15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Sharon
I am trying to remember where I am. I open my eyes slightly and find Jon holding me close next to him on the couch. My body is tangled with his. I would be embarrassed if I didn't feel so secure in his arms. My leg is folded over his thigh. He has one arm around me, and his other hand is touching my arm. My head is resting on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat and see his chest rise and fall with every breath. I move slightly so I can see him. His eyes are closed. He's sound asleep—no sign of the nightmare I previously witnessed.
"Sharon."
I can hear my name, but I refuse to open my eyes.
"Sharon," Jon's voice is soothing. No more than a whisper. His fingers are stroking my face.
"Your arm must be asleep," I say, realizing I fell asleep again.
"Wait," he says when I try to get up. "Don't leave."
Why do I feel he's not talking about getting off the couch?
"I'm not leaving," I say, settling back into his arms.
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise. I'm not going anywhere."
"It's after six. Do you want to go back to the hospital?"
"When Caleb dropped me off, he said he was going back to the hospital to keep Rick company and would call me as soon as Mom woke up. I'll go in the morning if I don't hear from him tonight."
"Are you hungry?"
"Maybe, but I don't feel like going out."
"I bought a rotisserie chicken and everything to make a salad."
"Did you buy tortillas?"
"Yes. Flour and corn."
"I'll make some tacos."
"That sounds even better."
Jon begins tracing a slow, lazy path up and down my arm with his fingertips when I don't get up.
I lift my head and look at him.
"Thank you for being here. I can't imagine going through this with anyone else."
"Not even Patrick?"
"I said I was sorry about Patrick."
"Are you going to go out with him?"
I put my head down to avoid his gaze.
"I canceled my date with him."
"You did?"
"Yes. I called him last night."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I couldn't go out with him because I realized I have feelings for someone else, and it wouldn't be fair to him."
I feel his body tense up next to me. I look up and try to read his gaze.
"Sharon, we need to talk about Jimmy."
"I know. But whatever it is, it won't change how I feel."
"How do you feel?"
Using his words to me, I say, "I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice. I'm scared but excited. For the first time in almost a year, I'm happy. You make me happy."
Before I can form another thought, Jon propels both of us to a seated position. He's now sitting beside me, facing me with his gray gaze fixed on me.
"When we get back home, I'm taking you to Cold Spring's Farmers’ Market and I'm going to hold your hand the entire time."
"I can't wait."
I smile at him, and the smile he shoots back at me is enough to send my heart soaring with happiness, but then it's gone.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Can we talk about Jimmy?"
"Can we wait until Mom is better?"
He nods, takes my hands, and brings them to his lips.
"Will you help me make some tacos?" I ask.
We eat dinner and wash dishes. When there's no call from Caleb, Jon walks me to the spare bedroom next to his.
"There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and I changed the bedding earlier."
"Thank you."
"Good night," he says and begins to walk away.
"Jon," I say before he can let go of my hand. "kiss me."
He lifts his hands to my face and looks deep into my eyes before pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is slow and sweet and perfect.
***
Jon and I walk into the fourth floor waiting room, where Rick and Caleb sit sipping coffee.
Before we can say good morning, the same doctor from yesterday walks in.
"Mrs. Alonzo is awake, but she's very weak. She's asking to speak to her daughter."
I let go of Jon's hand and follow the doctor into the ICU. Mom looks so small and frail. Nothing like the determined, strong-willed woman I last saw a month ago.
The breathing tube is gone, but she's still much paler than usual. She opens her eyes when she senses my presence.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Sharon," her voice is weak. "I never expected you to be here."
While most children would run to their parent's side and, at the very least, touch them, kiss them, or hold their hand, I stay put by the door.
"How do you feel?"
"Like I just had my chest cracked open with a jackhammer."
"I'm so sorry, Mom."
"Sit down, Sharon."
I pull up the only chair in the room and sit beside her bed. I wait for her to speak, watching her take several deep breaths.
"Do you want some water?"
She gives a slight nod.
