AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Simple was always best. A quick slit of the wrists with a sharp razor might sting for a moment, but if you were submerged in a warm bath, you might not experience too much pain before your eyelids fluttered shut one last time. Couple that with flickering candles strategically placed and perhaps “Un bel di Vedremo” fromMadama Butterflyqueued up on his Bluetooth player.
Perhaps a white ship would appear to him to take him away. On the other side, Mom and Dad would wait. His boyhood beagle, Corky, would rush to him, tail wagging.
Jimmy opened the drawer beneath his bathroom sink, pawing through expired prescriptions, Band-aids, facial masks, toothpaste, and more detritus until he found what he was seeking—a new razor blade, still sheathed in cardboard. He’d bought a pack once upon a time when he needed one to scrape some goo off a vase he’d bought at Crate and Barrel. He held it up to the light, thinking it was strange how something so innocent could be so deadly, his guide to another world, an afterlife, if one even existed.
At this point, Jimmy didn’t much care.
He sat at the edge of the clawfoot tub he’d prized so much when he remodeled his main bathroom and turned the taps, adjusting the stream so it was barely below too hot. He stood and watched as the water rose, steaming.
He took the blade out of its sheathing and set it on the side of his tub. Next to it, he placed a Jo Malone candle with an orange bitters scent. He found a box of matches from Revel and lit the candle.
Now, all he needed was music. He switched on the Bluetooth speaker he kept in the bath and picked up his phone.
Wait. Should he write a note? Blame Trey? He shook his head as the idea rose and quickly vanished from his mind. Who would care? And what difference did it make, really, when he’d be dead soon?
He brought up Spotify on the iPhone and was going to search for opera playlists or perhaps Maria Callas when a thought, completely unexpected and unbidden, came to him.
He’d grown up next door to a family of Baptists and he’d often attend Sunday services with them because he had a secret crush on their adopted son, Keith, but he always remembered one Sunday when there was an a capella solo of the old standard, “Amazing Grace.”
“Maybe just one more time,” Jimmy said aloud, hitting the search icon in the app. He typed in the gospel favorite and one of the first results was LeAnne Rimes’s version.
He sat down on the edge of the tub again and hit the screen to start the song playing.
And, oh my Lord, what beauty came forth. A crystal clear voice, completely without—nor needing—accompaniment, emerged from the Bose speaker. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say this was the voice of an angel. That voice, more than the words, reached deep into his soul and brought back his tears.
But now they were different tears, because this gorgeous rendition reminded him of how beautiful and sustaining life could be. The melody, so simple, wrapped around his heart and held it gently in a warm embrace. And the lyrics? The line that really got to him, that seemed to be reaching out and speaking only to him, was the one about grace leading Jimmy home.
On his knees, he listened to the entire song, weeping like a child. These were not tears of loss or sadness, but of release, and of recognizing it wasnottoo late.
When the song was over, he wrapped the razor thickly in toilet paper and tossed it in the trash.
He drained the tub, blew out his candle, stopped Spotify from playing anything else. He retreated into his bedroom, threw back the duvet, and climbed into bed.
He knew he’d sleep.
And come morning? Well, who knew what the world might bring?
Chapter Two
MIRANDA RYMAN WATCHEDher dad from the door to his study. She’d stopped by his Seattle condo in east Queen Anne this evening because it was getting close to Christmas. She was worried.
Her dad had lost too much in his forty-odd years. First, the wife who’d been Miranda’s mother when her dad had finally accepted who he was, only a few years into the marriage and while Miranda was still a baby. And then, just this past Thanksgiving, his world shattered when the man he’d spent close to two decades with walked out. Steve Marsden had been a second dad to Miranda, sharing in all the joys and heartaches of her childhood and teenage years with them, a true part of the family.
Her dad had thought they were forever. She and he both believed the family was beyond such mundane concerns as breakup or even serious discord. They were much too happy. They were safe.
Miranda couldn’t imagine either of them with anyone else. Two peas in a pod, she’d always called them. Their affection was so pure and intense, Miranda had believed it could never burn out.
But it did.
All one Thanksgiving night, after the turkey and trimmings were consumed, the platinum-rimmed china hand-washed, the rest of it loaded into the dishwasher. The smell of sage, turkey, mushrooms, and pumpkin pie still lingered in the air when Steve announced that he was heading out.
“Okay,” her dad had said, head cocked and eyebrows together in confusion. This was the time they’d normally sit down in front of the TV and watch an old movie, something likeDouble Indemnity,Now, Voyager, orStella Dallas. “When will you be back?”
Miranda remembered thinking maybe he was just headed down to the corner, where there was a little convenience store run by a Korean couple. But it wouldn’t be open this late nor on a holiday.
“I won’t,” Steve had said, tears standing in his eyes. He stood frozen for a moment, as though he couldn’t recall how to move, and then stepped to the front hall closet and, from its floor, pulled his battered leather duffel. “I’ll come back after the weekend and get the rest of my stuff.”
Both Miranda and her dad had been too stunned to say anything. Literally. The words simply weren’t there. Not yet.
