48. Then
Then: March 15th, 16 years ago
T he drive from Atlas Creek to the state park is a solid two-hour drive. I pass the time by reading a book I’d started a few days ago, while Dad keeps his eyes steady on the road.
I haven’t gotten behind the wheel since Mom’s death. I can’t face it. It almost feels worse than the terrible sin I’ve committed. Dad and I haven’t been going to church as often as we used to, and I’m starting to wonder if God forgives all sins, especially mine and Mom’s.
She’d taken her own life, but I’d taken somebody else’s. Hers had been on purpose, while mine was an accident. Still, I had been behind the wheel when I was in no right mind to be driving. As part of my punishment, for as long as I have left on this earth, I don’t think I should be behind the wheel.
It might seem a little extreme, but I don’t think so. I haven’t said any of this to Dad, of course. He can tell something is eating away at me, and the front bumper on Mom’s car has a dent. For weeks all I’d thought I’d hit was the mailbox in front of the house. Until that awful article came out that told me a different story. A twelve-year-old girl named Genny had been killed in a hit-and-run, and if anyone knew anything they were to come to the local police station right away.
I felt sick about what I’d done. At first, I didn’t think it could have possibly been me. I’d heard the car scrape loudly against metal, and when I’d gathered the courage to walk past the house weeks later, the mailbox was gone. I was sure that was all the damage I’d caused.
But when I later read that someone at that very address had been killed in a car accident, I experienced an entirely different sense of dread. Surely, I didn’t read that right. It could have been somebody else that same day right? But you know how sometimes you just get that horrible sensation in your gut and it won’t go away no matter what you do? It was that very thing that would start to eat at me from that day forward. Something I couldn’t erase, and something I couldn’t forgive.
Something so dark and tragic that my brain couldn’t even hold onto the memory of it—just tiny fragments of the whole picture.
All kinds of thoughts raced through my head. Should I tell someone? Who, Dad? What would he do? Would he blame me and leave me alone like Mom had? Would I spend the rest of my life in a jail cell, all because I’d been grieving the loss of my mother? I’m sixteen years old. A sixteen-year-old that just lost her best friend, her mother. And now the only family I’m left with is my dad, who takes good care of me but isn’t someone who’s exactly been there for me growing up. Now he has no choice.
Maybe I don’t deserve anything and should be rotting the rest of my life away in jail. But that thought doesn’t make me feel any better. It makes me feel a whole lot worse. The least I can do is leave flowers or something for the girl who went to be with my mother. This might be weird to think about, but maybe they are in a better place together. Maybe she’s already forgiven me for taking her out of this world too soon.
I am so unbelievably sorry. I can’t say it enough to mean anything. But I am. I will be sorry for the pain I’ve caused the rest of my life.
Sally’s is busier than I thought it would be. We arrive around lunchtime and eat at our favorite spot on the patio that overlooks the lake. It’s still just as beautiful as I remember it being. After we finish our burgers and fries, we get checked in and start setting up camp. By camp, I mean old-school camping. It feels a little strange without Mom here, but maybe she’s here anyway. I feel her in most places I go.
We have all of our food packed in coolers with tons of ice, and Dad’s trunk is filled with all the necessities. We are only staying here for three nights. It’s a brief getaway, but I’m looking forward to it. We’ve both been suffocating in our house and need to breathe the fresh mountain air again. It’s early spring and the earth is starting to bloom.
The air is crisp but as soon as we get all set up, Dad makes a fire. We sit around it and cook hotdogs and marshmallows. Later he makes me some hot chocolate and we drink our hot drinks underneath the stars. It’s a beautiful night, and I can’t help but think about Mom again. Always. I wonder how long she will be a constant in my thoughts. Some days it’s super painful, and I can’t cope with it. And then other times, on a night like this, it brings me peace, knowing that she can invade my thoughts without it feeling invasive.
“Dad?” I say, sitting next to him in my camping fold-out chair, with my legs out-stretched toward the fire for warmth .
“Yes, Sweet P?” he asks, poking at the fire. He is constantly poking and prodding at the flames. I know you can’t just sit here and enjoy the fire, somebody has to put in all the effort, and I’m thankful that it’s him and not me. I find it a little funny because he’s always so still and calm, and right now he’s like a child that can’t leave something alone.
