Instead of You(12)

“Sweetheart, we’ll probably never really know why,” my mother said, reaching out for my hand. I let her take it, but I didn’t want to be touched. Anger and fear were coursing through me, making my skin feel as if it were electric. I was practically shaking with energy. “Mark and Cory both died, as well as the employee. The robber took the money from the register and ran. The police are looking for him, but odds are, when they find him, he’s not going to tell us why he killed them. I’m sorry.” She wiped her cheeks again, then took a breath to continue. “He’s probably a man down on his luck, and didn’t intend to shoot anyone.”

“Don’t make excuses for a murderer, Lucia.” Another first. I’d heard my parents fight before, get into arguments, but I’d never heard my father talk to my mother as though he thought she were stupid. As though he thought her words were careless and insulting.

“I’m not making excuses, Edward,” my mother replied, obviously trying to remain calm. “I’m trying to make sense of a senseless act. I’m trying to come to terms with something that has no rhyme or reason. I simply can’t believe that someone woke up today and decided to kill three innocent people who have nothing whatsoever to do with him. I can’t live in a world like that.” The more words she spoke, the harder she cried. My father pushed away from the table and stood, walking into the living room with such purpose it was as if he thought walking away would make the situation less tense.

“If I’d have just picked up the cake from the bakery on the way home, both of them would still be alive.”

Her words silenced everyone, made the room stand still like a painting.

“Mom, you can’t think that way.” Hayes’s deep voice finally cut through all of us. He was still kneeling next to his mother, still rubbing his hand on her back, but she was sitting in her chair and looking at nothing in particular.

“It’s all I can think. Mark and Cory left the house and I know nothing after that. I don’t know if Mark knew what was happening until it was too late. I don’t know if either one of them died instantly, or if they lay on the floor in pain until they bled to death. I don’t know if my baby boy cried out for me. Was he scared? Was he hurting? Did he watch his father die before he slipped away?” She was becoming frantic and yet, she was the only one making any sense. “Did Mark see his son die? Did he try to protect him? Did he die panicking because he couldn’t save his son? I’ll never know the answer to all these questions. But one thing I know for sure is that it never would have happened if I’d just remembered to pick up my son’s birthday cake.”

The saddest part, the part that I knew would more than likely eat away at Mrs. Wallace for the rest of her life?

She was right.

It wasn’t her fault, and no one in their right mind would blame her, but I knew none of that mattered. Mrs. Wallace would blame herself and that was enough punishment—more, in fact.

“I think I’m going to go to bed. I don’t want this day to be over, but maybe if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up to find it’s all been a dream.”

Mrs. Wallace stood, didn’t say anything to anyone, and walked down the hall. We all watched her go, and when we heard her bedroom door close, we looked to each other again.

“She’s going to need a lot of support for the next couple days. Weeks even.” Mom wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. She might have even been talking to herself; thinking out loud.

“Hayes, is there anything you need from us right now?” Dad’s voice had calmed down, and I could tell he was trying to help Hayes in any way he could, trying to do anything to make his loss not seem so huge.

“I don’t think there’s anything else to do right now.” His eyes darted to me for just an instant and the sadness was almost painful to see. He looked back at my father, pulling his shoulders back as if he were trying to appear less broken than I imagined he was. “Nothing to do now until the coroner releases the bodies.”

“Right,” my father said. There was nothing he could say in response. It was a sentence a twenty-two-year-old man should never have to say about his brother, or his father, and certainly not both of them together. “We’ll be back tomorrow, late morning, to see how we can help.”

Hayes nodded, but said nothing more.

My mom and I stood to leave. We silently walked toward the door, but I couldn’t just leave. I couldn’t just walk away from Hayes like that. His mom in the other room, the only person left in his family alive losing her mind. I couldn’t just leave him there thinking he was alone. So I turned, walked up to him, lifted onto my toes, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He didn’t move at first. I wondered, with my arms slung over his shoulders and my cheek pressed into his chest, if I’d made a mistake and misjudged what he needed from me in that moment. But then, slowly, his arms lifted, closed around my waist, and his cheek came to rest upon the crown of my head.

It was a strange moment. Strange because having his arms around me was comforting, but also confusing because having his arms around me felt like I’d gotten back something I thought I’d lost. I chalked it up to emotions, but let the embrace linger longer than it should have, not caring that my parents were probably watching.

“I don’t know how, Hayes,” I whispered, “but everything is going to be all right. Eventually.” When I pulled away, his eyes found mine, but he looked even sadder than before I’d touched him.