Page 30 of Loved By The King

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady as my childlike mind doesn’t understand what is happening.

“Is Mom on her way?” she whispers, her words gurgling as blood spills from her lips. I glance around nervously, “You’re like Humpty Dumpty, remember? We’ll put you back together again. Just hold on.”

Grandma’s wails fill the air. “Someone call an ambulance! Please, hurry!”

I can see the light fading from Brielle’s eyes. “Don’t go,” I plead. “Please don’t leave me.”

Her grip on my hand loosens, and then… she’s gone. I cling to her body, screaming, refusing to let go even as strong arms try to pull me away.

Grandpa? I remember thinking hazily. The memory fades, leaving me shaking and tear-stained in my mother’s arms.

I blink away the tears, trying to focus on my mother’s face. Her eyes are filled with a mixture of sorrow and something else. Apprehension?

“What do you remember about that day, Aubrey?” she asks softly, her hand on my shoulder.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Grandpa left to get bread. Brielle and I went to ride our bikes. Then,” I shake my head, the screeching of tires echoing in my mind. “I can’t. I don’t want to remember anymore.”

Mom’s grip tightens slightly. “The car, Aubrey. Do you remember anything about the car?”

I close my eyes, trying to conjure the image, all I can see is Brielle’s broken body on the ground. “No, I… I can’t see anything but Brielle.”

“There were yellow paint scrapes on her bike,” Mom says quietly.

My eyes snap open, confusion flooding through me. “Yellow paint? What do you mean? What are you saying?”

“It was your grandfather, Aubrey. He was drunk behind the wheel.” she says softly.

I shake my head violently. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, Aubrey,” Mom nods, her voice breaking. “That’s why I stopped speaking to your grandmother. She gave him her keys, knowing he was drunk.”

The room spins around me. “But Grandpa, he… he…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“He died not long afterward, remember?” Mom scoffs a bitter laugh, “He killed himself. He couldn’t live with the guilt, knowing I would never forgive him.”

I stare at her, my world crumbling around me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to protect you, Aubrey. I wanted you to have a childhood without this awful truth hanging over it.” Her eyes are pools of sorrow, mirroring my own feelings of shock and disbelief.

“But it was a lie, Mom! You lied to me!” I can barely get the words out, the realization that my own grandfather caused my sister’s death throbbing like a fresh wound in my chest.

“I know. I know, sweetheart,” she whispers, her hand reaching toward me again.

I flinch away from her touch, shaking my head. “I know you’re upset, you lost your sister. But I lost my daughter, my mother and my father all in one day. I know you think I was cruel not helping her, but she defended him, and then blamed me for his death when he ended it.” she tells me. She glances at my sister’s pillow, picking up the stuffed bear.

“I just couldn’t,” Mom says, looking away. “In every story you told, Grandpa was still your hero. I didn’t have the heart to take that away from you when you already lost so much.”

“But Brielle.” The words stick in my throat, tears prickling my eyes, a storm of emotions rising within me. My hands tremble as I remember her smile, her laugh, the life she should have lived.

“I know,” Mom says softly, taking my hand in hers. “She was a light in our lives.”

A tear slides down my cheek. “How could he? Why would he…?”

“He was a broken man, Aubrey,” Mom offers, it’s small consolation against the guilt and betrayal coursing through me. “The drink had a hold of him.”

“He took her away,” I whisper, and she nods, grief etching deep lines into her face.