Ким Карр - Mended

Everything is a jumbled mess in my head. I can’t look at my mother anymore because she’s right. I feel a need to flee from any more emotional conversation. I stand up and cross the room to the sliding doors, go out onto the deck, then across the wet lawn. The sprinklers are on, but I sprint across the yard and fall to my knees. Holding my head in my hands, I think of Nick taking us to every concert, instilling in us everything he knew about music, teaching me to drive in the Corvette he never drove anymore because it wasn’t a practical family car. He was my father, but over the years I’d forgotten all the good things.

“Xander!” The slight wind carries her shaky voice, but I can hear it. I can hear the worry and concern.

At first I don’t move. She calls to me again. I raise my head and see her wiping her tears, the tears I’m causing to fall, and I lift myself up. And in this moment of clarity, I realize I don’t give a shit who my biological father is. And I know with everything I am that I loved Nick Wilde and that I have to tell him. But before I go I have to tell my mother about the falsified sales reports—the reports that not only changed Nick’s life, but all of ours.

* * *

The memories that hit me as I enter Forest Lawn Cemetery are oddly not memories of the many times I’ve been here, but ones of the people it holds. All of my grandparents, both my mother’s and my father’s, are buried here, and of course so is my father, Nick. It’s an older place with large tombstones . . . some toppled, some crumbling with age, others new. It’s eerily quiet and I can hear the birds singing as they land on top of the marble and stone that line the rows.

It seems wrong to come here and not visit my grandparents. A young boy is selling cut flowers and I stop to purchase a wrap from him. I ask him what kind of flowers they are, and he says, “Today I have lilies, but tomorrow I’ll have wreaths with a mixture of flowers.” I just grin at his enthusiasm—an entrepreneur in the making.

The grass between the carved headstones leads to people I don’t know, but I read their names etched on the stones as I pass and scan their markers. Some of those buried here lived long, full lives. Some of their gravestones read, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER or BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. Others aren’t so descriptive, with just their date of birth followed by their date of death. Wilted bouquets of flowers lie below some of the gravestones and others have rosary beads draped around them. A far greater amount show no sign of visitation.

I stop at Nick’s parents’ graves first. Pulling two lilies from the stemmed flowers I’m holding, I place one on my grandmother’s grave and then another on my grandfather’s. Finding words has never been easy for me, but today my thoughts pour out and I thank them for loving me.

Once I’ve told them all I can handle right now, I stand and make my way down the path toward Nick’s grave. I think about him, about our life as a family, and about the turn his life took because of a man that hated him. Stopping in front of his headstone, I stare at it and silently recite the last words scripted on it: “A beloved son, husband, and father rests here where no shadows fall.” It’s a simple inscription but full of so much meaning. More now that I know the truth. I’ve never actually come here to visit him. I came with my grandparents to help take care of the area, I came with my mother when she needed to visit, but I’ve never come for me—just to talk to him.

I shuffle on my feet, feeling uncomfortable, and stand in front of the industrial gray marker. I run my fingers through my hair, then skim them over the smoothness of the stone. Glancing around, I’m surprised at how well tended the site is. My mother or Bell, or possibly even River, must still come here. I don’t know—I have never asked. I’ve carried this anger toward him deep inside myself for so long that once in a while I can douse it, but it has never gone away. I didn’t think I would ever get rid of it, but right now I don’t feel it anymore. The trees lining the cemetery sway back and forth as a slight wind ripples through the air. I inhale and let it out. I clear my throat and try to find my voice. This is so much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. I take another deep breath and sit down.

Dad,

My old man killed himself and left me to take care of the family. That was my “tagline” whenever anyone asked me about you. That basically summed up everything anyone needed to know about you as far as I was concerned. I hated you—not only for taking your life and leaving us, but also for leaving me feeling guilty in the wake of your death. I was never the same—our family, your family, we were never the same without you.

River and I said once if our life before you died was a puzzle, you took a piece of that puzzle with you—a piece that can never be returned. It took me until now to see that you were a product of the tolls life took on you . . . that you were a good man who had more than his share of obstacles thrown his way. But you and me—we shared a bond and I felt like you destroyed it when you took your life. I was mad at you a lot, but I was a teenager, you were the adult. You should have had faith that I loved you, no matter what. I mean, come on, you knew me better than anyone else—and I always wondered why. Was it because you wanted to make sure I was more like you than him? If so, I hope you are proud of me because I am proud to be so much more like you.

My view of the world has changed since your death, but I remember when I was young and naive and you taught me everything you could about music and helped me believe in the magic of the world. We looked for four-leaf clovers for hours and when we found one, you laminated it for me to preserve that small wonder. When I had questions, you answered them. You were always there for me.

Then after the funeral, that all changed. I lost my parent, my hero, and my teacher. I thought a lot about death and dying and who was to blame. In the end I blamed you rather than myself, but now standing here talking to you—I blame no one. I just wanted you to know that—I blame no one. And, Dad, know this—I love you.

