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Prologue
‘Hm.’ This miniscule response received two intense stares of curiosity from Jack and Francis.
Peter wasn’t quite sure what to say next. ‘Is it supposed to be sad?’ he continued before lowering his sunglasses. His voice came out a little higher than he would have liked.
‘I think so.’ Jack’s gaze stayed focused, seeking some kind of approval.
‘Well, I’m not too crazy about the part where I start screaming at the mechanic. That never happened.’
‘The characters are all fictional.’
Peter looked at his younger brother for a moment, until the waiter came over. Francis started placing orders on behalf of everyone else, but Peter was too focussed on the story he’d just read to protest. Frankly, he didn’t want to make any sort of interaction at present. He reservedly agreed with Francis’ motion.
After a brief contemplation, he decided on the quickest way out of there. ‘Excuse me, I’m…um…’ Peter didn’t stop his voice from trailing off, as he got up out of his seat and headed away from the table. He felt Francis shoot an interrogative look over his shoulder, but he continued, once again lowering his sunglasses. The carriage, while quieter than before, still echoed with chatter, but the noise grew softer as Peter entered the bathroom. He carefully closed the door behind him. For a small moment, with his hand still on the doorknob, he paused. He then lifted his sunglasses back off of his face, revealing his eyes to be glistening slightly with tears. Peter sighed, glad to have some privacy, but not yet released from the grip of Jack’s short story, which he now regretted agreeing to read. He looked down at the slightly creased pages he still held, at waist height in front of him. He carefully unfolded them, and read the story through again; “He had been killed suddenly, struck by a cab while crossing the street…”
The sun was just beginning to set, hanging at that golden angle, making everything a little more tranquil. It was unusual, though not unsettling, for the street to be so quiet. It was cold, the sort of cold that keeps hands in pockets, and tinges cheeks with red. Peter slipped his hands into his pockets as the breeze circled again.
His father smiled curiously at him. ‘Are you cold?’
‘Not really.’ Peter replied. He was cold, in reality, but he decided against saying so. Peter was amused at his own idiosyncracy, and smiled to himself. They walked past an alleyway, which focussed the gentle breeze into a solid wind. Peter felt his hair move a little, but not out of place. He took a breath. Peter didn’t think it pointedly, but he was enjoying this.
Jimmy’s gaze caught on the other side of the road. A man with thinning, white hair and small, brown eyes, stood on the other side of the road. Peter didn’t recognise who he assumed was a friend of his father, but Jimmy seemed eager to have a chat with him.
‘Peter, why don’t you… go sit down for a minute. Browse the shops. Just five minutes, I’ll be right back.’ Jimmy then quickly made his way across the road to his friend. Peter watched the two for a moment. Their faces were bright as they made their cheerful, and perhaps overdue, greetings. As they leaned in for a hug, Peter snapped out of his daze, and did what his father had asked.
He walked slowly down the block. He took his time, not sure exactly how long he could continue around the block until he would reach the point where he started. He managed to meander for five minutes, a long enough time for his mind to drift off someplace else. That was before a commotion around the corner slowly brought him back to reality.
It wasn’t something to immediately cause great alarm. But after a few moments, the murmuring and scattered people, now tentatively heading in the same direction, reached a point of concern. Peter was a little afraid to head back to the corner where his dad was, as he slowly stepped towards it. When he turned the corner, he could see that there was already a crowd gathered, larger than he’d hoped, around the road. He reluctantly approached the crowd and scanned for his father. When he couldn’t see him within a few seconds, his mind raced to the worst possible thing.
No, it couldn’t be, could it? Peter shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. He was aware that he tended to be pessimistic, always immediately assuming the absolute worst. But still, he kept looking, as he got closer to the crowd. Just as he reached it, as the heads of many concerned bystanders gave way, he saw it.
Jimmy Whitman lay on the road, awkwardly positioned, partially under a taxi. His grey hair was already stained red by the pillow of blood it lay on, and people circled around him.
