78. Memories
CHAPTER 78
MEMORIES
MARGAUX
B y the time Darren’s memorial arrives, I’m running on empty. The brief period of stability Timmy showed in the weeks before now feels like a distant memory, and there’s been a huge backslide.
His grief has morphed into erratic behavior, his emotions swinging wildly between quiet despair and volatile anger. Every moment with him is a potential landmine, more than ever. His sensitivity is so heightened that anything I say or do could set him off.
I’m not doing much better. My nerves are frayed to the point where my hands shake constantly—I’m a knife’s edge away from losing my sanity. The anxiety I’ve been carrying for weeks about this event has reached its peak.
I’m terrified about how Timmy will behave—whether he’ll impulsively run off, get into a fight, or do something reckless and dangerous. Part of me fears he’ll end up doing drugs with some of the people there and meet the same fate as Darren. The other part fears I’ll be the one who bears the brunt of his unbridled emotions.
But I keep all of this inside.
I don’t want to burden my friends, who I’m sure are exhausted by the constant cycle of Timmy’s bad behavior. And, despite everything, I feel sympathy for his loss.
So I don’t talk about how scared I am, or how much this is all eating away at me.
I try to stay strong, for him and for me.
“I promise I won’t run off at the memorial,” he’s told me repeatedly, his tone earnest. “I’ll keep you by my side, introduce you to everyone. You’ll see.”
His words have done little to ease my fears, but at least they’ve provided a sliver of reassurance that he understands my concerns.
When we arrive at the memorial, that promise is shattered almost immediately.
At first, Timmy keeps me close, introducing me to a handful of people—some I’ve heard about, others completely new. But his attention quickly shifts, and soon he’s darting around like a restless show pony, unable to sit still or focus. I’m left standing awkwardly on the periphery, struggling to keep up as he flits from one conversation to the next.
When the paddle-out begins, there’s a brief calm. I watch as Timmy and a group of surfers solemnly paddle out with Darren’s ashes, their boards cutting through the gentle waves. It’s a rare moment of somber reflection. But as soon as he returns, the calm is gone.
“We ate him!” he says, his voice a mix of glee and disbelief. “Some of us ate Darren while we were out there!”
I stare at him, unsure how to respond. My lips press into a tight line, and I nod slowly. Everyone grieves in their own way, I suppose.
Afterward, he sifts through Darren’s belongings—clothes, photos, personal trinkets—and gets visibly emotional. He picks out a hot sauce T-shirt he says Darren loved as well as a couple of other clothing items, cradling them in his arms with reverence.
But then he notices there’s no photo of the two of them together in the bowl of photographs. “Oh wow,” he laments, his voice tinged with bitterness. “So there’s a photo in here of him and Matty , but not one with me?” He becomes quite upset over the omission and keeps mentioning it.
But his emotions—real or exaggerated—don’t tether him for long. Soon, he’s back to gallivanting around, loudly proclaiming himself Darren’s closest friend to anyone who will listen.
At one point, I spot him talking to a woman holding a baby. I’m pretty sure it’s Darren’s ex, but I’m not certain. At first, it seems fine—a friendly exchange, a hug. But then he lingers. He whispers to her, leaning in too close, too long. He clings to her like she’s the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.
Standing with strangers, I feel an unbearable wave of embarrassment and discomfort.
“Is it just me, or is he being weird with her?” I ask the girl next to me, who has also been watching him.
She raises an eyebrow. “He sure runs up to you anytime you’re talking to a guy,” she says. “Seems pretty hypocritical of him to be doing… whatever that is.”
Her words are the breaking point. “Fuck this,” I mutter, and I turn on my heel and head for the car.
Timmy notices my departure and sprints after me. “Wait! What’s happening?”
“You said we’d stick together,” I say, my voice shaking with frustration. “I’ve tried so hard to be supportive, but you’ve left me by myself for ages. You promised me you wouldn’t do that. You’re acting erratic and I’m concerned. I need to leave. I don’t feel comfortable here anymore.”
He hops in the truck beside me, and for a brief moment after we head out, there’s silence. But it doesn’t last.
“ Youuuuu ruined this,” he growls, his teeth bared in anger. His bottom jaw juts out aggressively, his lower teeth giving full-blown llama, a sure sign that his fury is reaching its peak. “I knew you’d ruin Darren’s memorial!”
I grip the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep my focus on the road as his tirade escalates. “I didn’t ruin anything, Timmy,” I snap. “You were acting erratic and drunk, and you promised we’d stick together. But you left me alone for hours, and you were behaving in ways that drew attention from other people. I was worried about what you were going to do next.”
