AN: Firstly just to say that although feedback for How To Save A Life was amazing I decided that it was best left as it was. I would like to give huge thanks to those of you who reviewed however. It was amazing. Thanks to AmYkYo, just me, Color Esperanza, Mrs Eyre, Andy 2301, Californiagirl2, Naomi P, xEllax.
Secondly I must post a warning on this that there is a canon character death. I must also make it known that I was very disturbed at having to write this in the first place, but once the idea lodged in my brain it wouldn't leave me alone. Apologies.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in this story. I make no profit. Just borrowing. A simple child is not mine either. That is a poem written by one of the greatest poets of all time. William Wordsworth. Oh, and, even though it is Beta read, all mistakes are my own.
Huge thanks to my Beta reader Ruby, for reading pretty much every thing I write. Its not an easy job but someone has to do it!
A simple child
That lightly draws its breath
And feels its life in every limb
What should it know of death?
I haven't slept in two days. I haven't really done much of anything - but I can't make myself care enough to worry about just how easy it was for me to shut down completely.
This whole situation is like a big karmic joke, I'm lying in bed facing the closet, and my off-white dress is hanging on the handle of the closed door. Immaculate. Perfect. Taunting.
For six years he has been trying to convince me to marry him, and for five of them I had put him off. Finally I built the courage to take the plunge and we set the date and everything was crazy and hectic, but it was, I had come to realize, exactly the way it was supposed to be.
Now he is gone, and I never got to be his wife.
This realization makes me balk and I have to throw the covers off me and run to the bathroom. Gripping onto the toilet seat I lose what little I have eaten for Joe's benefit. Resting my head on the toilet seat, the thought of Joe asleep in his Ferrari bed makes a lump rise in my throat. I can't do this without you Luka.
I hear soft feet padding down the hall and moments later a small hand tangles in my hair and another is placed on my forehead.
"Mommy?" He whispers.
I look up and into his deep brown eyes, mirrors of my own. Eyes that have had me held since I first saw them on a two and a half inch screen on Luka's phone.
"Are you getting sick? You can't get sick- Daddy isn't here to look after you."
I am so shocked at his statement that I think my jaw hit the floor. I blink a couple of times and just stare at him. I think more than anything else, it hurts me the most when I hear my son utter the words he should not know. No five and three quarter year old should understand that his Daddy is gone and isn't coming back.
I will away the tears that are threatening to fall and take his face in my hands. I kiss his eyelids and his forehead and then pull him into my body and fold him into me and lean back against the cold ceramic bathroom tiles. Burying my face in his neck I breathe in his scent of sleep and warmth.
His small arms wrap around my neck and he holds on tight as though he knows that the only strength I have now, I am drawing from him. I know that it is late and I should probably get him back into his bed. I am the parent; I need to make moves to look like I'm a responsible being who is in control. The ache in my chest makes everything slow down and I am struggling to see how I am going to be. But I must.
Joe pulls back and looks at me. "Mom? Will Daddy be home from work for soccer on Saturday?"
Just like that I realize how wrong I was. He doesn't understand at all. He doesn't know that his Daddy went out to work on Monday afternoon, leaving him with Miranda and won't ever come home again. He doesn't know that his Mommy got a page telling her to come to the admit desk of the ER; that it was an emergency. He doesn't know that when she got there she was told that Luka had just been brought in, and it was serious. He doesn't know that the man who crashed his truck into his Daddy's car survived, but his Daddy didn't.
I then realize that I don't know if I can explain that to him. How do I tell him all of that? I think if none of the rest of what has happened killed me, then surely the look in my son's eye when I tell him his Daddy is dead will finish me off. I can't do it. I just can't.
But I have to, I'm his mother; that essentially is all it comes down to - I am his mother, I'm all he has, and he deserves the truth from me.
"I don't know Joe. Come on. Back to bed." I lie. It's the worst thing I could ever do, but I just did it. I had to buy some time to figure out exactly what to say.
I push him to his feet and unsteadily clamber to my own. Once up I lift Joe and make my way out of the bathroom. I hold him to me tightly; preparing me for what I know must come next. I have to talk to him.
We get to his room and I put him down on the floor and pull back his covers, then help him clamber into his bed. I smile a small smile as I sit down beside him and look his room over. He is obsessed with cars -mad about them! Luka loved to indulge that, he was the one who insisted on buying the novelty Ferrari bed and he was the one who spent two weekends wallpapering Joe's room to look like Silverstone or some other racing car track.
I can see it in my minds eye; Joe and Luka sat on Joe's bedroom floor playing with the Hot Wheels track. How after about half an hour they would give up with it and just race their cars around the lounge or kitchen. Tears blur my vision again and I quickly swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. I take a deep breath and turn to face Joe.
"Mom? Will you be coming to soccer on Saturday?" Soccer? I haven't honestly given a second thought to soccer on Saturday (or any normal parental duty for that matter). But God he loves his soccer, and things should be as normal as possible for him, so I nod my head through a film of tears and try to steady my heart rate.
