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It’s Sunday. I know that he’s going back to work tonight, and there’s still no word from him. I am checking my phone incessantly, but he still hasn’t returned my calls or texts from the night before. I’ve tried to leave him alone today but knowing he’ll be leaving for work in a couple of hours I have to try one more time.
Gracie: Please talk to me. I am so sorry. Mick knows everything.
Gracie: I miss you.
After dinner, my mom heads home. Mick has gone out, and I still haven’t heard anything from Jonathan. I go through the motions of Ireland’s bath and bed routine for the night. I get her tucked in and her story read but I’m not really there. I’m just trying to get through what’s left of the day without breaking down.
The last thing I want to do is to try and explain to Ireland why I’m upset. How do you tell your little girl that because you were too immature to deal with your own feelings, you might have lost the best man you or she have ever known?
You don’t, because she will want to reason with it, and there is no reason for my behavior, except cowardice. Plain and simple. I was a coward. I hurt him. Now we are both paying the price.
After I leave Ireland’s room for the night I go to check my phone, grabbing it off my bedside table and preparing myself for more disappointment. My heart nearly stops when I turn the phone over in my hand and I see that I have a text from him.
Georgia: Elka’s at 1 pm tomorrow?
Georgia: I miss you too.
Oh, thank God! My hands are shaking as I text him. I know he’s already at work, but I need to respond. I don’t want to let another minute go by.
Gracie: Thank you and I’ll see you there at 1 pm.
Gracie: Have a good night and be safe.
An hour or so after replying to his text—and feeling like I can breathe just a little bit again—I’m in the bathroom drying my just washed face and getting ready for bed when I hear Mick say my name and knock on the door. He has his own bathroom so why the hell is he bugging me?
Maybe Ireland woke up?
Crap, not tonight.
I’m emotionally exhausted and really don’t want to deal with a nightmare or wet bed. I take a deep breath, and let him know I’ll be right out.
Only a few seconds pass when Mick speaks again in a low, calm voice that worries me. “Emmers, you almost done in there? I need to talk to you.”
I open the door as I continue to apply my nighttime moisturizer and with a bit of sass and irritation, snap. “Geez, Mick! What do you want?”
I can tell the moment I see his face that something is very wrong. I know in an instant that I don’t want to hear the words that are about to come out of his mouth.
“Emmers, there was a shooting at work. Bob Truman was shot and killed and, Em, Jonathan was hit, too. It’s not looking great, so we need to get you to the hospital right away okay? I called mom and she’s on her way over. She’s gonna come stay with Ireland while you and I head to the hospital.”
I don’t know how long I just stand there in shock, and all I hear is the beating of my heart as it thuds through my body. The loud pulsing is all-consuming as I stand there staring at my brother, but not really even seeing his face.
This cannot be happening.
Not now.
Not ever.
No. I refuse to believe this is happening.
In shock, I walk past Mick and into my room where I change my clothes and get my shoes on. I quietly go into Ireland’s room and stare down at my baby girl, and vow to do anything in my power to always protect her to the best of my abilities. I give her a gentle kiss on the forehead and then quietly leave her room. I join Mick in the living room while we wait for my mom to arrive. We don’t speak, we quietly wait in silence.
28
Jonathan
Beep…beep…beep…
What the hell is that noise? I’m in some sort of dream that has this incessant beeping noise that just won’t end. It’s hot, it’s dark and I have a raging fucking headache. I feel like I’m walking through a fog that’s too thick to penetrate, and I can’t seem to get out of it. I’m trying to find Emily. I can hear her voice in the distance, but I can’t get through the fog to find her.
