“Mark and Cory stopped at a convenience store on their way home from the bakery. They were at the counter, trying to buy lottery tickets, when a man entered wearing a hoodie and ski mask.”
Just listening to his words made my heart rate speed, thundering through my body, rioting through my veins like stampeding stallions. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on his words and not the way the room felt as though it was getting hotter.
“The man had a gun and demanded the employee behind the counter give him the money from the register. Instead of opening the register and just doing as the man asked, the employee pulled out a shotgun, but before he could shoot him, the robber fired first.” My father let out a shaky breath, his voice warbling like I’d never heard in my life. He was a tough guy; only a soft spot for his girls. My mom and I were spoiled by him: loved on, supported, protected. But other than that, he was tough as nails. “The man then turned his gun on Mark, shot him first, then immediately shot Cory after.”
Mrs. Wallace broke down, burying her face in her hands. Hayes walked over, knelt next to his mother, and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into him, crying into the space between his shoulder and his neck, her hands grasping at the back of his shirt.
My parents were both crying. My mother cried softly, wiping tears away every few seconds as they rolled down her cheeks. But my father cried silently, holding a tight fist to his mouth. Both were looking at me, watching and waiting for me to crumble.
“So, he just shot them? For nothing?” I asked, confused about every single part of what I’d been told. Confused about why any of this had to happen. Confused about why someone would just randomly shoot a father and son who hadn’t done anything to him at all. Confused about why it had to be Cory and his father. And although the confusion was so palpable, so real, it could have had its own seat at the table, it was slowly turning into anger. “Why would someone do that?”
“Sweetheart, we’ll probably never really know why,” my mother said, reaching out for my hand. I let her take it, but I didn’t want to be touched. Anger and fear were coursing through me, making my skin feel as if it were electric. I was practically shaking with energy. “Mark and Cory both died, as well as the employee. The robber took the money from the register and ran. The police are looking for him, but odds are, when they find him, he’s not going to tell us why he killed them. I’m sorry.” She wiped her cheeks again, then took a breath to continue. “He’s probably a man down on his luck, and didn’t intend to shoot anyone.”
“Don’t make excuses for a murderer, Lucia.” Another first. I’d heard my parents fight before, get into arguments, but I’d never heard my father talk to my mother as though he thought she were stupid. As though he thought her words were careless and insulting.
“I’m not making excuses, Edward,” my mother replied, obviously trying to remain calm. “I’m trying to make sense of a senseless act. I’m trying to come to terms with something that has no rhyme or reason. I simply can’t believe that someone woke up today and decided to kill three innocent people who have nothing whatsoever to do with him. I can’t live in a world like that.” The more words she spoke, the harder she cried. My father pushed away from the table and stood, walking into the living room with such purpose it was as if he thought walking away would make the situation less tense.
“If I’d have just picked up the cake from the bakery on the way home, both of them would still be alive.”
Her words silenced everyone, made the room stand still like a painting.
“Mom, you can’t think that way.” Hayes’s deep voice finally cut through all of us. He was still kneeling next to his mother, still rubbing his hand on her back, but she was sitting in her chair and looking at nothing in particular.
“It’s all I can think. Mark and Cory left the house and I know nothing after that. I don’t know if Mark knew what was happening until it was too late. I don’t know if either one of them died instantly, or if they lay on the floor in pain until they bled to death. I don’t know if my baby boy cried out for me. Was he scared? Was he hurting? Did he watch his father die before he slipped away?” She was becoming frantic and yet, she was the only one making any sense. “Did Mark see his son die? Did he try to protect him? Did he die panicking because he couldn’t save his son? I’ll never know the answer to all these questions. But one thing I know for sure is that it never would have happened if I’d just remembered to pick up my son’s birthday cake.”
The saddest part, the part that I knew would more than likely eat away at Mrs. Wallace for the rest of her life?
She was right.
It wasn’t her fault, and no one in their right mind would blame her, but I knew none of that mattered. Mrs. Wallace would blame herself and that was enough punishment—more, in fact.