Peter saw the driver, who was now out of the car, kneeled on the road, with his hands over the sides of his head. His face was one of sheer panic, tears already in streams down his cheeks, but his eyes were wide open. He slowly hunched forward. Nobody could tell if he was saying words, but he was definitely crying. Peter, however, stood as the textbook opposite to the driver. He made his way through the crowd and kneeled quietly on the road beside his father, dazed, and, outwardly, almost indifferent.
‘Dad. Dad, do you hear me?’ Peter spoke directly. He was eerily composed, his actions automatic, and he wondered, a little self-consciously, why he wasn’t acting more distressed.
Jimmy attempted his son’s name, but couldn’t. His words were a broken mess of sounds, overtaken by the approaching sirens in the distance. Though he couldn't speak, he made an attempt at eye contact. Peter looked right back, almost straight-faced, continuing to stare down at his father, almost oblivious to the life seeping out of him and dyeing the road red, as his eyes closed. The sirens stopped getting louder, as an array of people in uniforms appeared. Paramedics and police officers swarmed around. One officer approached Peter rather abruptly from behind, taking him by the arm and urging him away.
‘Sir, I’m sorry, but we need you to move away. Come. The paramedics are going to try what they can.’
‘He’s already dead.’ Peter stated this as a fact, void of any expression, but still looking at his father.
The officer looked a little bewildered at Peter’s nonchalance. ‘We don’t know that for sure. Come.’
Peter complied, allowing himself to be pulled away from his father, without looking back. ‘It’s not going to do anything, you understand? He’s dead.’
‘We’re going to try sir. We’ve got to.’
The officer released his arm and walked in another direction, leaving Peter standing near the yellow tape of the now-closed road. He almost caught another look at his father’s face between the flashing lights and the multitude of officials who thought they still had a chance. He then looked at the sky, which was now beginning to turn red.
*
‘Sir,’ the officer spoke in a light, tentative voice, as if she were talking to someone much younger than herself, ‘I’m so sorry to have to ask this now. I’m sure you’re very distraught, but are you able to answer a couple of questions?’
‘I can, but I didn’t see it happen. I was around the corner.’
The officer noted this down, ‘Okay, that’s good information. When did you come back around the corner?
‘I heard a crowd, I went to see what had happened. And then I saw.’
‘Mm-hm, mm-hm. Any other details at all? Maybe before you came back?’
‘I don’t know what you want to hear.’ He spoke without any annoyance, only uncertainty. ‘He went to go talk to his friend and he told me to wait around for a few minutes, so I went up the street, then when I came back he was pinned under the cab.’ Peter nodded slightly over the officer’s shoulder, indicating his father.
The officer returned a single, uneasy nod. ‘Okay, sir. Thank you very much for your cooperation. I’m so sorry. This must be very hard for you.’
Peter nodded, automatically. Though, as of yet, it didn’t really feel like it was.
*
It was completely dark by now. Peter felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Alice. She clearly had been crying, but had composed herself. They simultaneously pulled the other in for a hug.
‘I’m so sorry. I…’ her voice was quiet, but steady. ‘I saw it on the news, I came straight down. I… I’m so, so sorry.’
Peter held her tight. ‘I’m sorry too.’ He didn’t continue.
They slowly ended their embrace. ‘I came in the car. Let’s go home. I guess… there’s probably a lot to sort out. But we’ll work everything out tomorrow. Let’s just get home for now.’
Peter nodded wearily. ‘Mm-hm, let’s go.’
Alice decided not to talk. It seemed easier for them both not to. She got into the driver's seat, and Peter got into the other side. Alice started the car, and Peter gazed silently at the scene being cleared up. Despite the dark, he could still see silhouettes of people between the orange witches-hats and pulsing blue lights. He followed it with his eyes as they pulled out. Slowly driving away, the scene was still visible for a bit. As it got further and further out of sight, Peter rested his head against the window, looking vaguely in its direction. He did actually feel quite tired. Car lights dashed past, pedestrians walking, and the occasional traffic light. Peter’s eyes grew heavy and he was about to slip into a sleep. Just before he could, however, he felt a shift. He opened his eyes again and straightened up slightly, but said nothing.
