Page 66 of XO

Everyone wears black—black dresses, black shoes, black suits, black hats. I opt for the knee-length aqua color dress my father picked out himself for the junior winter dance I never went to. My mother begged, pleaded for me to conform, explaining people will talk.

“Talk about what?” I’d said. “That I’m not wearing black to my father’s funeral?”

I stared at her the same way she often did with me, like I had suddenly grown three heads.Since when did she care so much what others thought of her or me?I’ve been an outcast my whole life, and now suddenly she gives a shit because people will question her.

My mother stands to my right, silently wiping tears with a carefully folded tissue. Next to her are the Lynchs. Mr. Lynch takes it upon himself to rub her back in what I assume to be a comforting gesture. I am yet to see Jacob—at all—his vanishing act truly that of a great magician. That is until I feel him press against my back. A subtle gesture making me aware of his presence.

I want to feel rage.

I want to stab him in the eye with the thorn on my rose stem.

But I feel nothing.

You see, when my father left me behind, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t tell death to turn around and come back later—say in about forty years.

But Jacob, Jacob had a choice as to whether he got in his Dodge and drove off. He decided to humiliate me by leaving me stranded over an hour out of town. He made the choice to offer me no comfort and support when my father died.

He’d abandoned me the way my father would never dream of.

Jacob takes my hand in his and for the rest of the sermon, we stay linked because I’m too numb to fight him off.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Pastor Bryant concludes. “Dear heavenly Father, we trust you’ve welcomed John Reign with open arms…”

My mother steps forward, placing her single rose on the black coffin. It should be my turn next, but when I don’t move, Mr. Lynch steps forward and then everyone follows, paying their respects before dispersing. For them, this will be over soon. They’ll move on, and my father will become a distant memory. Long forgotten. They might even share a laugh this afternoon about something that happened just last week. It feels like I can never laugh again.

“Rosie,” Jacob speaks softly against my ear. I swallow hard but don’t flinch. “Rosie, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” He squeezes my hand gently before using his thumb to draw an X on my palm. That small gesture that just happens to mean the world to me is like a brutal kick in the guts. I step forward pulling away from him, desperately needing to break contact. I don’t dare turn around. I can’t stomach the sight of him.

“Leave me alone,” I say flatly, tears cascading down my cheeks.

“Rosie, please.”

“Leave,” I seethe angrily causing alarm to the last few mourners. “Just. Leave. Me. Alone, Jacob. Trembling uncontrollably, I struggle to breathe, my chest aching with a giant weight on it.

A few moments pass before I feel the air clear, and I know he’s left. I’m on my own, just like I wanted. Feeling my legs grow weak, I collapse beside the coffin, tentatively touching the cold varnished wood as if I will hurt the body inside.

“Please come back, Daddy,” I barely manage, choking on sobs. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I need you to hear me say, I love you, Dad. I need you here… with me. I promise I’ll look after you better. I promise. Just please… please, come back to me. I miss… I miss you so, so much. Please… come back.”

~

I don’t remember the rest of the day. I missed the entire wake. Apparently, according to my mother, I passed out with ‘emotional exhaustion’ beside the coffin, but not before unkindly telling the gravediggers to fuck off. She also mentioned that Jacob retrieved me, carrying me back to the car and then up the stairs once we got home.

I don’t remember a thing because had I have known Jacob was carrying me, I would have also told him with deliberate unkindness to fuck off. Still in bed the next morning, unable to sleep and staring at my father’s face looking back at me from the picture framed on my bedside, I listen to the sound of voices, gentle at first, unable to make out what they’re saying until they grow louder, more aggressive and more abusive.

I hear Jim Lynch’s voice booming obscenities, ignorant to the whole street hearing his abuse. Springing from bed, I run to my window in time to see Mrs. Lynch closing the passenger door. And then I see Jacob, slamming shut the trunk, and then unperturbed by the vile threats, walk past his piece-of-shit father because he’s taking the driver’s seat.

I frown, staring hard into the backseat of the Dodge. Boxes and suitcases are stacked without an inch of room left with no doubt more in the trunk.

“Where are you going?” I whisper.

Jacob turns the ignition letting the Dodge roar to life before glancing up through the window. My heart lurches. His face is blank, completely empty of the Jacob I used to know—the Jacob who convinced me to fall in love with him. He stoically holds my gaze as if he’s staring at a complete stranger. And then he pulls out of the driveway and disappears down the street.

I run to my bedside table and snatch my phone. Nothing. No message. No call.

What do I expect exactly?The guy left me in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, and I think he’d extend the courtesy in telling me where he’s going?

“That was your mistake from the very beginning, Rosie,” I chide myself out loud. “Putting your heart on the line only for it to be crushed.” I turn back to the frame next to the bed. “I should have listened to you, Dad.” And begrudgingly, my mother deserves some credit for her own warning. “Boys like Jacob Lynch won’t just break your heart, they’ll light the match and watch your whole world burn to the ground.”

~

---