AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve got a couple of meetings, but I should be wrapping up around four. Why?”
“Do you want to grab a beer after? I’d love to catch up.”
“Sure, let me check with Auds to see if she’s cool with it. I’ll text you.”
“Ah, marriage. What’s it like having to check in all the time and ask permission to go to the bar?” I only tease to get a rise out of him. Truthfully, I’m thrilled he found Audrey and started a family. She’s a great woman and is such a perfect match for Jack, nobody can read him like she can.
“Fucking awesome. What’s it like still being a slut?” he asks. That one hits a little too close to home, at the moment, but I don’t give it away and fake my best laugh for conviction.
“Fucking awesome.”
* * *
October 19. For the first few years, the anniversary was awful. It always started as a celebration but ended with fighting, trying to come up with what happened that day. Frustrated rants at the Niagara Falls Tourism Bureau for not having higher quality CCTV recordings. Going through tour bus information and random vacation photos sent to us by people who were at the falls that day—just in case they might have a shot of Bridget in them. Pouring over maps from the New York Water Board, trying to figure out if she could have fallen into the falls, and if so, where her body might be spat out.
It was bleak.
The whole family was put through the wringer, especially when there was no closure. Ken and Lori’s marriage was on the rocks, so Jack and I spent a lot of time together. It was his sister but all three of us were tight. We leaned on each other and worked through grief in our own ways. In the fall, when the memories were the hardest, we played hockey for hours. Until our hands and toes froze. It was something to take our minds off her absence and the fact both of our home lives were falling apart, though for different reasons. His parents were distraught and distracted, and my mom was damaged and indignant. And usually drunk.
And then there were the dreams. My memories of her would replay as I slept, always starting up around the anniversary of her disappearance. It’s a blessing and a curse. The memories are so vivid they feel real, like she’s back. But every time I wake up, it’s like losing her all over again. She’s a part of me that will always be missing. All of our lives were changed the day she disappeared, split into two timelines: before she was gone and after. Each year got a little easier, until it became more of a celebration of her and less about the loss we still feel.
“I’m home!” I yell when I walk into the house.
Lori Hayes strides into the foyer with a bright smile and hugs me. At six feet two, I have to lean down to reach her short five-foot frame. Losing a daughter almost destroyed her, but she’s one of the most nurturing and loving people I’ve ever met. Ken and Lori took me in to live with them when I was ten and didn’t have a safe home life. Without them intervening, I wouldn’t be where I am today. They are the most important family I have; nobody means as much to me as they do.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says into my shoulder.
“Hey, Mom H. Good to be home.”
She releases the hug and frames my face with her hands.
“You need to come around more often, kiddo. I miss cooking for you. We still do the big Sunday dinner; I promise to send you home with enough leftovers to last you a couple of days.”
Feeding people is her love language.
She drops her hands and turns toward the kitchen. “Maddie is playing outside, but she’s been jabbering about you all morning, as usual!”
Jack and Audrey’s daughter, Madelyn, is four years old and is everything I would want my daughter to be like someday. She’s bright, thoughtful, curious, and creative. Maddie has come to learn about Bridget—or rather Aunt Birdie—–with stories from us over the years. We are pretty sure she thinks that “Birdie Day” is a national holiday celebrated by everyone on the planet, and we don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.
“There he is. Congrats on your two assists last Friday!” Ken wraps me up in a big dad, bear hug and claps me on the back.
“Thanks, old man. Speaking of which, I’ve got some more tickets to give you guys.” Contrary to what most people think, players only get two complimentary tickets per game from the league, but I buy eight extra season tickets for the Hayes family and anyone extra they feel like bringing. Seeing them in the crowd means a lot, and they rarely miss a game.
“Aw, this is great. Thank you. You know we’ll be there!” he says, waving the envelope as if I don’t give him one every year.
Jack is washing a baby bottle at the sink. He looks exhausted.
“Where’s Auds?” I ask.
“She’s in the den with Liam.”
“Are you guys getting any more sleep?” They have a three-month-old, and it sounds like he’s got his sleep schedule backward.
“Nah. Babies, man. Never again.”
“I heard that,” Lori warns.
“I’ll take little man later so you guys can grab a nap,” I offer.
