Redemption(59)

Annie had to fight to stay outside that box—not because society would put her there, but because she would entomb herself. She would accept responsibility for what happened tonight, and she wouldn’t be able to wash the blood from her hands.

I prayed she would be strong enough to fight back the demons she’d worked so hard to conquer. I hoped the child she carried and the one growing inside me were more important than the darkness that I knew wanted to consume her.

The scene before me started to move, piece by piece. It took ages, but once the body was removed from the highway, the rest of the elements began to go, too. The silent movie played before me. The ambulance left without sirens. Eventually, the motorcycle was gone. Then the firetrucks. And finally, all but one state trooper had taken off. Nothing remained but his patrol car on the side of the highway and shards of plastic from the taillights that were once part of Gray’s Harley.

Brett moved to replace Dan who still held Annie. She appeared to have stopped crying, but her body visibly shook. I assumed she was in shock, but I didn’t know for sure. I’d sat here afraid to move for the duration of the events. When Dan arrived back at my side, he’d asked me if I thought I could drive Brett’s SUV back to the Ryann’s house, so neither vehicle was left on the side of the road. I nodded without saying a word and then moved to the front seat.

Moments later, Brett carried Annie to the SUV, and he slid in the back seat cradling her to his chest. I didn’t offer any condolences as I drove them to their house. As much as I’d wanted to go back to my own home, we didn’t leave our friends. I realized sitting in their living room, all three of them had lost either a friend, a coworker, or an old lover just hours earlier. They needed to be together. Annie collapsed on Brett as he held her stomach in protection. I could only imagine how he felt knowing a life had ended while one grew under his touch.

Dan and I left just after the sun came up. He’d offered to come inside when he dropped me off, but I wanted to be alone. The time for confession had passed, and I was exhausted. The idea of a hot shower before crawling into bed was the only thing that appealed to me. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I got the impression he needed time to himself as well. I’d relieved him of the obligation to protect me first.





17





Chapter Seventeen





I didn’t go to the funeral. Dan had asked, but it didn’t seem appropriate. I hadn’t known Gray, and Dan needed to grieve with his friends. He needed to say goodbye properly without me by his side. Had he insisted, I would have gone, but I got the impression he attended because he felt obligated. And Brett was only attending because there was no way in hell Annie wouldn’t. She’d been withdrawn since the accident, but I didn’t expect anything different. Brett assured Dan she was doing better than he’d anticipated, but they needed to get through today before she could start to move forward.

Dan and I weren’t far from closing on the house next door to Annie and Brett. Both of us had houses to pack, things to toss, others to put in storage, and today was the perfect day to do it. I was home alone and knew I wouldn’t hear from Dan or Annie until late this afternoon.

When I left Texas, I’d done so quickly, but I’d left the house I shared with Matt far faster. We’d received a cash offer on the house, and I took it without reservation. I was too raw at the time to deal with any of the things in the nursery. I’d barely made it through boxing them up. I’d only touched those boxes again to move. After the trial, when I rented my own apartment in Austin, still hopeful I’d find a teaching position the following year, I gave away the majority of the baby things—the swing, the crib, the pack and play. My son’s life remained in three boxes I had toted across the United States without opening.

The time had come to face this head on. I couldn’t move in with another man and hide these things. I had to go through them and let go of what little remained of my son. They were just things. Truthfully, I didn’t know for sure what was hidden inside the cardboard, but it couldn’t be much more than clothes and maybe a stuffed animal. He’d only been three months old when he passed away, and I hadn’t accumulated a lot of stuff for him.

I sat on the floor in front of the closet in the guest room with each of the boxes set before me. It wasn’t going to get any easier to open them, but diving into my past, assaulting my senses, was a difficult choice to make. I was tempted to just toss them all, but I knew I’d regret that at some point down the road. I had to man up.

My fingers trembled as I picked at the corner of the packing tape. When I’d pulled enough up to grasp it between my thumb and pointer finger, I ripped as hard as I could knowing it had to come off in one pull, or I’d quit. The tape dangled on the other side of the box as the two flaps slowly lifted themselves. Carefully, I opened the box, and just beyond the smell of cardboard lingered the scent of a newborn. The soft blues and greens hadn’t faded, and each article of clothing I brought out was followed by a memory of the last time I’d seen my son in it.

The tears ran down my cheeks, but instead of sadness, the memories brought a smile to my face. It wasn’t joy but a fond remembrance of the short time I’d had with such a beautiful spirit. Even at such an early age, he’d been easy-going. I was blessed with a child who almost never cried, slept through the night quickly, and cooed constantly. Everything about him had been perfection. What I wouldn’t give to kiss his tiny hands again, or snuggle his little body against my chest just one more time.