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She smiles up at me and smooths my long black hair. She’s the only one I let touch my hair. “Losing a child is the worst thing a person can go through,” she says, staring off. “A piece of us dies with them.”
I nod and wonder which Valentine child she buried and when.
“It won’t get better,” she continues. “You know all that is crap when people say that. But you learn to move on and carry them in your heart. The pain will never go away. You’ll always wonder what they would look like at this age and that age. You’ll develop a secret relationship with them, and that’s okay.” She squeezes my hand harder. “You’ll get through this, Vandal. For her, and for you.”
“It’s my fault, Gram. I never should have got in that fucking car.” I still blame myself, even though the accident investigation was inconclusive. The other driver had a few drinks over dinner. He wasn’t drunk, but may have been a little impaired. I know I was exhausted. The road was dark, with lots of winding turns. Maybe it was both our faults and we both drifted at the exact same horrible moment. I’ll never know for sure, but deep down in my gut, I know it’s my fault.
“Honey, life is a series of mistakes, regrets, bad decisions, tragedies, and occasional good luck. It’s not your fault. You loved her. You never would have hurt her.”
I rock back and forth on my feet. I hear the words, but I don’t know if I will ever believe them.
***
I stay at Katie’s grave until everyone is gone, long after Deb was hauled away by her family, crying hysterically.
“Vandal, we should go now.” I almost forgot Lukas was here, leaning against the huge oak tree, watching me.
I can’t take my eyes off the mound of fresh dirt I’m sitting next to. My beautiful baby girl, who slept snuggled in a pink down comforter surrounded by teddy bears, is now in a box in the ground. I fight the urge to claw through the dirt and bury myself with her. I want the dirt to slide down my throat and choke me so I can sleep beside her forever.
Lukas’s boots appear next to me. “It’s getting dark. I’m sorry, Van, but we gotta go.”
“I can’t leave her.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I know. But I have to take you home. And Ivy’s waiting for me at my place.”
I throw a small rock that I’d been holding. “Must be nice. Does her husband know she’s there?” As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret saying them. I like to hurt people; I always have. I want them to feel the pain that I feel and the disappointments I’ve been forced to feel. That just seems fair to me. Not fair to Lukas, though.
“That was a douche thing to say, Vandal. I know you’re hurting, but don’t fling your sadistic shit on me. I’m going home. If you want a ride, get up.”
I don’t look up as he walks away from me to his car. I have no doubt that he’ll leave me here after what I said to him because I deserve it.
Minutes turn to hours while the sky morphs from blue to fiery orange to gray. I don’t want to leave her here but I know I can’t sit in the cemetery all night either. Kissing my fingertips, I press them to the mound of dirt that blankets my daughter.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” I whisper. “I’ll be back soon.”
When I reach the end of the narrow path and walk through the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery entrance, I see one lone car in the dark parking lot. I trudge over to the black Corvette and get inside. Without a word, Lukas starts the car and pulls out of the lot. I turn to him but his eyes remain on the road, his inked arms taut as he grips the steering wheel, deep in his thoughts.
“Sorry, I’m an asshole,” I say after a few minutes of silent driving, and he finally acknowledges me.
“I’m gonna let it slide because I know you’re hurting,” he says. “But I’ll say this: I’ve tried really fucking hard to get to know you. I thought it was great when we opened the tattoo shop together and got involved in the band together. Unlike you, I was glad to have a family, and be around people that understand me and accept me. But you … I just don’t fuckin’ know, man. You act like you hate all of us.”
I try to stretch in the cramped front seat. Corvettes must be designed for midgets. All I want to do is get home and be alone so I can drink, pop a few pills, and numb the pain. The last thing I want to do is have a heart-to-heart with my little brother.
“I don’t hate you, Lukas. I just don’t bond well.”
His jaw clenches. “Maybe you should try to bond, Vandal. Did it ever occur to you that maybe Katie wasn’t the only person that needed you? Or that maybe the people who try to be there for you would like to have some kind of effort back? Not everything is just take, take, take.” He glances quickly at me before turning back to the road. “You can be really exhausting, and sometimes I wonder why I bother. If you keep kicking a dog, eventually he’s not going to come back. Think about that.”
I nod and play with a stray thread on my pants. “I’ll think about that, Lukas.”
We don’t say another word for the rest of the drive to my house.
***
I may be a reckless person, but all the choices I’ve made in my own self-destruction have been just that: choices. Maybe the path that led me to those choices was out of my control most of the time, but in the end, the decisions have always been mine.
I’ve been clean and sober for two years, and I chose to do that so I could be a good father to Katie. And as I sit here in bed with a bottle of vodka next to a bottle of pills, I choose to go back to my old way of dealing with life.
Sipping the clear, burning liquid while lying in the middle of my bed, my thoughts drift to Renee. I’m pretty sure she’s in the ground now, too. Thanks to me. Although her death was also ruled to be an unfortunate accident, it’s still my fault that she was with me in the car that night. She died trying to be more than she was. She was nothing but a sex toy to me, and an unfortunate victim of my inability to form meaningful relationships with people. I didn’t know her well enough to miss her, but I do feel bad that she lost her life. She wanted more than I could give her, even though I’m always honest with the women I fuck. They know there will be no love, no commitment, and no care. There will be fun and there will be fucking. Nothing more. Yet women always seem to think they will get more, and that they might be the one to change me.
I pop a pill and wash it down with more vodka.
A snake is always a snake. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.
Vandal
I’m ripped out of my deep, numbing sleep by someone banging on the front door and ringing the doorbell. Non-fucking-stop. It’s obvious after ten minutes of banging that they aren’t going away, so I stumble down the hall, holding my sore ribs. I’m wearing nothing but sweatpants, and step over garbage, empty bottles, and strewn mail on my way.
I swing open the door and Evie is standing there, holding a bunch of grocery bags.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spew at her.
She pushes past me and plops the bags on my cluttered counter, sending a few empty vodka bottles to the floor.
“You’ve missed the last five practices,” she says, looking around in disgust. “No one has seen you in two weeks.”
I go to the fridge, take out a beer, crack it open, and take a big gulp. “What are you? The fucking band manager now?”
She starts to throw the dirty dishes on the counter into the sink, and then goes after the refrigerator, dragging the garbage can over so she can dump old, rotting food into it.
“This place is disgusting, Vandal.”
“No shit. Ask me if I care. Why the fuck are you here?”
“I came to check on you, and bring you some food. And clean, since you apparently need all of the above.” She looks me up and down and pokes my stomach. “You look thin.”
She completely takes over my kitchen like a tornado, putting groceries in the fridge, rifling through my cabinets, and throwing garbage away.
After listening to the scraping and crashing of her rearranging my kitchen
as I once knew it, I take another gulp of beer. “I don’t need your fucking help. Does Storm know you’re over here, playing maid to his fuck-up of a cousin?”