Alice looked towards him slightly, keeping an eye on the road ahead. She offered a look of concern, to which Peter responded with a slight nod, but a straight face. Alice reluctantly accepted his dismissal, but kept alert. She was well aware that he could never bring himself to just say if something was wrong, but she was used to it by now.
Peter, meanwhile, definitely knew that something was wrong. He didn’t know exactly what it was, nor why it had come over him now, and not before, but he knew it was there. He sat still, attempting to not bring any more attention to himself. He quietly looked out the window beside him. However, while keeping things together outwardly, he couldn’t manage to slow things down inside. The unease, which he forcibly tried to pretend was not there, was developing into a much more real panic. Peter felt a sharpened ache in his stomach as he dropped the act to himself, just trying to stay outwardly composed. He carefully turned to face forward, his hands now unknowingly fidgeting with the edge of his seat.
Alice looked at him again, direct this time. ‘Are you alright?’
Peter pulled his hands away from the seat and looked back with slightly wide eyes. ‘Mm hm.’ His voice sounded only a little tight, but that was still more than he felt comfortable with.
Alice inspected the road ahead, calculating how far from home they were, and quickly made a decision, as she quietly began scanning for a side street. Peter pulled at the buttons on his jacket but gave up just after he’d barely gotten half of them undone. He closed his eyes, not moving a muscle, still trying to outwardly pretend it was all fine. Alice turned a corner and carefully parked the car. Now able to get a proper look at him, Alice saw just how tensely he sat, breathing unevenly, and his hands held so tightly together that they’d gone white.
Feeling they’d stopped, Peter opened his eyes and noticed that they’d pulled over. He looked to Alice, and ever-so-slightly nodded in appreciation, as the world began to slip out of view. Peter didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed anymore, nor whether Alice was speaking or not. The world was descending into entropy. Alice carefully but firmly took both of his hands and gently stroked them with her own. Peter felt it for a moment and tried to hold on to that feeling, but all he could feel was the world slipping away from around him, some unknown terror taking over. His stomach felt too hot and his blood was coursing through him too fast. Peter felt that, at any moment, he could just slip out of existence and into whatever dark oblivion waited below. He tried to take a solid breath, in some sort of proof that he was still alive, but he couldn’t even do that. He tried to tell himself that he was just imagining things, that he would be alright, but surely his father hadn’t imagined he was going to die when he woke up this morning, hadn’t he? Just hours ago, neither of them would have thought such a thing, and look what had happened, and now that was it, just nothing, absolutely nothing, forever, and ever. That must be what was happening now. This was it, this was what dying felt like, paralysing and helpless, and then it would just be blackness for a long, long eternity and there would be nothing he could do about it, forever, and ever, and ever…
Peter tried to get a grip. He’d really never experienced anything so overpowering, so terrifying before, but he just assumed it would have to end eventually. Though it still felt like the world had disappeared around him, he knew it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Then, he became aware again of Alice’s hand on his, and he tried to keep hold of that. But he still wasn't sure what to do.
Peter slowly shook his head. ‘Alice, I—’
‘You’re doing good, okay?’
‘But, I d—don’t know—’
‘You’ll be fine, you just have to give it a minute.’
Peter really wanted to believe her. And there was something grounding about her voice. Perhaps it stood as proof that he was still alive, and the world was still there. Slowly, ever so slowly, the world began to return. The soft sound of the fabric from his clothes against the carseat, or the gentle whir of the breeze outside, or the sound of his own heart beating began creeping back.
He slowly opened his eyes, and the light from the car carefully illuminated Alice's steady hands over his shaky ones, and he finally felt like he could breathe again. Alice sensed it too, as if there had been some excruciating tension, cramping the space around both of them, and it had delicately been lifted. Peter sat straight and looked up. While he was still terribly shaken, he also began to feel frustrated that he let himself get so worked up in front of someone else. Out of anyone, Alice would be his preference, but it still sat very uncomfortably with him. But he was far too tired to pay much attention to it.
