What can possibly go wrong?
Seven
Tessa
It’s Saturday, and I wake up feeling restless.
Having slept half the day away already, I decide to make some calls to find out what everyone else is up to. There’s a traveling circus in town, and I hope to get tickets for the afternoon show. I start with Jake and Megan but can’t get a hold of either of them. Carter’s next in line, and being the dependable one, he picks up on the third ring.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asks, voice cracking with emotion. Dread rises in my chest. “Mrs. Nelson was killed in a car accident last night. Drunk driver. The piece of shit ran her off the road and fled the scene. She hit a tree head-on and died on impact.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp in shock and disbelief. My heart drops into my stomach, and I can barely swallow past the golf ball-sized lump in my throat. I sniff back the tears threatening to spill over and try to form a response, but none comes forth. Jake loves his mother so much, and she’s been the only thing standing between him and her bully of a husband. I can’t imagine what he must be going through right now. How lost he must be feeling.
“How is he?”
“Devastated.” Carter’s reply is to the point. “I went to check on him as soon as my parents told me, but I only saw him for a few minutes. It wasn’t good, Tessa. I didn’t get past the front door, but I could hear his dad smashing things in the living room. Anna was clinging to Jake’s neck like she was afraid he’d disappear, and I could see Jude cowering in the stairwell. Poor kid was crying like his entire world was falling apart. Jake didn’t look like he was coping much better, but I could tell he was doing his best to keep it together for the little ones.”
I wipe my damp cheeks and take a steadying breath before asking the only question that really matters when tragedy strikes. “How can we help?”
“Honestly, I don’t think there’s much we can do but be there for him when he reaches out.”
Every fiber of my being wants to rebel against giving him space, but I know Carter is right. Jake’s barely had time to process his mother’s passing. He’s no doubt still reeling and nowhere near ready to put his grief into words. I know him well enough to understand he’s not the type of person who wants to be surrounded by people when he’s struggling. But I’m not the type to just sit on my hands and do nothing while someone I deeply care about is hurting. I feel utterly useless as I listen to his voicemail for the umpteenth time in as many minutes. When my call goes unanswered yet again, I leave him a fumbling message and follow up with a text.
Tessa
I heard about your mom. God, Jake. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here if you need me. XOXO Tessa
My words sound awkward and meaningless, even to my own ears, but I need him to know he’s not alone and that he has people in his corner. People who love him fiercely and would do anything to help him through this taxing time ahead. His reply comes hours later, just when I’m about to go out of my mind with worry.
Jake
Thanks for your messages. Sorry I’m just getting back to you, but things are seriously fucked up over here. Anna and Jude are a mess, and my dad’s been drinking and tearing the house apart. I told him to cut it out because he’s scaring the kids, but he’s being a selfish prick. Nobody got a wink of sleep last night, so we’re all exhausted. I’m trying to keep busy taking care of the funeral arrangements. Fuck, I can’t even believe I’m writing this. Thanks for checking in. I’ll talk to you soon.
I must read that text a hundred times over the days that follow, and every time I do, my heart breaks a little more. I want to march over there, knock his door down, and hug his pain away. But I know that’s not what he needs. All I can do now is trust that he’ll reach out when he’s ready and accept that he needs time and space to deal with his loss in his own way.
The day of the funeral is dreary and gray. It’s like the heavens themselves understand the immense loss suffered by the people gathered here today, and the sun refuses to shine. The gloomy storm clouds darkening the horizon cast a fitting backdrop to the sullen scene playing out before me, and it seems like the whole town is huddled together to pay their respects.
Sharon Nelson was a well-loved member of our small community and would not only be missed by her immediate family, but by everyone whose life was touched by her grace and kindness. I sniff quietly, clutching Carter’s sleeve for support and feeling utterly helpless. The remaining members of the Nelson family are lined up in front of the freshly dug grave, looking like they haven’t slept in weeks. Anna clings to Jake’s trouser leg—sobbing with all the passionand emotion of the heartbroken child she is—while her big brother stares off into the distance with red, unseeing eyes, stroking her back in an almost catatonic way. Jude is pressed to Mr. Nelson’s side, who is shaking like a leaf with the force of his grief. The whole affair is godawful, and at that moment, I’m willing to do just about anything to take away even a fraction of their pain.
Mr. Nelson isn’t a kind man, and I’ll most likely always resent him for the way he treats his son with such disregard and cruelty. But seeing this big, proud man reduced to tears—falling apart at the seams—knees buckling when the love of his life is being lowered into the ground is a hard thing to witness.
I notice Jake sway when the pastor throws the first hand of dirt onto the casket. It’s a subtle movement. There is a slight tightening of the arm as he pulls his little sister closer to his side to steady himself. He sucks in a shaky breath and keeps his gaze fixed on the ground for the remainder of the ceremony. When it’s his turn to drop his mom’s favorite flower into the grave, he does so with a trembling hand. But he never sheds a tear. Somehow, the stoic way in which he holds on to his composure has an almost desperate feel to it. Like he knows he won’t recover if he lets himself fall apart.
After the service, the congregation moves on to the Nelson residence, where the reception is held. It’s there that I finally get a moment alone with Jake. I hug him close and hold on tight, pouring all the strength I possess into my exhausted, brave boy.
“I’m so sorry, Jake. Your mom was an amazing woman. If there is anything I can do, you just say the word. Anything at all.” I pull back just in time to catch his subtle nod, and even though his eyes are on me, it’s like he doesn’t truly see me.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m not being very sociable.”
“Please,” I wave off his apology. “Nobody’s expecting you to entertain the masses. You’re holding it together better than I ever could.”
Jake chuckles humorlessly as his gaze briefly flits to something past my shoulder. Whatever has caught his attention causes his lips to press into a thin line.
“I’m just trying to get through this without losing my shit. It’s disgusting how some people turn my mother’s funeral into a damn soap opera. Mrs. Clearwater sounded like she was giving birth when they lowered the casket. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left permanent marks on her husband’s forearms the way she dug her claws into him. That woman sure knows how to put on a show. Christ, she barely said two words to my mom when she was alive.”
“Do you need me to do anything? I can stick around after the reception. Maybe help with the cleanup?”
“God, no.” Jake’s reaction is instantaneous, and I try not to flinch at his blatant rejection. Dragging a hand through his hair, he hits me with an apologetic look. “Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just that Mrs. Harris offered to take Anna and Jude for the rest of the day, and I really need a moment to myself. I was so busy making sure everyone else was okay, I haven’t had time to process any of this. But I promise I’ll call as soon as I feel up to it.”
