Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

“I see.” She was still talking slowly, but now her eyes were squinted. This was Bailey’s favorite type of conversation—masking seriousness with sarcasm. She and her mother were good at this. “Sorry, I don’t see. Explain.”

“He hurt me. For every step forward, he knocked me back two. When I thought we’d passed some hurdle, I was reminded swiftly that those hurdles weren’t going anywhere. I don’t think . . . there will ever be a time when we can move past Jess’ death. And how could we? I mean, it’s ridiculous to even think it could be possible.” She shook her head. When she actually said it out loud, it truly was ridiculous. “You don’t fall in love with the person responsible for your greatest loss. And God help you if you do.”

Her mother was still nodding, but the sarcasm was gone from her expression. It was gone from Bailey’s too. That was until a gaggle of waiters showed up with cake singing the country western version of “Happy Birthday”—which was pretty much like the regular version with a few knee slaps tossed in and a yeehaw or two for effect.

“Gee, Mom, you shouldn’t have.” She forced a smile to her lips, which was remarkably easy given the cheesy, excited look on her mother’s face. “Like you really, really should never ever do this to me again.” She kept smiling, and her mother laughed, slapping her own leg.

“Oh, how I love to humiliate my daughter. I love you, Bay. And if Darren can’t figure out how to love you even with all the baggage, then you’re better off without him.” She was serious when she said that, and the level of cliché had Bailey smirking.

“Is it like a subsidy or something that the government gives parents to say things like that? I mean, are you literally required to say I’m better off without him or you lose your social security?” She was back to sarcasm, and it felt damn good.

Her mom started giggling, and before long, Bailey had joined her. She was twenty-eight years old; she’d spent five years of her life in prison for vehicular homicide in the death of her best friend; the man she loved was a threat to her emotional well-being; her PO hated her guts because he thought her nose was dirty or she had cocaine up her butt; and she was sitting in a Memphis barbecue pit giggling like a fool with her beautiful, broke mother. Life couldn’t be better. Of course that was a lie. It could be better. But certain things were possible, and other things were not. This life was possible, and she was starting to think . . . livable. She could get over him. She had to. Jess would want her to be happy, and she finally believed Darren would want her to be happy too—even if he didn’t know how to give that to her. She was going to be happy.

* * *

The shift was never ending. She was absolutely never going to work a double shift again. It was almost five thirty in the morning, and she was dragging. She had to make it until seven. How the hell was she going to make it until seven? Coffee. Coffee was the only way.

Naturally, the coffee in the pot smelled burned, and she wasn’t about to torture herself with burned coffee when she could make fresh. She rubbed her eyes and yawned as she dropped the pre-filled filter into the basket, and then she held her head in her hands as she listened to it percolate. Her eyes were swimming in a dizzy pool of sleepiness, and she nearly fell asleep holding her head as she propped her elbows on the counter, but then the bells on the door jangled. Time to wake up and be a waitress.

She yawned again as she stumbled out the kitchen door to the dining room. All she could think about was her bed. And on a giant yawn she opened her eyes. Two cops stood before her. They looked stern, intimidating. Her brain started running through her past week. Had she seen her PO? Had she ignored any messages from him? She hadn’t.

“Are you Bailey Trent?” She felt pale and weak. What the hell had she done wrong?

“Yes.” One of the cops read off her address, confirming that in fact they had the correct Bailey Trent. She was freaking out more with every second. No one was holding handcuffs, so she thought that was at least a good sign, but seeing as she was the only criminal she knew and two cops were looking for her, she wasn’t holding out hope this was just a pleasure visit.

“Ms. Trent, we need to speak with you about something very serious.”

“Why? I just talked to my PO two days ago. I’ve been checking in with him constantly; you can ask him. I have his card in my purse. I don’t . . . I mean he even does home visits and searches, and he’s not found anything. I swear, I haven’t done—”

“Ms. Trent, it’s about your mother. There’s been a car accident. I’m afraid she didn’t survive.” She listened to every ounce of air in her lungs leave her. It was expelled in a slow whoosh as she sank onto one of the counter stools. Her ears started buzzing, and her brain was coursing with electric pulses that she could hear vibrating in her ears. Her world was slowing, threatening to fall from its axis into a void. And then her world stopped. It turned to blackness, and she felt her body slipping off the stool to the grimy linoleum floor.

He was trying to drive the speed limit, but it was admittedly hard—even given the reason for his trip. He’d left in a hurry, and poor Macy watched in utter confusion as he rushed her through her potty time and then ran out on her.

He hadn’t found out the right way. Not that there was a right way, but hearing the bad news from the town dickhead in the middle of the cereal aisle at the supermarket was most definitely the wrong way. “Hear ’bout Bailey Trent’s mom? Got herself dead in a car accident this morning. Looks like Bailey finally got what she deserved, huh?”

His gut reaction had been to slam Tim Blotke into the shelves next to them, and that was exactly what he did. He didn’t even have time to fully process what the asshole had told him. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him into the shelves as cereal boxes were jostled and tipped over. “What the fuck did you say?”

“Fuck, dude, get off me! What the fuck! Thought you’d be happy, Doc. Jesus!”

He was panting as he glared at Tim. Tim was as much an asshole now as he’d been in high school, and Darren hated him as much now as he did then. “Sorry.” He muttered it under his breath. He wasn’t at all sorry. “What . . . what are you talking about?” He was trying to be calm, but the words were starting to sink in, and all he could think about was Bailey.