"Joe. Baby. I need to talk to you about something." I say, reaching out to stroke his hair.
He nods his head at me then looks up waiting for me to continue. He has his head cocked animatedly to the side, one of Luka's mannerisms he picked up, and normally I would have laughed, but now it just adds to the growing list of things that make me want to cry.
"I need to talk to you about Daddy." I tell him, looking intently into his eyes, hoping that through power of thought he will understand exactly where I am going with this and I won't have to finish off telling him.
No such luck. He is still looking at me, waiting for me to carry on. Oh god.
"Well…um…you know how Daddy hasn't been home in a couple days? Well he…there was an accident."
He nods his head at me, like five year olds do to indicate that they know exactly what you mean, when really they probably don't.
"He's busy at work then? Well on Saturday, if he comes to soccer I'll play my really best and-"
"No. Joe. He's not at work. He…he was in the…accident…" I whisper the last word, trying to gauge his reaction, whilst at the same time hoping that if he doesn't hear me then it doesn't need to be true.
His eyes widen and then very slowly and very deliberately he looks down into his little hands which are clenched into fists. "Is Daddy hurt?"
The first tear falls from my eye and I slowly nod my head.
He looks up at me and steels his face into a scowl, intent on being a big brave boy, the opposite of me. I am losing all control, slowly but surely. "Is he going to get better? Did you fix him?"
Again I shake my head and the tears fall unreservedly now. "He was hurt really bad Joe." I reach out to touch his face, "I'm so sorry baby." I stroke his cheek and wonder what I can say to help. Should I ask him how he feels?
"Why didn't you fix him? You fix people all the time!" I am shocked at his anger. Hurt that he is directing it at me. But then again, I thought exactly the same thing he did. Why couldn't we save Luka when we can save so many others? When he saved so many others.
"The doctors tried really hard Joe. Really hard." A fact not just for his ears, but something I have to convince myself of too.
He is no longer sitting up in bed but scrambling out from under his quilt. "Why didn't you fix him? You should have tried harder!" He is standing now tugging on my hand, determination set in his features. "Try again! You have to go and try and fix him! Quick!"
I pull my hand out of his and grab his shoulders, setting him firmly in front of me. "Joe! Joe, listen to me. It's too late…I'm sorry…it's too late."
"No! No! No!" He pushes my arms away and backs up away from me. He covers his ears with his hands and shuts his eyes as tight as he can.
I get up and grab him and pull him to me and wrap him firmly in my arms to prevent him fighting me. He struggles against me crying out for me to let him go. I am crying and holding on trying to calm him. Eventually he tires and falls against me. His tears are hot on my shoulder and mine are drying on my face only to be replaced by fresh ones. I feel as though they might never stop.
His breath evens out and he falls into a restless sleep in my arms. I tuck him into bed and make my way to the kitchen. I collapse onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar and notice that the machine is flashing that I have nineteen new messages. I turned off the phone and switched on the answering machine because I cannot deal with people calling me to offer their sympathies. And as selfish as it sounds I cannot cope with anyone else's grief on top of my own and Joe's.
I rest my head on my folded arms and close my eyes. Grief is lying heavily in my head and my heart and I can't bring myself to move. I should call Maggie; it has been three days and she will be worried. I need to make arrangements too. I don't want to do any of it.
"Joe, could you come here so I can fasten your tie?" He steels a scowl on his face and folds his arms defiantly and sits on the coffee table with his back to me. "Joseph. Now!"
I know this is hard on him; he's five years old, but can't he see that it's hard for me too? Can't he, in his little five-year old heart, cut me some slack? Probably not, seeing as how I broke it four days ago.
"I don't even want to wear the stupid tie! I don't even want to go!" Once again I take him by the shoulders in an attempt to calm him of the ensuing rage.
"Joe, I know you don't want to go. I don't even want to go. But we have to…we have to go and say goodbye to Daddy." When people say, in times of personal crisis, that they seem to run dry of tears, it's a blatant lie. Mine won't stop. Every little thing has me welling up, and now is no exception. I wish somebody would invent a stop switch. I want to get through today as quietly as possible.
"I don't want to say goodbye to Daddy," Joe hasn't found his off switch either, "I want him to come home!" Yeah me too.
"I know. I know." I hold him to me tightly and kiss the top of his head. "Okay. No tie."
"Aren't you guys ready yet? We're going to be late." Maggie is stood in the doorway in a black pantsuit.
I shoot her a glare, "Yes. We're coming." I bend to fasten Joe's shoes. "Besides, it's not like he's going anywhere." I add, a little harshly.
I get my own glare from Maggie who adds, "Your bitterness is not very becoming, Abby." I ignore her and stand at the mirror to fix my hair.
I have nothing left to put this off with, we are both ready to go. I bend down to Joe's level and take his face in my hands. I look him in the eyes. "Joe. You don't have to brave okay? I have you. We will do this together." He nods his head, eyes glazed with tears and I stand again. I feel Joe's hand slip in to mine and I squeeze tightly.
Together we step out of the apartment, to face the hardest challenge of our lives.