The Redemption by S. L. Scott
Sadness surrounds me and I feel bad for not feeling worse.
I stand at the back, near a tree, separate from the families and friends that have gathered. I stay back here, away from the crowd, and watch her. She tries to hide her devastation and tears behind big sunglasses that she slipped down over her eyes minutes before.
Her hair is down, hanging over her shoulders and longer than I remember from the last time I saw her. It’s been too long since then. But even in the middle of a sea of black, she still stands out, strikingly beautiful and I’m drawn to her, wanting to be with her in ways I can’t.
With all of these people around, I’m finding it hard to swallow despite being outdoors. A lump formed in my throat earlier this week, making me wonder what caused it. Maybe guilt. Squeezing my hand tightly around the coin, I realize a tragedy has given me hope where none existed before. And despite one of my closest friends dying, an uncertain future, and the realization that with his death, my life has been forever changed, I can’t stop thinking about the woman he left behind.
The funeral was… it was what it was. Johnny and Holli drove me and the kids home. There were too many people staring at me, waiting for my breakdown. I needed the silence of the ride to be able to face the waiting mourners at my house, and they gave that to me. Just after we park, Johnny turns to me and says, “The Resistance is a family. We take care of one another. I’ll always be here for you, Rochelle.”
I nod, not sure I can speak under the weight of my emotions. I want today to become a distant memory sooner than I should. I don’t want to remember Cory’s death. I want to remember his life, his life with me, his life with our four-year-old. It’s a life that our newborn will never get to experience and the significance of that drags me under. I rush out of the car right before the first tear slips down, but I wipe it away before anybody can see.
But he sees.
Antonio Dexter Caggiano sees right through the facade I put on for everyone else, but doesn’t move from Neil’s side. He knows where he’s needed without me saying. They sit on the tire swing together, spinning slowly, talking, bonding in a way that seems almost abnormal for the man I’ve always known Dex to be. A magic trick reveals a pair of drumsticks and Dex hands them to Neil. My oldest son starts banging on the tire and up the chains, happily distracted from the sadness of the day.
Staring across the lawn—faded black jeans, long, shaggy hair, bandana back in place after we left the cemetery—I find the most unlikely ally on such a depressing day. He’s just here, silently supportive without asking anything of me.
Dex is kind to spend time with the boys. He has a playful smile on his face, and assuming from Neil’s laughter, which I hear echoing across the yard, Dex is also funny. He left his ego at home, an anomaly from every other day. He’s fascinating to watch. Kids are genuine in their emotions and Neil seems to like Dex.
Neil deserves laughter and fun, but he also deserves his father. I get up and move to the side of the yard where I plant my small garden each year. My tears water the lettuce that is just starting to grow. Cory planted that. I wanted strawberries.
I stomp on it. With both feet, I jump up and land down on the plant because he didn’t live to see it grow. “Damn you!” Picking it up, I rip it from the ground and throw it against the fence. “Damn you, Cory!”
A burning regret coats my insides as I panic and rush to pick it up. Through watery-vision, I drop to my knees and take it in hand, holding it to my chest. Suddenly strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into his lap. Dex’s body against mine feels so foreign and yet, like the only place safe for me to grieve.
The sobs break free, the ones that I’ve been holding back all day, and my body is wracked with every emotion that I don’t want anyone else to see. My breakdown feels like a failure. I should be the one to comfort others today. Pressing my head against his shoulder, the light hum in his chest is soothing. “He left me, Dex. He left me here all by myself to raise the boys on my own. I can’t do it.”
“You can. You will. I’ll be here for you.”
He’s the least expected person to find comfort in, but he’s the only one that feels right. I nod. My head is tucked under his chin while his fingers gently but firmly open my fisted hand. He takes the lettuce that is destroyed and sad, just like me, and says, “It’s gonna be okay. Maybe not for the lettuce, but you’re gonna be okay.”
We sit there a few minutes, the slight breeze feeling good against my hot face. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I will be okay. It’s hard to tell right now. With a deep breath and even heavier exhale, I look up into his eyes and all that he said is repeated in his expression. I get up and start walking to the backyard again. He follows, but he stops and plants the lettuce back into the garden, and says, “It’s worth a shot.”
“Yeah, it’s worth a shot.”
We come from around the corner and Dex goes inside without another word and I join Neil on the swing. No one’s the wiser that I almost fell apart, or that Dex held me together. My strength is back on display for everyone else. His bad boy reputation as the drummer for one of the biggest bands in the world is back intact.
Six months later…
It’s hot in here. I need fresh air; the crowded party is steamy from all the bodies crammed into the living room. Looking out at the pool area, it’s not any better. “I’m gonna walk around,” I say, leaving the safety of Johnny’s side.