at her door. I’m positive she’s home. I heard her moving about in there a few minutes ago. I wait several minutes then knock.
Finally, I hear the lock disengage, then I watch as the door opens slowly. Light floods over her from behind me. She looks tired. And like she’s been crying.
“Baby girl?” I ask. I hear my voice crack a little bit because the sight of her breaks my heart. “What’s the matter?” God, I want to pull the door open and reach for her so I can pull her in for a hug. When she sniffles then shrugs, that’s it.
Pulling open her screen door, I step in and do exactly what I just said I wanted to do. I wrap her up in my arms and pull her tight against me. When she sniffles into my chest, I kiss the top of her head and say, “I’ve got you, beautiful. I’ve got you.”
I’m not sure why, but the minute I say those words, her sniffles turn into sobs. Loud, body-shaking sobs. “Honey?” I run my hands over her hair then down to her lower back, then up again. “What’s the matter?”
“Every…” she hiccups “thing.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
And while, historically, I’ve not been the best boyfriend or husband when it comes to listening and things of that nature, I want to be for her.
When I feel her arms wrap around my middle, that’s when I know, I did the right thing. “Colette?” I ask again. “Do you want talk?”
Her head moves up and down against my chest. I peek into her living room and can’t help noting, it looks like a bomb went off in the place. “You want to come to my place?”
“Yeah.”
Bending, I reach down and slide my hands beneath her knees and lift. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to carry her. All I know is she seemed to need it.
