Page 52 of Penalty to the Heart

“Very well,” Father McDowell says, far too agreeable for me. “Like I said before, no one is forced to bear witness. Some of us need a bit more time than others.”

“Geez, thanks,” I reply sarcastically.

“Roxanne, would you like to share today?” he asks, stunning the shit out of me.

“Actually, I would. Thank you, Father.” She smiles.

The fuck?

If she’s going about to tell everyone about me and my brother, then not only will I get to leave this place, but I’ll fucking sue. It’s got to be some kind of breach of doctor-and-patient confidentiality.

Right?

“Hi, everyone. My name is Roxanne.”

“Hi, Roxanne,” everyone parrots.

“Oh, wow, where to begin,” she says with a slight crack in her voice, a sharp contrast to the confident woman I have known these past couple of days.

“It’s been a year since I’ve come to one of these, so I feel like I might be a little rusty.”

“Take your time, child,” Father McDowell says patiently.

She offers him a shy smile and nods.

“Well, I guess I should start by saying how grateful I am for this support group when I needed it most. You wouldn’t know it by the look of me today, but seven years ago, when I first walked through those very doors, I was a complete and utter mess.” She lets out a tiny self-derisive laugh. “I’m ashamed to say that those first few reunions, I would just sit here and listen to everyone talk about their loss and think to myself that no one could possibly feel a fraction of the misery I was in. I mean, how could they? It was just so inconceivable to me,” she explains while staring into my eyes before turning her gaze away to continue on with her story. “It was just too big,” she mutters more to herself than to her attentive audience.

“It also wasn’t fair,” she explains with a shy smile. “Gregg was… he was so full of life.” She smiles as if she could see his face before her. “He had so much energy that sometimes I found it hard to keep up with him. I was more of a homebody, while Gregg was always looking for the next exciting thing to do. And believe me, he did everything under the sun. Hiking, skiing, surfing. You name it, he did it.” She laughs as she continues to reminisce. “After we finished college and got married, I wasn’t the least bit surprised he wanted to get a job that would give him the freedom to pursue his other outdoor activities. So we decided that Gregg would become a substitute teacher while I was getting my doctorate. It was the perfect scenario. Not only would it offer him the freedom he desired, but Gregg absolutely loved kids. Teaching came second nature to him.”

It’s when her face loses its light that I know she’s about to tell us how he died.

“I can still remember that morning like it was yesterday. I had just handed in my thesis and was running late to meet my advisor when he texted me that he got called to substitute a history teacher at Northridge High.”

Fuck.

She doesn’t have to tell the room what happened next.

I was sixteen at the time, but even I remember that school shooting.

The names and faces of all the teachers and students who died that day flash before my eyes, leaving me to wonder who Gregg was amongst all those faces.

Any previous hate I might have had for her vanishes into thin air, allowing me to see her, really see her for the first time.

“I lost my husband in our third year of marriage. That’s all we had before he died. Just three years. We were just starting our lives together. I should have been planning vacations and date nights, but instead, I was planning a funeral,” she says, her eyes lowering to the floor like she’s right there back at that place, living it all over again.

I’m not sure why I do it.

I’m not sure why I even care.

But suddenly I feel my hand reach out for hers and squeeze it tight.

She turns to face me, her beautiful, whiskey-colored eyes welling up with tears.

“I was so angry,” she tells me. “So very angry. There was so much hate and rage in me that I thought I’d choke on it.”

My chest tightens as she pulls my hand to her heart and holds it to her with both hands.

“There were times that all I wanted was to see the whole world burn. I wanted everyone to feel my pain. And then there were times I felt nothing. I was empty. Completely void of all emotion.”

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