That’s how I feel about him—finally I can accept him for him. I get to my feet and brush off the grass. Then I pick up the flower pack and pull the lilies out one by one and lay them on the ground. As I turn and walk away, birds sing and a bell tolls in the distance, but all I can think about is this man who I called Dad, even with all of his flaws—he was my dad and I loved him.

My eyes blink against the silvery glow of moonlight as I open the door. Her earrings glimmer and her shy smile makes it hard to breathe. I’d fallen asleep on the couch and the sound of the doorbell jolted me awake. I’m surprised to see her—why, I’m not sure. Maybe because I acted like an asshole, maybe because I feel like I should have taken her away from him. I haven’t had time to figure out where exactly my guilt is coming from, but as I stand before her I know it doesn’t matter.

We look at each other for the longest time until I notice her eyes tilt to my chest and I realize my shirt is unbuttoned. She’s staring at my skin, at my side, where the ROSES ARE SO CLICHÉ tattoo is inked—the tattoo I got for her because I knew I’d always love her. I know that not even what has happened the last few days can change that. She stands in the doorway before me, quiet and utterly gorgeous. She’s in a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt. She’s not wearing any makeup, not even her trademark red lipstick, and her hair is pulled back by some kind of band. My heart races at the sight of her and I let out a long breath.

“Ivy,” I manage as the love I feel for her whirls around and cocoons us.

Her cheeks flush at the sound of her own name.

“Xander, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” she asks in an impassioned voice.

I nod. But I don’t want to discuss Nick or Dylan any more today. After a beat, I ask, “Is everything all right? What are you doing here so late?”

She crosses her arms tightly over her stomach and grips her elbows. “I needed to see you. Make sure you were all right. Can we talk?”

My breath catches on the smallness of her voice—the uncertainty in it tears a hole through me. She holds my gaze, and my gut twists in a funny way. She inhales deeply and blurts out, “It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I left Damon. I never loved him. I only married him to protect you.”

“I know,” I whisper and close my eyes, standing silent for the longest time. It’s like my body turns to stone at the mere mention of his name. When I open my eyes and look at her, I let everything go and just pull her to me and hold her.

“I love you, Xander,” she cries.

“I know,” I whisper again, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s married to him. I swallow, trying to catch my breath and then pull away. I move aside and motion for her to come in. She reaches for me again, but I retreat and instead place my hand on the small of her back and guide her into the living room. This slight, seemingly intimate touch makes me come alive. I want to feel her skin all over mine, touch her, taste her, sink into her. I want to forget about the day and just get lost in her. But she’s married. We take the step down into the living room. My stuff is thrown on the coffee table and the pillows from the sofa are tossed on the floor. Normally I’d have an urge to pick up, but I really don’t give a shit right now. When my eyes shift from the floor to her, I see it—the innocence she possesses—and my guilt is back.

“I want to explain everything, Xander,” she says softly.

“I understand why you did what you did. You don’t have to explain.” I pause, then add, “Fuck, I just wish you hadn’t . . . After everything, I can’t believe you didn’t . . .” I stop as the words keep catching in my throat.

“Didn’t what?” she asks.

“You should have called me the minute he showed up. To be honest with you, I can’t even think about you with him without wanting to kill him.”

“I did call you, Xander. I did,” she cries. “But Amy answered and I hung up. Did you run to her the minute you got home?”

I whirl around to face her. “Fuck, no! Of course not. I didn’t even know you called.” I try to figure out how Amy would have answered and then I remember being over at River and Dahlia’s and leaving my phone on the counter. “I headed over to my brother’s to pick up some things and left my phone on the counter. She was there helping my mother get some food ready. That’s all.”

Alarm flashes across her face. “I believe you. I do. But I needed to talk to you then. Damon was threatening you and the band. I tried to reach you and she answered your phone and I had no idea what that meant. Before I knew it, he was whisking me off to get married. He told me if I didn’t do it he was going to tear you apart with lies—your life, your band, your family. He was on the phone with TMZ. He gave me five seconds to make my decision. I knew I’d regret not stopping him for the rest of my life—so I agreed to his terms—I had to appear happily married to him for six months. Once I said yes, we were married before I could even think twice about it. In hindsight that may not have been the best decision to make, but it seemed right at the time. Xander, I’m so sorry, but I hope you understand and forgive me.”

I sit a safe distance from her. “There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you felt was right. I may not agree with it, but I understand. I get it, but that doesn’t change anything right now. You’re still tied to him—not me—and I can’t stand it. I have to figure this out. You need to give me some time. I need to get a handle on how to proceed.” Looking at her, I want nothing more than to thread my fingers through her hair and pull her mouth to mine. But I can’t. I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t want to ask the question because there can be only one answer that will make us all right. Bending down, I cradle my head in my hands.

“Xander, talk to me,” she begs.

“I just need to know one thing right now.”

Her eyes search mine and she never lifts her gaze. “What do you want to know?”

I shift uncomfortably before I even ask the question. But I’m tired, beat, shot for the day, so I just ask, “Did you let him touch you while you were together on the bus?”

“No. No. No. No, Xander. I would never. Not after you and me. Not after what we finally had again. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”