I pick up the cup with a straw and hold it to her lips. After she takes a few sips, she clears her throat and closes her eyes.
I wait a few minutes. Thinking she's fallen asleep, I get up to leave.
"Wait," she says. "Don't leave."
I sit back in the chair, clasp my hands together, and wait.
"When you were here yesterday, I was awake."
I'm sure she sees surprise register on my face.
"I heard every word you said."
My heart sinks thinking back on all the things I said to her.
"You said you don't remember what I said when you were three. I remember, and I will tell you exactly what I said."
I don't know if I want to hear it, but I freeze and let her talk.
"Your father and I had taken you to the park. He was in the men's room when you took off on your tricycle like a bat out of hell. It was a tricycle, for Pete's sake. How fast could you go? Well, you fell and scraped your knee. I picked you up, but you wouldn't stop crying. You kept screaming, 'I want Daddy!' over and over again until I lost my patience."
"Stop, Mom," I say softly.
"I was never enough for you," she says.
"Mom, please."
"From the moment you were born, Jack only had eyes for you. You were his universe."
Another reason she resents me.
"A woman with her young son approached us and had the nerve to ask me if I was your mother. Can you believe it? There I was, standing over my kid who looked just like me, yet someone had the nerve to ask me if I was your mother."
The sinking feeling I experienced all those years ago sweeps over me all over again, and in an instant, I remember everything.
"Mom, I beg you. Please stop." The tears behind my lids threaten to burst out, but I refuse to let them.
"When I couldn't stand your crying a second longer, I told you to shut up, but you wouldn't listen. 'Daddy! I want my Daddy!' you cried."
"I don't want to hear it," I say, but it's too late. The words are already spilling out of her mouth, and nothing will hold her back.
"’Your daddy is not your daddy,’" she says, laughing. "I told you to stop crying, but you refused, so I repeated it. ‘Your daddy is not your daddy,’ and I even gave you a little shake for good measure."
I remember her nails digging into my arms.
"You're lying," I say. "You just want to hurt me."
"No, Sweetie. I'm not lying. Go ask your uncle Caleb."
"You're lying," I say quietly.
"You were a mistake. A one-night stand with Caleb's best friend."
"I don't believe you. I don't believe you!"
I stand and walk to the door.
"Sit down, Sharon. I'm not done. You had your chance to say your peace. Now it's my turn. Sit down!"
I sit down, knowing nothing she says after this could be worse or hurt me more.
"Did Daddy know?" I ask. That is the one thing I really need to know.
"I told him years ago," her breathing sounds labored. "I was certain that if he knew, he'd stop putting you before me, but it made no difference to him. It put a wedge between us, but his love for you only grew."
"He loved me," I smile.
"You ruined my life, Sharon. I want you to know, and I want you to remember it."
"I will remember it, Mom. It will remind me to be a good mother to my own children someday. I'm sorry that my existence made you bitter. I wish you could have loved me, but Daddy loved me enough for both of us. Grandma Katherine was the mother you refused to be. I was loved, Mom. Despite you, I was loved in abundance, and my ability to love others wasn't stunted by your refusal to be my mother."
"Are you done?" she asks. Her pale skin is now an ashy gray
I nod, refusing to cry in front of her.
"Good," she says, "because I haven't even started yet."
She coughs and then smiles. Her teeth are stained with blood. She coughs again.
"I'm getting the nurse."
I walk to the door and look back at my mother, knowing this will be the last time I will ever see her.
I wait until she lifts her gaze and glares at me. Her beautiful eyes are filled with hate, fear, tears, and torment, but not love.
"I love you, Mom, and I forgive you."
***
It’s the day after Mom’s funeral, and Rick is worried about my lack of emotion.
"The way you're reacting to your mother's death is not healthy," he says. "It's been a week, Sharon, and you haven't cried once."
I'm in her bedroom, cleaning out the remainder of her closet.
"Would you like to look through any of these things before I put them in bags?" I ask Rick when he pokes his head in.
"How's it coming along in here?"
