Protecting Her(112)

“Garret, good luck with your science test tomorrow,” Charles says.

“Yeah, bye,” Garret mumbles.

Garret loves Charles, but tonight he’s not being very friendly to him. I don’t think it has anything to do with Charles. It’s because of me. Garret is still upset that I didn’t hear him when he told me there was no swim practice tomorrow. From his mood right now, I’m guessing he talked to me all through dinner and is just realizing now that I didn’t hear a word he said.

I can’t be this way. Garret needs me. He’s still grieving the loss of his mother, just like I am. And I haven’t been here for him. I’m too trapped in my own grief.

The room is silent, except for the sound of his fork lightly scraping against his plate as he pushes his potatoes around but doesn’t eat them. I need to say something to him, but I have nothing to say. I never know what to say to him anymore.

“So you have a science test tomorrow?” I ask, remembering what Charles said.

Garret sets his fork down and says quietly, “I told you that ten minutes ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“You never do,” he says under his breath. He slides off the stool. “I’m going up to my room.”

His plate looks like it hasn’t been touched. He couldn’t have eaten more than a couple bites.

“Don’t you want to finish your dinner?” I ask as he walks away.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbles. I hear him go up the stairs and his bedroom door close.

I get up and take our plates to the sink. My plate is almost as full as Garret’s. Neither one of us has been able to eat much since the plane crash. I scrape the food into the drain in the sink and run the garbage disposal. Then I put the plates in the dishwasher.

A memory flashes in my head of Rachel standing here at the sink. I’d always come up behind her and wrap my arms around her and kiss her neck. She’d tell me to stop distracting her while she’s trying to clean up dinner, but then she’d turn around, a big smile on her face, and she’d kiss me and tell me she loves me.

God, I miss her. I miss her so much. I miss everything about her. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she danced whenever a song she liked came on the radio. The way she snuggled up next to me on movie night. The way she hugged me. The way she touched me. The way she looked at me.

The way she loved me.

I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, my body trembling as I sob. I haven’t cried about her for weeks, but the memory of her here at this sink is so vivid, so real, that I’m suddenly overwhelmed with grief, unable to hold back the tears.

Why did this have to happen? Why? Why did I tell her to get on that plane? Why did I force her to stay behind? Why did I agree to go to that meeting? If I’d just said no, I would’ve been there with her. We would’ve had our anniversary dinner. We would’ve taken the later flight. She wouldn’t have been on that plane. We’d be together right now.

“Dad?” I hear Garret’s voice behind me, quiet and hesitant.

“Garret, go away.” I’m still gripping the sink, my head hung over it, my face soaked with tears. I take a breath, but it’s shaky and I know Garret hears it.

“Dad.” I feel his small hand on my back. “Are you okay?”

“I said go away!” I scream it. “Get out of here! Go to your room!”

His hand drops from my back and I hear him slowly walk away. I turn around and see him leaving the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his head dropped down.

I should be racing after him, holding him, listening to him, helping him get through this. But I can’t. I can’t even help myself, so how can I help him?

I hate myself right now, and the person I’m becoming. I feel like I’m reverting back to how I used to be and I can’t seem to stop it. I’m not just becoming a bad father. I’m becoming a bad person.

Now that Jack’s gone, I have nobody to talk to when I feel my dark side taking over. So when it does, I feel like I can’t control it, so I let it take over and don’t bother fighting it. I know I’m stronger than that. I know I can fight it, but part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wants to embrace that side of myself, and release some of the pent-up rage I’m feeling over all that I’ve lost.

And that’s exactly what I did a few weeks ago. A kill assignment was given to me, and instead of hiring a freelancer, I did it myself. We aren’t supposed to do that anymore. It’s too risky. They don’t want our members getting caught. But I did it anyway.