A dull thud goes off behind my ribs.It’s slow.Heavy.Sneaking up before the real hit.I feel it before I fully understand it.“How?”
“She ...they think it was cardiac-related or a head injury or—” He looks down for a moment, then back at me, steady but careful.“I don’t remember well.Her niece arrived this morning to settle things.”
Her niece?The words still aren’t making much sense as I try to process everything.They tumble around in my head like a gibberish language I’m supposed to understand but can’t translate.I do recall Mrs.Lafferty mentioning nieces a few times, but it had been years since she’d actually seen them.
There’d been distance there—something she never explained, something I never asked about because she constantly shifted the conversation toward everyone else’s life instead of her own.It was quite humorous to have a conversation about our families because we both deflected and ended up talking about music or other unrelated things.
She’d tried to help one of her nieces after she became a widow.I remember that.If I’m recalling it right, her husband’s passing came only a couple of years after Mr.Lafferty’s.
Mrs.Lafferty lost a lot, and I’m not sure how much that changed her.She never said it outright, but there was a quiet ache beneath the few stories she shared—little hints about wanting to fix things she couldn’t fix, wanting to be present for someone who wouldn’t let her.
Still, losing her doesn’t make sense.Her niece being here ...that’s another detail that shifts everything in a way I’m not ready for.
“So ...she’s really gone?”I say.The words leaving my mouth before I realize the question doesn’t make sense or maybe it’s just me being in denial.“The niece will settle things and ...”My mouth feels dry.“Fuck, I can’t believe Mrs.Lafferty is gone.”
Martin just nods.
The world lost a good one.She was the kind of neighbor who checked in when everyone else kept their heads down.She brought homemade cookies to your door when she sensed you needed them.For me, it usually happened after she caught me slouching around the hallways like a man who’d survived a week, determined to take him out at the knees.
She wasn’t perfect—nobody ever is—but she made people feel like they mattered.People like that, they shouldn’t just vanish.
I remember the time she told someone their plants looked “emotionally neglected,” then watered them herself for a month to get them back on track.That’s when she gave me that plant—the one I wasn’t supposed to kill.She said I needed to “talk to it.”Every time I went out of town, I’d hand it to her so she wouldn’t feel “emotionally neglected.”
I never thought I’d miss something so simple.
“She helped everyone,” I say, my voice barely audible.“She gave a shit about people ...the world’s already short on people like her.”
Martin’s voice goes low, measured.“We all are going to miss her.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.“I was gone,” I whisper.“I didn’t know.I wish—” I stop myself.Because I don’t know what the hell I’m wishing for.What can I wish for in a situation like this?
Martin steps a little closer, something in his expression tightening in a way I can’t quite place.“I ...it took me a couple of days to check on her.If I had ...”
Oh, there it is, guilt.I’ve seen it.I’m familiar with it.
“You couldn’t have known,” I interrupt, my words coming out automatically.
“She was alone,” he adds, quietly.“I should’ve checked on her daily.”
She always said that was her fault, being alone.She felt like she deserved it.Never explained why, though.That wasn’t right.No one deserves to be alone, not because of guilt.
I try to pull in a breath, but my lungs don’t cooperate—they flutter, catch, then stall like they’re waiting for permission I don’t know how to give.My thoughts spiral back, to those long therapy sessions where I finally understood that I pushed people away by choice.I wasn’t exiling myself, but I could’ve ended up there.
At some point, I had to admit to myself that my bandmates were the closest thing I ever had to a real family.Sure, they drove me fucking insane, but they were mine.
And now?Now I realize that even when I’m close, I still cut them off sometimes.It feels easier, but easier can fuck me over at times.
“Thank you for telling me,” I manage.
But even as I say the words, part of me already knows—things are going to change.And I’m not sure where to start or what to change.
He nods.
I go still, pulling in a few careful breaths.My lungs drag in air like they’re trying to cool something too close to burning.
Only when it settles—barely—do I move toward the elevator.
The ride up feels longer than usual.