“I was dropping off a flower order at Jepson’s Funeral Home, and Bill Jepson was on the phone with some hospital in Memphis talkin’ ’bout body transferrin’ and shit. When he got off the phone, I asked. Celia Trent died in a car accident this morning in Memphis. Make no mistake. ’Parently, Bailey ain’t got no money to have the body sent back, so Bill’s tryin’ to figure out what he can do. Like I’s sayin’, bitch’s finally getting what she deserves.”

He had no more patience the second time Tim said it than the first, and this time Tim ended up on the floor under a pile of cereal boxes. Now it was three hours later, and he was trying to get himself to Baptist Hospital in Memphis in one piece. He wasn’t even sure she’d be there, but he didn’t have anything else to go on. He’d managed to get the name of the hospital from Bill Jepson, and he knew Celia’s body couldn’t be transported until the following day due to the autopsy schedule. Jepson was curious, if nothing else. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know their history. Hell, he’d handled Jess’ funeral arrangements six years ago.

 Darren wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was doing. He only knew where he needed to be, and he hoped like hell she’d be okay with him showing up unannounced. The hospital was a busy place, and after asking an information desk attendant and two different nurses for directions, he managed to find his way to the morgue—far quieter than the rest of the building.

She was sitting on a bank of chairs in the hallway in a stupor. Her eyes stared at the floor in front of her, seeing nothing. He stood thirty feet down the hall just watching her for what had to be five minutes. She was sitting in a drab, yellow dress and orthopedic shoes. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she looked entirely too pale. She held a Kleenex knotted in her hands, but there were no tears. He knew that feeling well. He’d been in her place once. He’d felt just how numbingly devastated a person could get, and he remembered it like a bad dream.

A person could be in so much pain they felt nothing but the absence of everything. They hurt, and yet they couldn’t get a grasp on the pain enough to actually truly feel it. That was by far the most anguishing human emotion in the world. At least from his perspective. He watched her, knowing just how she felt, and he felt it. He felt every stab of it as if it belonged to him. He was so responsible for her at this point whether he’d ever intended to be or not. He most definitely wanted to be.

When he finally moved toward her, she glanced up at him. Her lips started to quiver, and her fingers clenched tight in her lap, and she let out a quiet cry. His throat was suddenly constricting, and he couldn’t swallow. He sat next to her, wrapped an arm around her, and she sank into his side. He said nothing to her, and she didn’t attempt to speak to him, either. They just sat silently, and he held her.

She finally took a deep breath. “Why did you come?”

He ignored her question. “You know what one of the hardest parts of losing Jess was?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Not having you there to support me when I needed you. I’d like to think you need me as much as I’ve always needed you.” She looked up to him, her large blue eyes glistening. “I think it’s why the past six years have been such a disaster. I don’t cope very well with life when I don’t have you in it. Admittedly, I’ve struggled to figure out your place in my life since Jess died.”

They returned to silence for a while, and he went back to holding her. When she spoke again, it pulled him out of a trance. “Do you think I deserve this?”

He turned to her quickly, holding her cheeks in his hands. He studied her eyes. There was a time when he’d have crucified her with this question. God, how things had changed for him. “No. No.” He shook his head as her eyes teared. “I don’t think life works that way. Things just happen.” He trailed off as he shook his head. “No.” He studied her. She looked pale and weak, and he was crumbling. “Let me take you home.” She sat quietly for a long time before finally nodding, and he helped her stand.

They walked slowly through the hospital, and once away from the morgue, the chatter and busy commotion picked up. They were like two people walking in slow motion as the world sped by them. Bailey looked two seconds from collapsing, and he supported her weight with an arm around her. He didn’t want to stop touching her. He’d been deprived of the feel of her skin for six weeks, and he just wasn’t ready to give it up yet, but when he helped her slide into his passenger seat, he finally loosened his hold on her. She looked up at him with her glassy, beautiful eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Bailey.” He meant it. He’d take it all away if he could. He’d endure it for her if it was possible. He hated her pain, and there wasn’t a single ounce of him that thought she deserved this. She nodded, and he leaned to her mouth. He stalled for a second, unsure if this was what she’d want, but then he decided he needed to find out. He kissed her mouth, and when he pulled back, she reached up to his lips, running her thumb across his bottom one. He kissed her again.

“I’m so tired.”

He stroked her cheek, and he pulled her seatbelt across her lap, buckling her in.

“When I said let me take you home, I meant my home.”

Her barely open eyes widened at that, and she forced herself to sit up straighter.

“No! I have to be here. She’s here, and I have to be too.” Her voice was lurching, and she was coming apart in a panic.

“No. Your mom is being transferred to Jepson’s tomorrow afternoon. We’ll discuss the burial with Bill then.”

“No. I was going to have her cremated here. I couldn’t. . .” She broke down into sobs. It was guilt. He didn’t need her to say she couldn’t afford to bury her mom because he already knew that, and he wasn’t going to force her to say it, either.

He shushed her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s taken care of.” He held her face in his hands again, and he studied her eyes until he was sure she understood him. “She’ll be buried next to your father.” Her sobs started again, but these weren’t guilt. It was relief, and it was the best he could hope for under the circumstances.