Page 54 of Never Always
Her phone is a signal in the darkness. She’s awake. “It’s me, Tennyson,” I whisper. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“I’m not really in the mood.” Her voice is harsh, a painful grating against a voice box weary of crying. “For talking.”
“I can just sit with you for a little while,” I offer.
She pauses. “Okay. I’d like that.”
Perched on the edge of the bed she continues scrolling social media, not really reading or seeing anything, just dulling the sharp pain of not doing anything. I recognize it because it’s what I’ve been doing to avoid thinking about Grange and what he must be going through. My pain and grief can’t compare to what she is feeling and I feel guilty the moment I make the mental comparison.
Maeve doesn’t want to talk, but maybe she’ll listen. I pull up a photo on my own phone and show her. “For Grange,” I say, voice wobbly. “If you think it’s a good idea.”
She turns away from my phone and looks at hers again. “Yes,” she says softly. “That’s perfect.”
Clicking off my phone, I lay down next to her. Her hand reaches out and takes mine. She laces her fingers and holds me tight. “I’m glad you’re not giving up.”
I want to ask her why. Why shouldn’t I give up if I’m going to end up like her. In a fetal position, wounded, broken, never to be the same again. Maybe she can rise again after this kind of jagged loss. I hope she can. I’ll help her in any way I can. “I can be persistent when I have to be.”
Maeve sniffles, and it’s as close to a laugh as I’ll get. “Hold me until I go to sleep. That’s why I didn’t want to move in with him, you know? I’d get used to falling asleep next to him and then wouldn’t be able to sleep without him. Can’t sleep a damn wink now and I never even got to live with the jerk.”
“Try,” I said. “I’ll be right here.”
Her voice is quiet when she says, “Tell Clover to ask Mercer where Grange is. He’ll know.”
Maeve’s breathing evens out about thirty minutes later and I know she’s finally found relief from her reality. I disentangle from her embrace and find Mercer and Clover sitting on the sofa watching television.
“You have to tell me where he is.”
Mercer turns and gives me a sympathetic look. “I can darlin’, but that won’t mean he’ll see you. He’s not in his right mind. It won’t be good for you.”
“It will be good for him, though.”
Clover nods. “She’s right. It’s the selfless thing to do.”
Mercer sighs long and hard and motions to the free chair. “Sit.”
It feels like a death march to the recliner. Mercer folds his hands between his knees. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, okay? I’m breaching laws and heaven knows what else.”
“Okay,” I say, slowly. “Where is he?”
“After the accident,” Mercer drawls, then clears his throat like what comes next is harder to say. “He tried to kill himself. He was in a hold at the Naval hospital attached to Harbour Point, but now he’s there on his own free will.”
“What?” Panic sets in. “Kill himself? Oh, gosh.” I hang my head in my hands. “I knew it would be hell, but not that.” I can’t even say the word suicide. “This is so much worse than I thought.”
“It’s complicated,” Mercer says. Clover’s face falls and her hands automatically rest on her stomach, like she can protect it from the awful world the baby is being born into. The vomit comes quicker than I thought possible and I barely make it to the kitchen before heaving all of its contents. If I thought the situation was heavy before, it took on its own lifeform in the darkest corners possible. Clover rubs my back. “The good news is the doctors are saying he’s free to go, honey. He’s just not ready yet.”
“I have to go to him.”
Mercer comes in. “It’s a bad idea, Tennyson. It’s only been three weeks. This is going to take a while. Speaking from experience, when Grange is upset or pissed about something, the best course is to let him fumble alone and swoop in when there’s an opening.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Mercer’s blue eyes, not so different than Grange’s, shift to look at Clover. She nods. “He specifically asked not to see you. He doesn’t want you there. Said it would make him more upset and that he hopes he… never has to see you again.”
I wrap an arm around my middle. “Is that just words or does he actually mean that?” My eyes plead with Clover, with Mercer, with anyone who is going to tell me this is just a bad dream. I’m not equipped to deal with this. It’s heartbreak on acid. There’s no closure, no nothing except a haunting feeling that I must push forward.
“I don’t know anymore. He’s not himself,” Mercer says, putting his hands into his pockets. “He’d probably kill me if he knew I was telling you this right now.” At the misuse of the word, he corrects, “Be very upset with me.”
Clover hugs me. “Time. That’s all that fixes stuff like this.”
