Like Gravity(23)

My weeks of nightmares had assured that the memories boiled just below the surface of my consciousness, and today I didn’t bother to push them under, as I would’ve on any other day. Instead I reveled in them, letting them wash over and consume me as I relived each horrifying detail of her death and its aftermath. When my eyes blurred and I could no longer see the road before me, I pulled over and finally allowed myself, just this once, to be weak.

I was never more grateful for Lexi’s self-absorption – she hadn’t even questioned my need for her car or asked where I was going. I’d never discussed my past with her though we’d met only months after my mother’s murder, when I’d moved across the country from California to live with my father. I couldn’t talk about her death, and Lexi hadn’t ever pushed me to.

I’d always loved her for that.

By the time I was able to pull myself together, night had fallen. Wiping the wetness from my tearstained cheeks and puffy eyes, I drove home on autopilot. I felt hollow, like a shell of my normal self. Everything inside me had been wrung out and all that remained was the jumble of skin and bones that looked and sounded like Brooklyn – the emptied husk I allowed the world to see.

As I wound through the hushed streets of my neighborhood, my headlights illuminating the growing darkness, my thoughts drifted to my mother’s killer. It was rare that I allowed myself to think about Ernest “Ernie” Skinner, inmate 91872-051 in San Quentin California State Prison, but tonight I was too emotionally drained to push the thoughts away. His face, the face that haunted my memories and filled my nightmares, had long been burned into my brain as a symbol of the life that had been ripped from me.

I still remembered his words from the day of the crash with startling clarity. How his bloodshot eyes, glazed over from the cocaine thrumming in his veins, had stared into my face as if memorizing every small feature.

I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you, you little shit. I was home free, they weren’t gonna catch me. You f*cked it all up! You made me crash.

A shudder passed through me as I saw myself at age six, trembling on the witness stand as I gave the testimony that condemned him – sealing his fate with a twenty-five year prison sentence and overturning his appeals for a lesser sentence. The hate blazing in his eyes as they led him away in chains and an orange jumpsuit was directed solely at me, as if he could incinerate me with the force of his glare alone.

Thankfully, he had ten more years to rot in prison. I didn’t let myself think about what might happen on the day he was finally released back into society.

I pulled into the driveway next to the old Victorian and tried to collect myself before going inside. Even Lexi, in all her egocentrism, would see through my facade of normalcy if I walked in with tear-glazed eyes and smeared mascara. Flipping down the overhead car mirror, I touched up my makeup and schooled my face into what I hoped would pass as my trademark mask of cool indifference.

It would have to do, for now.





Chapter Six


Almost-Moments



At some point during my shower, I’d decided that tequila was the best way to forget the crushing sadness and grief I’d been suffocating beneath all day. Hair wet and face scrubbed clean of all traces of my earlier tears, I hopped up on the kitchen counter and poured myself a shot. As it burned warmly down my throat, a nagging voice in the back of my mind suggested that alcohol wasn’t really the best way for me to deal with my multitude of issues. I quickly silenced that voice, throwing back two more shots in rapid succession.

When Lexi walked in several minutes later, I was feeling the best I had in weeks. I couldn't forget that today marked the fourteenth anniversary of my mother’s death – it was indelibly imprinted in my soul, ingrained in my DNA – but the tequila helped to dull the pain lancing through my chest and blur the edges of memories I didn’t want to see anymore.

“Ooh, we’re drinking!” Lexi exclaimed, swiping the tequila from my grasp and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Give it back, Lex,” I said, reaching out a hand. “I need it more than you do,” I added, muttering under my breath as I reclaimed the bottle and poured a fourth serving for myself. Lexi cheered in support as I threw back the shot.

“What’s this, by the way?” I asked, the tequila burning in my throat as I picked up the sheet of paper lying on the countertop next to me. It was an invoice for E.S. Electric, an electrician based in Charlottesville, according to the document. I wasn’t aware that we’d needed any rewiring done, and I sure as hell hadn’t requested it.

“Oh, this guy came by today,” Lexi said, snatching the bottle back from me and taking another gulp. “Our landlord sent him. He said he had to fix our wiring or something. Don’t even ask me what he did – I don’t speak engineer.”

“Electrician,” I corrected.

“Whatever!” Lexi rolled her eyes.

“Wait, our landlord sent him? The same landlord we had to practically take to court when our toilet broke, because he was so unwilling to fix it? The very guy who didn’t seem to care that the locks on our doors and windows didn’t lock when we first moved in?” I stared at her in shock. “Are you trying to tell me that he voluntarily fixed something and we didn’t even have to complain about it for six months first? And he paid for it, too?”