Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Sloan
Standing in the airport with just my purse and a small carry-on, Quinn and Sutton hug me close to them before I head toward security.
“We’re going to miss you so much.” Quinn’s voice breaks as she hugs me closer to her.
“I promise I’m coming back. Just give me a few months to get my life in order,” I plead.
“So, what is your game plan?” Sutton asks, lacing her fingers with mine.
“Well, the funeral is in two days and I’m going to have to go explain everything to my parents since I ghosted them for a year.
My old nursing program reached out after seeing everything on the news in Boston.
They sent their condolences and asked if I needed anything to let them know.
So, I asked if I could potentially finish my last few months of the program that I missed given the circumstances.
They’re supposed to be letting me know in a few days.
“My two best friends I left behind in Boston deserve an explanation too. I’ll need to see if James had a will to figure out how to sell the house. Then, once it’s all said and done, I’d like to come back here and make a life with all of you,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders.
“Well, you know we support you. No matter what. But pretty please come back to us.” Quinn squeezes me to her again.
“Yes. Come back. It won’t be the same without you,” Sutton whines.
“I will. But I have a favor to ask. You asked me to keep an eye on Beck when you left for tour,” I say, squeezing Sutton’s hand in mine. “Now I’m asking you to return the favor while I’m in Boston. Beck deserves to make it back to Vegas and take his title back. Make sure he doesn’t spiral.”
“I promise.” Sutton squeezes my hand tightly, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“Me too.” Quinn kisses my cheek.
“Thank you, both. For absolutely everything. I literally wouldn’t have survived this year without you. I will be forever grateful.” I squeeze them both to me.
“Bitch. Quit talking like you’re leaving us for good,” Quinn scolds me.
I’m cracking up through my tears. “I’m not. I’m just… I love you both so much. I’m going to miss you. Even if it’s just for a little while.”
“We are going to miss you too. But we’ll text every day,” Sutton says, reassuring me.
“We love you!” Quinn and Sutton both shout in unison.
“And I love you!”
Grabbing my suitcase, I make my way to the escalators. I blow the girls one final kiss, on my descension to TSA.
Sutton and Quinn are holding each other with tears running down their faces as they blow me a kiss goodbye.
Once they’re out of view, a sense of dread sinks into the pit of my stomach at what’s waiting for me back in Boston.
Walking into the funeral home, a heaviness surrounds me. The weight is almost too much to bear. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I wasn’t the one who took James’ life, but was the one who gave him a reason to. James can’t hurt me ever again, but having this inner knowledge that ultimately in the end, only one of us was going to make it out of this marriage alive. I will never feel guilty for surviving.
The first half hour of the viewing was for family only. But James didn’t have any family remaining, so I’m the only one here except for an usher who stands at the door letting guests in, and I’m grateful for that. I didn’t exactly want people to witness my lack of emotions.
My parents are on their way, but they’ve been a lot to deal with since I got back to town. So, I asked them not to come early. To allow me space to feel what I need to feel.
I’ve been staying at their house with them the last couple days, because I just wasn’t comfortable going back to James’ house.
I know I lived there with him, but it never felt like mine.
My parents’ house has never really felt like home either.
It’s like choosing which prison cell feels more comfortable.
My parents have been giving me so much grief for running away.
And I get it. They had no idea where I was or what happened to me.
I’m their only daughter but I could not trust them to know where I was.
They thought James was the best thing since sliced bread since they met him.
All they’ve done since I’ve been home is tried to make me feel guilty about leaving him the way I did.
Said that none of this would’ve happened if I stayed.
My parents have talked incessantly about how wonderful he was.
That they ‘can’t believe their son is dead. ’
My mother admonishes, “You could’ve come here to cry or rant if you needed to, honey.
Could’ve taken a couple days for some space.
But ultimately, James was your husband, you should have never run.
He may not have been a good husband but at least he provided for you.
You had a beautiful home. He always gave you those beautiful roses.
You didn’t have to want for anything. I never saw any bruises on you.
It couldn’t have been that bad. It’s so terrible this happened to him. If only you had stayed here.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t shed a tear since you’ve been home. You think you’d show some respect. He was your husband after all,” my father states.
I explained to them that I was suffocating in my marriage.
That I felt completely unsafe in it. That my mother might’ve thought she was offering wisdom but all she was doing was saying that it was okay to live in a society where we’re so conditioned, that we believe we ‘must’ stay because marriage is sacred.
That we’re told that it’s totally normal for love to become a prison.
That somehow that’s acceptable. That it’s okay for a man to lay his hands on you or to emotionally and mentally abuse you just because he ‘provides’ for you.
