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"What do you expect from us, Brandt? We are trying, and this is how we are doing it," I snapped. "And don't be such a hypocrite. Look at your hands. I doubt punching things is considered the best way of coping, either."
"That's not fair. I lost people, too, Bay."
"None of this is fair. It sucks ass, Brandt. Grady is dealing with it however he can right now, and if drinking gets him through the next day, then give it to him."
"Am I allowed to worry about you?" A cynical undertone surfaced.
I should have responded, but what was I going to say? “No, I'll be fine,” because I knew I wouldn't be. Or “yes,” because I never would be?
"You're becoming distant, Bay. All I want to do is be here for you, but you have to let me. You have to let me in."
The last few nights I had stayed up with Grady in this same spot just talking—the only talking I did during our stay. Our conversations sometimes wandered to Tessa, but mostly they were about stupid stuff. For whatever reason, I took solace in Grady's presence. Right now with Brandt, I felt watched. I knew he loved me and, of course, I loved him, but I feared that was the problem. My attachment to him was unhealthy, and if I ever lost him amidst everything else, I wouldn't make it. Hell, I didn't even know if I would make it either way.
He eventually gave up when I didn't say anything else and went inside. I later heard him zipping up luggage. We were leaving the hotel today and heading straight to the funeral for our families. Brandt organized everything and decided on one funeral for both of our families. One was already too many.
Brandt had retrieved my black silk button down and a pair of dark jeans from my house, so I put them on obediently, trying to block out the reason for me leaving the balcony. Grady sat at the dining table with a vodka-filled glass. Something I rarely saw him without anymore.
When Brandt left the room to load the car and close our bill, I went and sat with Grady. His eyes were glazed, but he wasn't drunk. It was the familiar glaze that stared back at me in the mirror. Detachment. I placed my hand out over the table and he reached out and took it in his. We didn't have to speak. We knew today was going to be absolutely devastating, but we would face it together, like we had been since the accident. I went to twirl my hair with my free hand, but stopped just before and put my hand back on my lap.
"Don't," he said suddenly. "Don't do that, please. Don't try to hide who you are because it's a reminder of who she was. Please.” His voice was desperate.
"I just… How do you do it, Grady? How do you look at me and not see her?"
"It's why I'm surviving, Bay."
My heart burst. He saw Tessa through me, but what did he think that meant? I couldn't ever be her replacement. Not in that way. He would never truly deal with Tessa's loss with me in front of him every day. Our relationship had become a necessity, like breathing, but I now realized how detrimental it was for him. He needed to move on, which meant I needed to leave. I needed to stop being a crutch. I knew what I needed to do for him, but I would wait until after the funeral. We would need each other more than ever to get through it.
"You're not only going to survive, Grady, but one day, you'll thrive again. I promise." I squeezed his hand. Brandt came back, watching our exchange uncomfortably. I knew he would never think I would cheat on him, but I also knew it hurt him seeing me lean on Grady instead of him. Something I needed to change.
"We're all packed up," he stated.
Grady threw back the rest of his drink, got up, and walked out of the room.
"He'll be okay, Brandt. I'll make sure of it." I was a different story. I joined him at the door, grabbing the LA Times the hotel left for us. On the front page was a picture of Brandt carrying me from the crash site last week. My heart dropped as I relived the moment. The photo was from the perspective of the crowd with the wreck behind us, so it was probably taken with a cell phone. “Surviving is All Relative” was the title of the story. Someone had recounted my meltdown to a reporter. I wanted to put the paper down, knowing the pain it would bring, but I couldn’t. I needed to know everything about the crash. Every injured person, every lost life, every single detail.
Baylor Reilly was one of three survivors from the cars that rolled over with the force of the impact. She is the only remaining survivor in her family. Thanks to Ms. Stone, eleven-year-old, Elizabeth Evans, survived. Miss Evans lost her grandparents in the collision.
Victims on top of victims.
The article detailed my parents' presence in the community, and it also mentioned Tessa's acceptance to Stanford. The article focused mainly on Lizzy and me, but it did reference that seventeen people had perished and over 225 more were injured. Only three had survived in the front cars of the Union Pacific Railroad and Metrolink trains. I let that sink in. Why had I been spared? How had I not died? None of it made sense. I should have died with my family.
"We need to get going," Brandt reminded me.
I folded the newspaper and took it with me.
"The crash has been front page every day," he said in the car.
I stared out the window. Grady was in the back seat doing the same thing. As we traveled through the center of town, I saw makeshift memorials outside of stores and picture posters on walls. All to remember the dead. One was a picture of a family of five, the mom holding a baby as two little ones wrapped around their daddy's leg. I gasped and wiped away a tear. The whole community had been affected by the crash.
One night at the hotel, Brandt told me the investigators determined the conductor of the Metrolink train was texting before the crash, so they suspected he had missed the warnings that the railroad switch had failed, putting us on a head-on collision course. You would think alarms would ring and dispatchers would be yelling. Human idiocy and technology errors had taken the life of not only my family but also many more. All the survivors were psychologically scarred, and many permanently disfigured. The sheer mass of devastation was nauseating.
The parking lot to the cemetery was packed. In fact, the streets were lined with cars, too. My jaw dropped. "There are so many people," I muttered.
"Your parents were pretty big in the community, Bay. Everyone wants to pay their respects."
I was overcome with emotion when I saw the sea of people on the grass. They were everywhere. Brandt pulled into a spot reserved for us.
"This is it," he announced.
