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That’s a good question. Dammit, there’s a pit deep in my stomach. It’s swallowing all the hope and the heat I’ve been feeling ever since this started. It’s like an unhinged beast devouring all the goodness, and that’s what I should want. That’s my entire reason for doing what I’m doing. I should welcome the destruction.
Tell me a good memory from your childhood, I text. Or your favorite color. Just talk to me, Katy.
You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?
There’s no reason to panic. Your mom’s fine. Jackal’s fine. Everybody is okay. Soon, the same person who delivered that phone will come and pick it up. Then, you’ll continue giving your statement. Life will be good.
So you went through all this effort so we could talk about my favorite COLOR?
I smirk as I imagine her sassy tone of voice when she says this. Once, I would’ve had to invent her tone in my mind. I would’ve had to guess exactly how she sounds when she gets all needy and forward, but now I can hear her voice. I can hear the fire in it. I can hear the fierce quiver that hints at what sort of mother she will be—the best.
So what the fuck am I doing?
Yes, I reply. Or a funny story from high school. Or work. Anything.
I just want a piece of her. My head is so messed up. I don’t think… Hell, I know I’ve never felt this confused before. It’s like there are several versions of me, all battling fiercely inside, all as hungry and committed to winning as the rest. Each version wants Katy so bad it hurts, and each version is terrified of letting her down or becoming weak and small—the sort of man who won’t be able to protect her.
Are you serious? she replies. After everything that’s happened? After what I learned? After Dad? THIS is what you want?
I’m so sorry about your father, I reply.
If you’re sorry, explain what the hell’s going on.
I place the phone down and close my eyes for a moment. In my head, I can hear Jackal whining when I left him. I can see the judgment in Liam’s eyes, though he’d never say anything, never let me know this is how he feels. Yet it was there all the same.
After a couple of minutes, my phone vibrates. My favorite color is blue. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad used to take me to the park. Dad would swing me around on his shoulders. I really thought I was flying. When I looked at the sky on a summer’s day, I genuinely believed that if Dad kept spinning, I could fly up there.
I read the message with a gentle smile on my face.
What about you? she texts a moment later. Since you’re determined to be so mysterious, let’s talk about pointless stuff.
There’s nothing pointless about what you just told me, I reply. It’s a beautiful memory.
Sure it is. But maybe sitting in a police station while you’re acting so shifty isn’t the best place to tell it. But seeing as you’re determined to keep me in the dark, what’s your favorite color? And your favorite pizza topping?
I’ve never had a favorite color, I reply. As for pizza toppings, give me some meat, and I’m good.
I send the message, then rub my forehead. She’s right. This is pointless. Not her memory of her dad, but this entire thing—going through the effort of getting a cell phone to her. For what? Maybe I think it’ll make me feel better when I’m gone, the fact we shared these final moments together. Perhaps I’ll be able to convince myself I’m not a complete asshole.
Wow, she replies. I’m so glad I asked.
I can just see your sassy smile as you typed that.
I’m not really in the mood for jokes, she replies.
You’re right. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I meant what I said. I will always, always be your guardian angel. Nothing will ever change that, but giving you this phone was a mistake. It’s only going to make it more complicated.
I stare at the message, wondering if I should send this. It probably would’ve been better to say nothing and let Liam and the video do the explaining. I delete the message, then write another, I love you. That’s why I have to do this.
I delete this one, too, and then close the conversation thread. I will have to leave it as it is—no, not have to. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing to leave my dog and my woman because I’m so twisted up and dark inside and scared like a goddamn boy, even more terrified than the kid who killed his own dad.
I never knew love could be scarier than death. Grabbing the cell phone, I leave the bar and head outside. When I climb into my car, I know I could fix this. Turn around, ignore the fear inside of me, and accept that I’m going to be a different man from now on. It’s what I want—my woman. But there’s this panicky pulsing inside of me that won’t quit.
