“AAAAGGGHHH!”
I turn the phone off. Back on. Nothing. I swipe out of the app and try to get back in. In a final act of desperation, I reset it.
“Come back on! Come back on!” I say, dimly aware of Darren’s patient, hulking presence right next to my door.
The phone powers up, and I go immediately back into the app and go to read Poppy Grace’s message, but the green dot that says she’s online isn’t there. It’s not red, saying she’s offline, either.
It’s gray.
I’ve never seen gray before. I press her name, and a box appears.
Profile not found.
My fingers have gone white, thumbs trembling on the frozen screen. Her last message was time stamped seven minutes ago.
I need you, she said.
While I was reeling, falling apart, processing, and then panicking, she must have been watching.
She thought I ghosted her, again.
She’s gone.
I feel like I’ve sunk through the seat and into the freezing earth below like it’s pudding. Nothing can compare to how low I feel.
“Ollie, are you okay?” Darren Murphy says through the window.
The only person in that entire church who came to check on me is the man I’ve heaped all of my anger and blame onto. I study his wide, earnest face. Then I stuff my phone in my jacket pocket and exit the truck.
Darren backs up, giving me space. “I’m sorry to pester you. I just wanted to give you a chance to say whatever you need to say to me. I know I deserve it.”
Boy, do those words hurt. Is that how I made him feel? Like all the work he’s done to become an apparently upright citizen is just a suit he’s borrowing?
“You don’t deserve anything, Darren. I don’t blame you for what happened.” I can’t even look at him. I can’t pull my eyes from the snow-covered pavement.
A year after the sentencing, Darren mailed long, rambling apologies to our family as part of his anger management program. I shredded mine after barely skimming it, furious he was trying to buy absolution with some buzzwords he’d learned in therapy.
Maybe if I’d read it, I would have understood he was never my enemy. I swallow a regret as hard and cold as an ice cube. “I should have forgiven you a long time ago.”
“I understand why you didn’t,” the broad man says.
“You don’t need to say that. It was never about you.”
Darren nods like he understands. “I ran into Evan at a support group meeting where he was speaking. I don’t think he knew I’d be there. After the event, I asked him if we could talk, and he agreed. It was a good talk. We understood each other, and he was nicer than I thought he’d be. A few weeks later, I asked him if he’d speak to another support group. And we just sort of became friends.”
I sniff and nod. “That’s actually really nice.”
“I know I can never make it up to your family, but I’m not the same guy anymore.”
“I know. I’m glad, Darren.”
He nods. We both have our hands stuffed in our pockets. I feel like an abandoned igloo—a frozen exterior with nothing inside.
“Hey, the way your grandpa talked to you isn’t okay.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I agree.”
“No, I mean it. A real man doesn’t talk to people like that. I didn’t realize he’s a bully. Ihatebullies.”
