Page 31 of Chasing Storm

My hand presses against my mouth, tears splintering my voice as a rush ofno’stumble out. I touch Joey’s arm when I feel my legs give way, so he can steady me while sobs wrack my body. He’s holding me up. Officer Podesta veers away to catch his own sorrow and reigns it under control. Once he’s calm enough, he asks if I want to go into the room. I’m nodding before he even finishes the question. Joey assists me in while Officer Podesta remains by the door.

In the room, it’s eerily quiet aside from my whimpering. The machines she’s hooked up to are shut off, which reflects her state. I stand in the middle of the room, slanting into Joey’s chest. He gives me this moment by not asking questions, only supporting me physically and emotionally. My sobs have faltered a bit as I remember Rosie was all smiles. A hot little thirty-five-year-old body and a personality that could light up the night sky. The warmth and empathy that exuded from her had me clutching onto her, wanting to have her in my life. She had a way of simmering my anxiousness, and when I talked, her big brown eyes never wavered from me.

I’m standing by her bed, except I can’t remember walking here. My head angles downward at Rosie’s battered skin, marred by bruises, while the rest of her is tucked beneath a blanket from chin to toes. Her brown eyes closed forever. This squeezes out another sob from me.

My hand slides underneath the blanket to take one of her hands in mine, moaningno, while the other brushes strands of hair from her forehead. Blood glues part of her hair to her head. I pinch my lips together, taking in this woman who doesn’t resemble the one I remember. The one who had a stash of healthy snacks under the counter. Who could rattle off the names of plants on a whim. A woman who blushed when Officer Podesta asked her out, and the same woman who comforted me when I quit over the phone. She didn’t prod me for answers, or yell at me for not letting her know sooner. Rosie simply told me the doors to the florist shop were always open to me as a customer, friend, and worker. She also offered a listening ear whenever I needed to talk to someone.

Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed Officer Podesta walking in and standing on the other side of the bed, glancing down at Rosie.

Through a strained voice, I ask, “What happened?”

He wipes at his face, looks up at me, and responds, “Her ex-husband.”

My jaw drops open, and then I heave in heavy bouts of tears, remembering what she told me about him. Rosie was born and raised in Texas. She fell head over heels in love with her husband, dismissing the warning signs of his controlling side. At first, he isolated her from family and friends, and by the time she realized it, too much time passed, and she didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to them. After he had her all to himself, the violence began, putting her in the hospital on occasion. She used excuse after excuse about her injuries to avoid prosecuting him. That changed when she became pregnant, and during a bout of violence, she lost the baby. On the sly, she contacted a domestic violence support group, who brought her to a home in Chicago. Two years have gone by.

I grip the side rail and say, “But he lives in Texas. How did he find her?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know. We’ve been together for months, and there hasn’t been any indication he was around.”

My hand releases hers, smacking the railing as I say, “That sonofabitch.” I detect a quake from the top of my head, creeping down to my toes, saturated in anger. “Rosie made something of herself.” My upper body jerks with tears. “She didn’t deserve to die this way. She had so much…”

Life. That’s what I want to say, but I can’t get it out. My lungs can’t get enough air to speak. Joey sits me in the chair, putting my head between my legs, and telling me to breathe. How? How do you say goodbye to someone with such a sweet nature, yet so strong? She fled from a man she still loved, knowing she’d die if she didn’t. And here we are, mourning her precious life because she didn’t run far enough.

Minutes go by until I’m able to sit up and breathe like a normal person. But my vacant stare is on Rosie’s lifeless form. Numbness relieving me now of my painful sorrow. Joey crouches next to the chair, watching me, so I mouthBidi Bidi Bom Bomand a soft smile skirts my face. When the shop was slow, Rosie would put on Selena’s song, and we’d dance around singingBidi Bidi Bom Bom. No matter what mood I was in, the song cheered me up, like Rosie did.

Officer Podesta’s broken voice snaps me out of my memory. “Rosie doesn’t have any family.”

I stand, wiping at my eyes. “She does but it’s been years since she kept in touch. Should we coordinate her wake and burial?”

He only gives me a nod.

Many coffee cups and hours later, Joey drives Officer Podesta and I to the funeral home where we make all the arrangements for two days from now. There’s no animosity between either of them because there’s no place for it. Angelo is a broken man, and Joey is trying to keep his wife in one piece.

The wake is swarming with police officers paying their respects to Angelo. Joey ignores the discomfort the enforcement crowd brings. Instead, he keeps an eye on me, making sure I eat and drink, standing by my side in case my emotions shatter. He’s my rock.

Officer Podesta, Joey, and I stand to the side of the casket as people say their last goodbyes to Rosie, making the sign of the cross, and approaching us. Aside from Joey and Leo popping in earlier when hardly anyone was here, I don’t know anyone. Some police officers give their names and condolences, and I provide my name, leaving out Malone. Their eyes roam over to Joey’s, with only a nod for an acknowledgment.

It’s an endless line. A rotating belt of condolences, stares, and a couple of stories about Rosie. Angelo sits down in a chair nearby, prompting friends to join him. I remain standing with Joey by my side. A gorgeous man, dressed in police attire, stops in front of us and offers a hand to me, and Joey stiffens when I take it.

“How are you doing, Teagan?”

My head tilts to the side. “How did you know my name?”

He gestures to his badge. “I keep tabs. Aside from the florist shop, you haven’t been around town in years.”

I nod and say, “My school was in Northwest Chicago, and I had been attending college.”

He has a dazzling smile, and what makes it even more alluring is the angle of one tooth near the front ones. He’s cordial, not showing airs or creating drama. I’m about to ask his name when he extends his hand to Joey, who obliges.

“How’s things, Joe?”

Joey clears his throat. “Good.”

I jump in to ask, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”

“Blaise Vaughn.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Officer Vaughn.”

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