“You just had to ruin Darren’s memorial! I knew I couldn’t trust you to be there for me. You embarrassed me so much!” he screams, his voice echoing in the cab. “Everyone noticed when we left! You made me look like an idiot!”
“Nobody noticed,” I lie, desperate to calm him down.
He continues to scream, his aggression echoing from the truck’s walls.
I hold myself as still as I can, trying to focus on the road.
I use one shaky hand to call his dad. “Please help!” I beg. “He won’t stop screaming. I’m driving down the freeway and it’s dangerous. Please ask him to calm down so he doesn’t cause an accident!”
His dad’s voice, sharp and cutting, comes through the speaker. “Well, Margaux, you must have done something to upset him.”
I’m livid, and a little shocked. “I called you to help calm him down so we don’t crash the car,” I say through gritted teeth.
“She was jealous!” he yells into the phone. “She saw me hug Darren’s ex and lost her mind!”
His dad’s tone softens for Timmy. “Son, just calm down, okay? Get home safely.”
“She made us leave right at the beginning!” he screams. “I didn’t even get to say hello to anyone!”
I blink. Were we not at the same event? Did he not paddle out and brag about eating Darren’s ashes?
“That’s not true,” I respond, with Phil still listening. “We were there for hours, you caught up with a lot of people, you participated in the paddle-out, and you picked out some of Darren’s things to keep.”
“You made me leave all my things back there!” he shrieks. “The surfboard. The hammock.”
“Please stop yelling!” I plead.
“She was so jealous, Dad! ” he screams. “She was jealous because she saw me hug two girls.”
“No,” I reply. “I was upset because you failed to stick to the boundaries we agreed to for the day. I’ve had to prepare myself for months leading up to this event due to worry about how you’d behave—it’s caused huge anxiety, and now you’re acting the way I feared. I didn’t want you to do drugs and die, and I didn’t want you to run away. You promised we’d stick together all day, but you left me after about five minutes. I knew nobody there except for Matty and Steve, and you know how I feel about them . So I tried to be there for you, but I have to protect myself as well.”
“Well,” Phil sighs, judgment dripping from his tone, “it sounds like you really upset him, Margaux.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m so angry at Phil right now. It’s as if he just turned on me and jumped to Timmy’s defense, automatically believing his completely fabricated version of events. “He was upset because his friend died, and he didn’t follow through on how he promised he’d behave.”
His dad’s tone is sharp once again. “Well, his friend died, so you kind of have to give him a break, Margaux.”
“This is insane,” I mutter, feeling chastised. “I was just calling to see if you could get him to calm down so we don’t crash the truck.”
“Son,” Phil sighs. “Calm down. Call me when you get home.”
Timmy mutters something unintelligible, and I hang up the phone.
When we finally get home, the screaming continues. I secretly call Alice, letting her listen to his tirade. After about a minute, I hang up. She’s heard enough.
Alice:
That man is going to kill you one day.
Me:
His dad said I must have done something to upset him.
Alice:
Nope.
Toxic.
Gross.
Me:
He’s been relatively good, and I’ve been worrying about this memorial. I get it’s an anomaly, an outlier event, that one of his good friends died—even though they were estranged at the time. It’s been this looming date.
Alice:
What happens with the next big event?
And the next?
Me:
Yeah, I know.
I said that to him. It’s like, ‘Oh well, now you’re not going mental over a TV show or a music choice, so that’s progress.’
And good friends don’t die each and every day, but stuff still happens and you can’t act like that.
Alice:
Exactly.
What’d he say?
Me:
I don’t think he was in a position to receive the message.
Alice:
I don’t think he ever will be.
Me:
He’s calmer now, and made me a coffee.
I’m finishing my book edits and about to send out my ARCs.
So I’ll worry about him later.
Spoiler alert: you are in my acknowledgements.
Alice:
OMG THAT IS THE BEST CREDIT EVER.
In the days that follow, Timmy’s narrative about the memorial changes at his convenience.
Sometimes, he says he stayed as long as he wanted and that he should have done better about keeping me by his side.
Other times, he claims I dragged him away at the very start out of jealousy, ruining everything before he even had a chance to say goodbye. That I had a problem because he briefly hugged Darren’s ex and was looking at her baby.
“Which is it, Timmy?” I ask in exasperation. “Which version is true?”
He smirks. “Depends on who I’m talking to and how I’m feeling.”
Wow. He’s not even trying to hide who he really is anymore.