When in fact that’s absolutely sickening and not at all healthy.
I refused to be someone who normalized that just because it’s existed for ages. Honestly, fuck the patriarchy.
I was not going to be my husbands’ punching bag for his words or his fists so I did the only thing I thought I could do to protect myself.
I left.
And honestly, I refuse to stay here and be my parents’ punching bag either.
When I finally get out of my own head and shake off the tension of the last couple days. I walk into the viewing room. I hold my breath, preparing myself to see James in a casket. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, as I approach him.
His professional photo from the hospital sits in a frame next to the casket. Always so perfectly put together at work.
Numerous rose arrangements adorn this room that I delivered myself this morning.
I ripped out every single fucking white rose from his perfect garden last night in a fit of rage. Letting some of the blood from the thorns stain the petals. Creating beautiful pieces that no one will know are tainted.
These roses have been my own open bleeding wound. A reminder of how controlling James always was. Haunting me for what feels like an eternity.
Now, they will die with James.
Along with the piece of me, he tried to mold into his perfect wife.
I’m staring at James’ body lying in a matte navy casket. His lifeless frame, in an olive suit jacket. Foundation covering the gashes on his forehead and near his eyes fairly well.
As I stare at him, the only thing I know for sure, is I’m ready to start this day and get it fucking over with.
It’s going to be incredibly awkward seeing people from work that I haven’t seen in a year. Gods knows what James has been telling his coworkers about me.
While I’m here, I will attempt to wear my best mask of a devastated wife mourning her brilliant husband.
Even though staring at his corpse right now, I feel absolutely hollow inside.
I whisper my own final prayer over James’ body before the guests arrive.
Your demons almost stole my life. In the end they swallowed you whole instead. Now we both can rest in peace.
The one good thing that came from all of this becoming local news in Boston was that James’ estate attorney reached out to me. It probably would have taken me some time to find the estate documents and the will. So, the attorney reaching out was one last thing I didn’t have to worry about.
After receiving the phone call last night from James’ attorney, I have been nothing but a ball of nerves.
Mr. Motley asked if I could come into his office to discuss James’ will and estate. I sort of assumed James had one but didn’t really know anything about it. One of the many things he kept from me.
Sitting in Mr. Motley’s office, I’m sitting on my hands trying to keep myself from chewing on my nails. Trying to ease my mind, my eyes follow the small hand on the clock as it ticks on the wall.
Claustrophobia was never something I thought I had, but between the funeral home and this tiny office space, I’m starting to wonder if I do. The room just keeps feeling like it’s getting smaller and smaller.
“Good morning, Mrs. McAllister. I’m Mr. Motley, your husband’s attorney. Thank you for coming in this morning. I just have a few things to go over with you and then you can be on your way,” Mr. Motley offers, causing me to jump in my seat slightly. “Sorry to startle you, ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I respond, anxiously waiting for this discussion.
Mr. Motley starts shuffling around papers on his desk.
“I will cut to the chase. Mrs. McAllister you are the sole beneficiary on Dr. McAllister’s estate and will.
His funeral expenses will come out of the estate but otherwise he had no debt.
You will be receiving everything left over after that is withdrawn.
I will just need to get a few signatures from you to file this and get it processed.
We will send the check to the funeral home.
You should receive documentation for your assets in a few months at the latest,” Mr. Motley states.
“I’m sorry, my assets?” I question.
“Yes, Mrs. McAllister. The house, the vehicles, bank accounts, retirement fund. It’s yours to do with as you will,” he rattles off.
“James had me listed as sole beneficiary?” I choke out.
Confused, Mr. Motley says, “Yes, Mrs. McAllister. You are his wife. As you know, he has no living family.”
“I’m just… I was not expecting this.” I struggle to find my words.
“I’m not sure any of us were expecting Dr. McAllister to die so young. Such a tragedy,” he offers.
“It is,” I whisper.
“I just need you to sign a few documents.” He slides the papers toward me. “Thank you, Mrs. McAllister. As soon as this is processed, I will be in touch.”
“Okay. Thank you, sir,” I nod. Still shocked and processing the fact that James somehow left everything to me.
“You said the house,” I blurt out when Mr. Motley is at the office door.
“Yes ma’am.” He halts, turning to face me, where I’m still seated in the chair across from his desk.
“Can I sell it?”
“Of course, you can. It is yours, Mrs. McAllister. You can sell it or you can keep it. It is up to you as sole beneficiary,” Mr. Motley reiterates.
“Wow, okay.” I nod, still completely in shock.
“Take care now, Mrs. McAllister.” He walks out, leaving me sitting in his office completely and utterly bewildered.
James left me…everything.