Page 103 of Free to Live
No matter which of my family members I reach out to, the pain is going to suffocate me. Pulling to the side of the road, I say hoarsely, “Call-Ali-Home.” As I wait for the call to connect, I lean my head on the steering wheel, taking in desperate breaths.
Her sleepy voice answers in confusion. “Holly? Is everything okay?”
I manage to get out a guttural “No,” before racking sobs hit my body. I can hear her soothing voice in my ear while Keene starts snapping like a protective bear in the background. “I’m coming home, Ali.”
“Tell me why, baby. Can you do at least do that?” Ali begs.
Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I whisper, “He asked me to marry him.” Ali gasps, but before she can say a word, I continue. “We had just celebrated with… It was so beautiful…” My voice trails off.
“Then why are you coming home, Hols?”
Taking in an enormous gulp of air, I choke out, “Because after when he was holding me, he said, ‘I’ll always love you, Mary,’ right before he passed out.”
There’s a deathly stillness on the line. “No…” Ali’s voice is full of disbelief.
I laugh, but the sound is so sharp I’m surprised the windows of my car aren’t shattering. “Yes. I stayed as long as I could before I left. I took the shot at love. I guess it just wasn’t enough.” And with this, my sobs come harder than before.
“Where are you?” Ali demands.
I pull myself together after a few minutes to tell her, “About an hour and a half out. We were at Brett’s family cabin in Rhode Island.”
“Keene’s up. He’s going to track your phone. I want you to call me every half hour until we know you’re home. Do you hear me?”
I nod before I realize she can’t hear me. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Come home, baby. We’re waiting for you.”
I hang up without another word. I sit for a few minutes trying to get my bearings before I slowly ease my car back onto the road.
* * *
Hours later,I’m standing in my bedroom, having made it home to Collyer, to the safety of the farm. My head is now aching as much as my heart. My home was lit, surprising me. All the timers must be malfunctioning. Still, it felt welcoming after feeling so cold and so alone.
Unfortunately, during the last thirty minutes of my drive, my phone rang almost incessantly with calls from Joe. I didn’t answer. I won’t. Not right now.
How do you recover from the humiliation of not being enough? When the man you love looks you in the eyes even as he’s still connected to your body and whispers another woman’s name? When he doesn’t realize he’s done it and just cuddles you closer as you try not to die in his arms?
I’m curled in the oversized chair in my bedroom—a room dominated with a bed I’ve shared with Joe. I realize right now I can’t stay in here. Racing into my bathroom, I stare at my face in the mirror, I see a pale, skeleton of the woman who stood here yesterday, one who was excited to be heading off for the weekend with her man. One who was hopeful for the future. In the mirror’s reflection, the sun begins to lighten the sky. I frown. I didn’t realize it’s that early—or late. Amazing how time flies when you don’t give a damn whether it exists or not.
I stumble out of the bathroom, overly emotional, tired to the extreme, and already missing the most important organ in my body. My heart. That I left in a warm bed in Rhode Island.
Looking around the room wildly, I realize there’s no way I can stay another minute in this room. Too many memories flood my mind—from the first night of Joe stepping into my bath the night Justin died to every night he’s slept by my side since we became an us. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I have to find the courage to fix this head-on, but where is it going to come from? I feel as weak in my soul as when I was removed from the container. There’s no fight left in me.
Sweat beads along my forehead and starts to trickle down my cheek. Raising a hand to my forehead, I realize I’m warm. Great, I think in disgust. All I need right now is to get sick. Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I mutter, “It’s not enough I have a heart that’s dying, you want to kill me off too?” Walking over to my dresser to find a hair tie, I lift up my mass of hair into a loose knot just when a horrific screeching sounds out around me.
The fire alarm!
Racing over to a window, I realize the glow of what I thought was the sunrise is actually fire from somewhere in the house.
Oh. My. God. I’m not sick. My house is on fire!
I have to call 9-1-1. I have to get out. I have to warn my family. Then, as if Joe’s standing in the room next to me, I hear his deep voice telling me one of the biggest problems is people not thinking calmly to get out during a fire, something we talked about after he had a particularly bad day at work. The worst thing is when we go in blind, when we have no clue where to find the victims.
Right.Calm down, Holly.Taking a deep breath, I think about what I’ve seen on TV.Get wet towels before you lose water pressure. Block as much smoke as possible if you can’t get out.
Racing into my adjoining bath, I soak some bath towels in water just before the water pressure goes off. I run back to my bedroom door. Testing the handle, I immediately yank my hand away. My hand is scorching from the metal. It feels like I just took off two layers of skin. Tears begin to flow down my cheeks. Refusing to give in, I wedge the towels under the gap between the hall where the smoke is beginning to seep under the door into my bedroom.Now get as close as you can to the floor. Call 9-1-1.
Beginning to cough from the smoke still winding its way past the towels, I drop to my knees and crawl over to my bedside. Crap, even the floor is hot. Both knees and hands hurting, I reach for my cell. I’m grateful it hasn’t melted; it feels like it’s been baking in the sun at the beach. Quickly pulling up the phone app, I dial. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
