“Cole, did you consider that maybe you’re just finding some healthy middle ground?”
I turn to look at her. She doesn’t appear mad or hurt. She just seems…calm. She sounds calm, too. Calm and practical.
“How can forgetting my dead daughter ever be healthy?”
“You’re not forgetting her. You’re sitting here talking about her. You went to the beach today to honor her memory. That’s not forgetting her. But Cole, I doubt it’s a healthy coping mechanism to imagine seeing and hearing her. Don’t you think that maybe this is the healthy way to grieve? To think of her, talk about her. Visit places she loved.”
I study Eden. Why am I angry right now? Is it because I feel like she’s trying to replace my daughter with her own? Or is it because she and Emmy are disrupting the delicate balance I had between living and grieving? Or am I just mad at myself?
Eden reaches for my hand, laces her fingers through mine. I jerk slightly, my first instinct to pull away because of what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. But she won’t let me. She just tightens her grip. Like she’s tightened her grip on me.
“She wouldn’t blame you for being happy, you know.”
And there it is.
The guilt.
This is what’s eating at me–guilt. The guilt of finding someone, of moving on when I had no intention of moving on. Of letting anything other than Charity be the focus of my life.
I pull away and stand, pacing to the other end of the living room. “You wouldn’t understand,” I tell her coldly. That’s how I feel–cold.
“I’ve never been through what you’ve been through, Cole, no, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand. She was your child. She would want you to be happy. She would never want you to sacrifice your life to somehow memorialize her. Accidents happen. Even if she were here, she wouldn’t blame you.”
“You don’t know that.” I don’t face her. I can’t.
“Yes, I do. She was a child. Children are forgiving and resilient. More than anything she would want you to be happy. And to stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control.”
“But I deserve the blame. It’s my punishment.”
“Cole, you can’t carry the weight of an accident. That’s insane!”
“Is it?” I spit, whirling toward her. “Is it? I killed her dammit! Is it insane to carry the blame when my daughter died in a drunk driving accident with me? Because of me? Is it insane to carry the blame when she trusted me with her life and I threw it away because of a party? No, that’s not insane, Eden. That’s justice.”
My chest is heaving, my pulse pounding in my ears. I didn’t realize how loud, how harsh my voice was getting until the quiet set in. Now the quiet is like death, cold and empty.
“Y-you were driving drunk in the accident that killed her?”
Shame. God, the shame…the remorse…the pain…it’s overwhelming. I turn and lean my forehead against the wall, resisting the urge to pound my fist against it. But Emmy…Emmy is sleeping. She doesn’t need to be here for this. To witness this–the dissolution of Cole.
“The last time we came up here three years ago, Brooke wanted to come a day early. It was the weekend before Charity’s seventh birthday and she wanted to have a surprise party for her. We fought because I wanted to stop by a friend’s party first. I ended up agreeing to get Charity here by eight just to shut her up. But I went by my friend’s house first anyway. Stayed long enough to have a few drinks. And to be running late.” I close my eyes. I can still see my little girl, smiling up at me from the passenger seat. Innocent, trusting. Alive.
“I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober either. It started raining about halfway here. I remember Charity telling me that this time, she was going to bring back enough sand in her pockets to give some to all her friends at home. Of all the things she loved about our trips, building sandcastles on the beach with her daddy was her favorite.”
I don’t have to look back at Eden to know she’s crying. I hear her shaky breaths, I hear her quiet sobs. Only a parent would understand the pain that this kind of story means. Even if they’ve never experienced it, they’ve feared it. Dreamed about it. Prayed that it never happens to them.
“I was speeding when I saw the truck coming around the corner. He was barely over the line, but I swerved anyway. I was still going too fast when my right tire hit the gravel on the side of the road. I lost control. I couldn’t correct the skid. There was a steep bank and we started to roll. The car flipped four times before we hit the tree. Charity’s side was impacted the most. She was crushed.” I’m shivering. I feel like my teeth are chattering and my insides are trying to jump through my skin. “They said sh-she died instantly.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Eden
“OH, GOD!” I mutter brokenly. I don’t even know what to say. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I cover my mouth with my hands. When I look back up at Cole, leaning against the wall, defeated in his devastation, I’m drawn to him. Like I always am. I’m drawn to his pain, to his fury, to his intensity. I get up and cross the room, stopping inches from him. I can feel the heat radiating from him, warming away the chill that’s come over me.
“Cole, I’m so sorry.” I lay my hand on his broad back.
“Don’t,” he murmurs miserably. “Please don’t.”
“You can’t punish yourself forever. It was a tragedy, yes. An awful tragedy. But it was still an accident. You would never have hurt her on purpose. Never.”
“I’d give anything to be able to tell her that.”
“If she were here, she would already know that. Cole, you can’t give up on life because she’s gone. How does that honor her? To live a sad existence mourning her is just adding another tragedy to the pile. Can’t you just continue to love her? Can’t you find love and happiness and bring her with you?”
Cole turns to face me, his expression ravaged, and he tells me something I never wanted to hear. “No. I could never do that. I told you I was broken. I told you I didn’t have much to give. You just didn’t believe me.”
“What are you saying?”
His expression doesn’t change as he reaches up to cup my cheek. His touch is so light it’s almost ethereal. Like a cool breeze or the brush of a cloud. “I could fall in love with you, Eden. I might have already. But it won’t ever matter. The judge loved my team. Barely gave me a slap on the wrist. For killing my daughter. But I deserved to be punished. And this is my penance. That will never change.”
My heart is hitting my ribs like a battering ram. Did he just tell me he loves me? Or that he might love me? And then tell me that we are doomed in the very next breath?
“Won’t you at least try?”