Page 101 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
A gathering hum starts. Probably more people talking. Something smacks against my back. It all sounds distant and otherworldly.
I’m drifting away, untethered from this moment in time, surrounded by the dark void of my emotions.
Fear and panic.
I’m hugging my father good-bye on the front steps, listening to him tell us he’d see us soon. Watching him walk away in his uniform.
I’m standing between his military portrait and his coffin at his funeral. Holding my sister’s hand. Surrounded by white flowers.
White flowers very much like the ones on my mother’s robe, that she wore for weeks after the funeral, walking around the house like a zombie, her eyes vacant and sad.
Except now it isn’t my mother, it’s Rose. Rose and a small child with wild blond hair, both of them crying.
The pain in my chest is excruciating.
I gasp, surprised to realize I’m in my SUV, driving north on the Gulf Freeway, my back throbbing from what I’m pretty sure was my mother’s fist.
But it’s not nearly as painful as the tear stains on my chest.
Rose
I have tears to dry.
My van’s powerful air-conditioning blasts at me as I sit in Flynn’s auto shop parking lot. It isn’t necessarily that hot out right now with the mild December temperatures and all. But I’m hoping the A/C will cool the fire burning behind my eyes.
I thought I would’ve handled the fallout better than this. I mean, I called it. I said Vance knowing about the baby wouldn’t matter. That he’d still leave.
I’d only stared after him for a moment before leaving myself. As I reached the doors, Helen called out, “He loves you, I know it.” She said the words like they’d somehow ease my pain instead of gutting out the rest of my heart.
Because I know he loves me; I could tell he meant it when he said it.
Hashtag but not enough to stay.
Not knowing where to go, but realizing my tears were a driving safety hazard, I found my way to the shop.
Might as well tell Flynn now that I’m here. Pour salt into the heartbreak.
Though it would probably make more sense to tell Holt first, seeing as he’s the oldest and the one usually in charge of West family affairs. But the ranch is a longer drive, one I’m not sure I can make right now.
I stick my face closer to the air vents and blink, trying to stem new tears. I’m not sure I can blame these on hormones.
Watching Vance leave hurt more than watching Flynn and Holt walk away from airport security after waving good-bye on my way to boarding school.
It hurt more than watching the dust cloud behind Dad’s ’68 Chevy Malibu as he hauled ass down the ranch’s dirt lane drive. Off to find my mom, or to a race or to some dive bar to drown his regrets.
It hurt more than every single time Mom left. Whether she had a bag packed or not, she’d leave without a backward glance or farewell. And I never got used to it, right up until the day she never came back.
“Rose?”
I smack the back of my hand against the closed window. “Son of a bitch!”
Mike, my brother’s right-hand man at the shop, tilts his head in amusement. “You all right, there?” But as he asks it, his smile fades, probably taking in the tears sliding down my cheeks.
I gasp, trying to both calm and lock down the pain. Wiping frantically at my right cheek, I put on a smile and lower the window with my left. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Mike arches one eyebrow, calling me on my bullshit. “Is that so?”
I nod, eyes wide, trying to keep any more tears from falling.