“Is it hard for you when you think about Mom?” I ask gently. Holding onto my mug in between both hands, keeping them warm.
He doesn’t look over at me, keeping his focus solely on the fire, but he’s thinking it over. Mom rarely thought before she spoke, I like that Dad takes his time before answering.
“Yes, especially at night. It’s why I haven’t been sleeping great, and I’m sure you’ve probably noticed that I’ve been sleeping on the couch for now. Eventually, I’ll make my way back in there, but it’s too much right now, and I can’t do it. Does that make any sense?” he asks.
I understand it completely, because after all, I had found her first.
“Yeah, it’s hardest for me in the mornings. When I wake up it hits me all over again. Sometimes it takes several tries before I finally convince myself that the day has any significance at all. I know that sounds dark and depressing, but it’s true. And then when hunger finally hits me, I have to go into the kitchen and that’s where I remember her the most. Always singing, always dancing, always whipping up something delicious.
“I can’t walk in there and not want to burst out in song. I feel like I can still smell the syrup from the pancakes she’d always make me for my birthday every year. Now, when I walk in there, I only feel her absence. I feel the empty spaces that she’s isn’t. And sometimes I have to walk back out because it’s too much and I can’t handle it. So yeah, I get it,” I say, surprised by the depth of our conversation so far. But in a good way.
He takes a break from playing with the fire and leans back in his chair. This is usually the time of year he shaves his beard. But he hasn’t yet and it’s the longest I’ve ever seen it. He looks even older than he is, and sitting here now with the mountains fading into the background he looks like a true mountain man. I stifle a laugh but instead, it flies free, escaping in full force.
He looks over at me, wondering what in the world could be funny right now. Here we are talking about how painful it’s been without Mom in the picture, and I’m sitting here laughing. What is wrong with me?
I can’t help it. Laughs are bubbling out of me now like a cackling hyena. A smile cracks over Dad’s face and a small chuckle falls out.
“What’s so funny? What are you laughing at?”
“Y-you.” I giggle. I cover my mouth in an attempt to hush myself, but it’s no use. I’m turning hysterical. Fits of laughter are bellowing out of me.
“Me?” he asks, laughing and pointing to himself.
“Yes. You!” I double over. I can’t stop.
“What did I do? Or say?”
“N-nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
I get myself together briefly, out of breath from laughing so hard. Man, that feels good. I feel like I just ran a marathon and my lungs are trying to keep up as I catch my breath. Eventually, my breathing returns to a normal speed. Whew.
“What was all that about?” he asks again, still smiling.
Ah, it’s so good to see him smile. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like. I don’t remember the last time I’d laughed like that, or if I ever had. It felt good .
“Nothing really, but your beard makes you look like you live out here in the wilderness.” I grin.
He reaches up and strokes his beard, and then nods at me as though he agrees. “I think you might be right. Should I shave it?”
“No, I like it. It suits you somehow,” I say, honestly .
“Hmm. I don’t think I’m going to be going off the grid anytime soon though,” he teases.
“Oh yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.” I joke.
“But maybe someday?”
“Sure, if you want to,” I offer, not sure if he’s serious or pulling my leg. Either way, if anyone could figure it out, he could.
“Well, I think I’m happy here for now. I’m glad we’re doing this. Thanks for agreeing to come out here. I know none of this has been easy,” he says, sincerely.
I finish off what’s left in my mug and set it down in the grass beside me. “Me too, Dad. Really.”
We’re quiet for a while, simply watching the heavens and enjoying each other’s company.
“One last thing,” I say.
“Sure.”
“Do you think we’ll ever be happy again?”
He pauses for another moment, contemplating just how to answer that. Don’t ever be afraid to ask the hard things , Mom once told me.
“Right away? No. Tomorrow or the next day? Probably not. Eventually? Yeah. I believe one day we will be happy again. I’ll miss her forever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ever be happy again,” he starts, and then adds, “I am happy when I’m with you.”
I smile and spend the rest of the evening watching the flames dance until we let them fall away. When the last ember fades to black I head off to bed. I end up sleeping the best night I’ve slept in months.