He looked to Alice, indicating she could keep going. She nodded, carefully let go of his hands, and pulled out of her slightly awkward spot. Peter rested his head, once again, on the window beside him and wanted nothing more than to sleep. After all, Alice had said they could work everything out tomorrow. Just then, the car clock ticked over from 11:59 to 12:00. Peter briefly smirked to himself, before closing his eyes again, hoping for sleep.
Peter awoke in his bed. He still felt tired, as well as slightly ill, and he didn’t immediately notice that Alice wasn’t there. It also took a moment to notice how late in the morning it was. The curtains, unusually, had been pulled shut, but sunlight poked through the edges. Peter slowly sat himself up. He looked to the empty half of the bed next to him inquisitively, but just then, Alice quietly walked in.
She looked a little surprised to see him awake and smiled gently, but with an edge of uneasiness. ‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’
Peter blinked a few times. ‘How am I—’ He stopped suddenly as he suddenly remembered that he didn’t fall asleep in his own bed. The last thing he remembered was the car clock turning to midnight.
And then it all hit him again. Of course, he knew already, but remembering it was almost like finding out for the first time. Dad’s dead. And then it all came back. The police, the crime scene, the car ride home.
Alice noticed Peter’s silence and facial expression, and quickly sat down next to him, taking his hand the way she had the night before. ‘Peter, talk to me.’
Peter shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’ he tried to loosen his voice. ‘Just tired.’
Alice nodded. ‘You had a big night. Why don’t you rest for a bit longer? I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
*
It could have been past midday when Peter finally got the nerve to get up. He walked slowly down the stairs, as if acclimatising himself to a new environment.
Peter made a phone gesture with his hand. Who is it?
Francis. Alice mouthed back. ‘Listen, I’ll talk to you later, okay? No, he’s… he’s still asleep. Okay, talk soon.’ She hung up the phone and placed it on the table beside a nondescript cardboard box.
‘Jimmy’s things.’ she explained. ‘The police brought it over this morning. His cell and wallet, things like that.’
Peter reached for the box, but suddenly stopped cold.
‘Oh, shit.’ Peter whispered urgently. His eyes were pinned to the back of his hand, while it hovered in front of him, trembling slightly.
Alice looked up. ‘What’s wrong?’ She asked immediately, still on high alert
Peter shook his head to himself. ‘Oh, shit!’ he repeated louder.
‘Peter,’ Alice managed to keep her voice steady, ‘what is it?’ She walked behind Peter to see what he was looking at. And she did. Though faint, streaked down Peter’s hand were a trail of ghostly red stains, lined with dry, dark red.
Jimmy’s blood.
‘Shit.’ Alice said for herself. She put a hand over her mouth. ‘Alright… okay, it’s okay, come here, we’ll clean it up.’ Alice took his hand and urged him towards the sink. He didn’t budge, and shook his head again. Alice let go of his hand and hastened to the sink, quickly turning on the tap. ‘Don’t look at it.’ she warned, as she wet a dishcloth. Peter didn’t respond. His lips were pressed together, his breathing growing heavier. It was only when the red blotches were smothered by the damp, white cloth that he could hear again.
‘Peter,’ Alice tried again, gently but quickly scrubbing his hand. ‘Don’t look at your hand. Look at me. It’ll be gone any moment.’ But Peter was unable to tear his eyes away. Alice sensed this, and guided him quickly to the bench. She rested his hand on the tabletop, and placed her hand under his chin, directing his gaze upwards.
‘Peter,’ she said for a third time, as his eyes finally met hers, ‘look at me.’ She made one final wipe and quickly looked down herself, to check it was clear.
She took a breath. ‘Okay, it’s all gone.’
Peter looked at his now clean hand, cautiously. Alice saw the caution and gestured for him to take a seat, figuring he’d just need a minute. He sat, but he continued to examine the back of his hand using the fingertips of his other, with wide eyes, as if blood would pour out at any moment, covering it again.
Alice expected the tension to begin easing, but something lingered in the air. Peter himself was waiting for the pressure to alleviate, but it wouldn’t.
