Page 112 of Where We Went Wrong

“Good.That's ... that's good ...” He turned to look through the door, his eyes vacantof all emotion. All but sorrow.

Ifollowed his gaze and there, at the bottom of the stairs, was Jamie. Her eyeswidened with childish joy and excitement, jittering from one foot to the otherand waving her hands wildly. As if she was trying to get someone's attention.

Andthe visions struck like lightning. Quick and powerful.

Jamieon her father's lap in front of the fireplace.

Jamiein her bedroom—my room—with the dollhouse her father built.

Jamiein the pool, struggling, and then, no longer breathing. All while her fathertook a quick phone call inside.

Herfather. Jamie's father.

Iturned to him, nearly crippled by the thundering anguish that crushed againstmy heart. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed before and that I hadn't put thepieces together. They had the same eyes, the same nose, and the same grin thatcould brighten the most dismal of moments.

Exceptthis one.

“Sorry,”Moe said, turning from the door to brighten the moment with his daughter'sidentical smile. “I thought I could do this, but ... damn, I just ... I justcan't believe you actually live inthishouse.”

“Youlived here,” I whispered, choking out the words between the chipped pieces ofmy forever breaking heart.

Hetook a deep breath before nodding. “I did,” he said, tipping his head back tolook at the slatted porch ceiling. “The place looks a little different, but ...it still looks like home.” Then, he looked back to me, eyes narrowed withcuriosity. “How did you know that?”

Ipushed myself to smile, as I ignored Jamie and her deafening static, telling meto tell him. Telling me to set her free and finally, finally,finallylet her go. But, letting her go would mean losing my best friend and beingalone, and goddammit, hadn't I been through enough? Hadn't I hurt enough?

“Whatare you doing here?” I asked, changing the subject while keeping my eyes on Moeand only Moe.

“Oh,right,” he said, snapping himself out of what was sure to be a heartbreakingtrip down memory lane. He reached into his coat pocket and continued, “So, Idunno if you heard about anything that went down.”

Witha quick shake of my head, I replied, “I haven't. I, um ... I haven't talked toVinnie, or anyone for that matter, in months.”

Hiseyes glazed with sadness and sympathy as he stated, “Vinnie tried to killhimself.”

Inall my years of dealing with the dead and dying, I've had to deliver somehorrible news to people who never deserved to hear it. And I've tried toimagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end, thinking of how I'dwant it said and where I'd want to be. I've even tried to imagine how I'dreact. How quickly the tears would come, and how deep the pain would seep intomy chest.

Hearingthat my husband, the man I loved most despite it all, had tried to end hislife, was the worst piece of news I could imagine, or that I'd ever been given.Moe's pointed delivery was more blunt than I would have preferred. I reasonedthat it probably made it easier for him, to say that his friend, his brother,had wanted to die, in the same way you might tell someone that you had a bakedpotato with dinner. And the pain of those words, as calm as they might've beendelivered, pierced my heart and traveled beyond flesh, bone, and muscle, untilthey touched my soul. My hands clutched tight to my chest, afraid that if I letgo, the essence of my own life would spill from the hole that was surely thereand puddle at our feet.

Butthe tears didn't come. I was already beyond frivolous emotion and headedstraight toward shock, as my mind zeroed in on the image of him, sprawled outand lifeless on the floor.

“H-How?”It was the only thing I could think of to say, as if I didn't already know.

“Overdose.”

Inodded, unblinking and hoping he would fill the air with something other thanthe buzz of my silent best friend and the sickening crack of my breaking heart.

“Afteryou called me,” Moe continued, “I ran over to his place, just to check on him.I knew he'd been using again; he thinks he hides his shit well, but I alwaysknew. But I didn't think shit was that bad, you know? And, I know, drugs arealways bad, they're never good, but I have seen some guys reach the end oftheir rope and Vinnie never gave me those vibes, you know?

“Anyway,I ran over and banged on the door. I got no answer. I was gonna call him, tellhim to let me in, but I just had this feelin', you know? This horrible, deepdown feelin' in my gut. So, I kicked the door in and found him on the floor.”

Thetears still hadn't come as I nodded, keeping my hands pressed to my chest.“But, but, but you weren't too late,” I said mostly to myself. “I called you intime. You got to him before ... before ...”

Moelaid a hand over his beanie-covered forehead. “I have run all the possibilitiesthrough my head so many times and it always boggles my damn mind. I hatethinkin' about it. I, I don't know what I'd do if he had, uh ...” He cupped ahand over his mouth and shook his head, peering through the glass door at mycurious family. “I told him I've lost enough and I never wanna have to bury hisdumb ass.”

Ilaughed beside myself. “I bet he appreciated that,” I muttered sarcastically.

“No,”Moe laughed, and Jamie smiled warmly. “He definitely did not.”

“So,um ... what happened?”

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