"Jon is picking me up in an hour to go drop everything off at the donation bin."
"Do you want to keep anything?" he asks.
"No," is my short answer.
"What about her jewelry?"
"I'm not keeping anything," I say. "If you or your sister want something, feel free."
"What will you do with the house?" he asks.
"You can keep it," I say.
"What do you mean, keep it? With your mom gone, your father's assets are now yours, including this house."
"You can stay. My life is in New York. Jon and I are leaving in a few days. I would rather you live here than leave the house empty or have to rent it out to strangers."
"I can be your tenant. I'll pay you rent."
"I don't need the money," I say. "Please stay."
"Sharon," his voice is tentative. "I need to talk to you about something important, and I'm afraid it can't wait."
"Okay," I say. "What is it?"
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for him to continue.
He sits in a chair and clasps his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I was a cop for twenty years before I met your mother. I still think like a cop, and I don't like ambiguity when it comes to the facts of a case. Any case."
"I don't understand."
"When you moved to New York and called to give me your new address, you mentioned the name Linder.”
"Yes, you said it sounded familiar, and I told you I had probably mentioned it before."
"Right. Well, it kept nagging at me. When Jimmy died, I had only been married to your mother for a short time. You and I were just getting to know each other. I hardly knew Jimmy before he left. I didn't feel it was my place to ask questions about what happened. Linder was the name of Jimmy's friend in boot camp."
"I know. That's how I heard about the job. I still have the letter where Jimmy told me that Jon's parents were looking for a nanny. What is this about?"
"I reached out to a friend I have in the Marines, and he was able to get me the full report on what happened the day Jimmy died."
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, my breathing quickens, and my hands get clammy.
"I don't know how else to say this, Sharon, but Jonathan Linder is responsible for Jimmy's death."
"You're wrong," I say. "Jon was there, but what happened to Jimmy was an accident."
"It was classified as a training accident, but there's more to it than what they released to the public."
My heart is now in my throat, and I feel an overwhelming sense of dread wrap itself around me like a snake suffocating its prey. I want to leave. Escape. Be anywhere but here, but my legs will not move.
"Jimmy was the last man left inside the sinking vehicle. He couldn't get out because the tethering device attached to him and his pack got hooked on a piece of equipment, and he couldn't remove it in time.”
A wave of nausea threatens to overtake me.
"He was working in pitch-black darkness and running out of air. To free himself, he would have had to cut the tether. He was able to find the sheath, but the knife wasn't in it."
"What does that mean?" The panic in my voice makes it unrecognizable to my own ears.
"Sharon, the knife was missing."
I shake my head, still not understanding. "What does any of this have to do with Jon?"
"Jimmy's knife was found in Jonathan Linder's pack. It's all in the report."
I feel bitter bile rise to my throat, and the room spins right before I vomit all over my mother's bedroom floor.
"I'm sorry, Sharon," Rick exclaims, running to the bathroom. I can hear him turn the water on. He returns with a damp towel and hands it to me.
"I felt you should know," he says, sitting beside me.
"I don't understand. I don't understand."
He puts his arm around my shoulder when I start crying. Loud guttural sobs I can't control. I cry into the damp towel before wiping my mouth with it.
I look at Rick, expecting an explanation.
"Jon said he had no idea why he had possession of Jimmy's knife. He said he was unaware that the knife was in his pack. One can only assume he picked it up either by mistake, thinking it was his, or with the intent of giving it back to Jimmy, but that never happened. The knife was found in Jon's pack during the investigation. Jon got struck in the head during the accident and was unconscious for a couple of days. He said he doesn't remember how or why he had Jimmy's knife, but whatever the reason, it cost Jimmy his life. "
"No," I say, "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
"I'm sorry," Rick says, "I'm so sorry."
"He tried to tell me," I say, looking into Rick's eyes. They're filled with compassion and empathy. I lean against him and cry for a long time.
"He tried to tell me, but I didn't let him."
"None of this is your fault, Sharon. If he wanted to tell you, he would have."