Page 116 of When The Rain Falls

"I'll grab it." I turn back the way I came, taking big strides and patting my pockets, while also keeping an eye on the toddler, who is now taking wide, unsteady steps forward. When I don’t feel the keys in my pocket, I scan the park until I spot Ruby and Vivian. Ruby is scanning her phone. Vivian is dribbling a soccer ball between her feet. Ponytail high and bouncing.

"Hey, Viv? Keys!" I shout to her.

The girl pulls a set of keys out of her pocket and tosses them towards me in a large arch. They land in my cupped hands. "Nice throw, for a soccer player," I call back. She rolls her eyes as I sprint toward a maroon minivan.

I pop a coffee pod in my machine and push the big circular button on the front of the device. Early sun rays are peeking through the windows, having been filtered by the pine trees outside.

I didn’t sleep well last night. The first time in a long time. And now it feels like a bag of bricks has been set on the top of my skull. I turn my phone over and open the calendar app. No meetings today. Thank fuck. My head is pounding.

Shadows of a scene flood to the surface of my mind. It must have been last night's dream. I try to conjure all the details. A scene from a picnic? A picnic with Laurel? Except I can't remember any picnics with Laurel. I'm sure we had some. I just can't think of a specific time. The images come together a bit more clearly. There's a chubby toddler. But, a boy. And the woman has light brown hair. It can't be Laurel.

Aimee?

For years, I've woken up to dreams of Laurel. Flashbacks to the past. At some point in the past week or so, they just stopped. I don’t remember when. A flutter of anxiety works its way up my chest.

I don’t dream about her anymore.

I don’t dream about Laurel.

I try to remember the last one, but I can’t. The only thing echoing in my brain is Aimee’s laugh. Bubbling, loud, hysterical, uncensored. It’s nothing like Laurel's soft, demure laugh. I try again. I dig deep into the recesses of my thoughts. But I can’t find it. It’s gone. Laurel’s laugh. It slipped from my memory. Along with my dreams. Maybe forever.

A heavy panic begins to fall on me. Sweat is starting to form on my skin. My heart beats faster in my chest and my throat feels like it's collapsing. I need Laurel's laugh. I can't lose that sound. It's all I have left of her.

I run into the garage and stand before shelf after shelf of Rubbermaid boxes. Some boxes are labeled, others are not. I kick myself for not finishing the garage organization project I started last summer.

I skip over the labeled boxes, the ones markedXmas andHalloweenandSnow gear. I start pulling down the unlabeled boxes and peek into the lids. There's two boxes of the girls' craft projects and school papers. There's a box of maternity clothes that I swore I donated years ago. There's a box of inflatable pool toys. Finally, I find it. The box with the old TV. A small cube with a built-in DVD player. It's filled with DVDs labeled with the fine-point tip of a permanent marker.

I lift the whole box off the shelf and carry it to the living room. I bring the TV out and set it on the floor near an outlet. I pull out the first DVD case my hand touches. When I pull my fingers away from the cover, I leave an imprint in a thin layer of dust. It takes me a moment to remember how to work the old TV. I eventually get the settings right. I pop the DVD in and hit the triangle button for play.

It's Ruby's first birthday party. At first I try to fast forward, looking for a shot of Laurel. But I can't bring myself to skip past a single moment. Everything captured on the DVD is a treasure. A part of my life I can never get back. Every frame brings a new heat, a new stab to my chest. Every still shot rips open a wound I've been trying, and failing miserably, to heal. I haven't watched a single one of these videos since I downloaded them, labeled the cover, stuck them into a box in the garage. That was before Laurel left us. I realize I haven't taken any videos since then. Like life itself ended with her.

The beginning of the video shows the park near our house. Party decorations. Random family members and friends waving to the camera and saying hi. Then suddenly there's Laurel in a pink sundress picking up a small Ruby. Laurel plants a giant kiss on her cheek and buries her face in Ruby's. Ruby giggles and Laurel laughs. I pause. I rewind. I listen again. And again. I listen five times. Ten times. Until the sound is rooted firmly back in my head. Until I can conjure it myself without assistance. I can't forget it again. I won't.

41LEAVING

AIMEE

“Bear. You home?”

I step into Finn’s house and close the door behind me. After noticing his van in the driveway during my lunch break, I texted to see what was going on. And, more importantly, whether he needed company. My company. When he didn’t answer, I decided to pop over for a house call.

“Bear?” I call out. “You here?”

The house is quiet. All the lights are off except for the one in the kitchen. So, I head in that direction first. But the kitchen is empty. A forgotten mug full of coffee on the counter. That’s not like Finn at all. He doesn’t do anything without coffee first. Well, not anything but me.

The cabinet above the refrigerator is slightly open. A row of shiny glass bottles peeking out like a row of straight teeth. Figures. Even his liquor is organized.

Wait.

Liquor.

Finn doesn’t drink. I didn’t even know he kept liquor in the house. The only words in my head are a repetitious loop ofoh shitandoh fuck,as I stumble past the kitchen into the living room. The first thing I see is an old TV on the carpet. It’s pluggedinto an outlet and, at I instantly recognize that it’s playing a home video. A little girl in a bubble bath is slapping the water. A woman behind the camera is cooing.

It’s Laurel.

It’s her voice. Her words. It’s her. The woman I know so much about and so little about. The woman Finn’s loved for so many years. And right now, it feels like she’s in this very room. My heart is doing something funny. But I’m not sure what it is.

I pull my eyes away to scan the rest of the room. Then I see Finn. He’s lying on the ground. On his stomach. A fist curled up at his face. His limbs sprawled out. The first panicked thought is that he’s not there anymore. That he left. That he left to be with her. I draw in a painful breath while my soul feels like it’s being crushed between two cars.

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