Alice could see his discomfort, sat down next to him and took his hand again, gently stroking it. ‘It’s alright. It’s all gone, I promise.’ Alice looked into his eyes reassuringly. But as her hand encircled his, her fingertips felt his heart beating through the delicate skin of his wrist. It was too heavy and too fast, and she immediately saw just how severe this situation was.
Alice looked at him with disbelief. ‘Peter…’
He shook his head quickly. ‘I don’t know what’s happening— I don’t know, but it’s bad, real bad, Alice.’ His voice was breaking now, growing too fast. ‘It’s not— not slowing down, it’s—’ It became too difficult to speak.
Alice immediately brought her chair around the table, right next to him. ‘You’re panicking again, but it’s okay. You were okay last night, and you’re okay now. It just might take a little bit to pass.’
She offered out her hand and he took it very tightly. It was all she could do to talk to him and wait. ‘Breathe, alright? Slowly, it’ll help you calm down.’
Peter tried to. There were so many words that were stuck just waiting for him to catch his breath.
‘I hate this,’ he finally said. ‘I hate feeling like this.’
‘I know. But it’s not going to last forever, okay? It’ll get better. It will.” They sat in the kitchen, side by side, just waiting, hoping that what Alice said was true.
The funeral had served as a thoroughly unsatisfying final goodbye to Jimmy Whitman.
More unsatisfying somehow, Peter thought, than kneeling on the road beside his father, as he bled out onto the street, cars coming to a standstill and sirens in the too-near distance.
Maybe it had to do with expectations. The funeral was planned, for one. It was supposed to wrap everything up, allow everyone to begin moving on with their lives, albeit, with a slight weight hanging over them, but a weight which they would soon be able to live with. And it seemed to Peter that most people in attendance had braced, were raising their heads, and starting to move back into their lives, already learning to fight the newfound gravity.
Of course, those closer to his father were taking it harder than the cousins, the neighbours, and the friends of friends. Also, it had only been a week since he’d died. Peter didn’t expect everything to settle in such a short time. Nor did he expect that some uncle’s sister from out of town would feel the same way he did. But he couldn’t help feeling that his experience of the tragedy was unfolding too differently from those closest to him, leaving him too disconnected to grieve with them.
Peter had been there, afterall. He’d seen the whole thing, and he had been the one to accompany Jimmy in his unplanned, final moments. And whether that was the cause of Peter’s experience, he didn’t know. But he did know that the whole ordeal had reached its arms into every little crevasse it could. He knew disquiet was unpredictable yet certain, and that it hit regardless of time, or surrounding, or even consciousness, disrupting nights as much as days, if not more. It had been a long week.
Francis was the one to speak at the funeral. Peter didn’t remember it being discussed, but assumed rather that it had simply been determined that Francis would do the honours. Peter didn’t want to do it, anyway. Especially after arriving so late. After giving up on arriving in his father’s car, it had taken a further 15 minutes to get to the venue. The service had begun already. The trio tried to enter with subtlety, though the frantic, heavy footsteps as they ran the short distance from the car had given them away before they’d even opened the doors. Francis promptly headed for the seats near the podium, Jack had taken the first seat he could find. Peter navigated quietly, but still louder than he’d hoped to the seat beside Alice.
‘I’m sorry, I told them you were almost here, but they started.’ she whispered, wary of attracting any more attention to the party that had just come through the doors.
Peter adjusted his clothes and nodded quickly. He knew he hadn’t missed much, but the fact still manifested itself as an ever-so-slight uneasiness in his stomach. Peter tried to ignore the feeling. Afterall, he was here now. That was a start. Eventually, he began to settle, and vaguely inspected the room around him. However, the absence of one person soon presented itself.
Peter leaned towards Alice and whispered, ‘Where’s mom sitting?’
Alice looked at him with an inquisitive face, turning to concern after a few moments. Though she tried to diminish it, Peter noticed her expression.
The uneasiness began to return. ‘Did you see her today?’
‘Didn’t Francis tell you?’ Alice whispered, pained, knowing the answer already.
‘Tell me what? No, he didn’t tell me anything.’ Peter’s whisper quickened.
‘She’s not coming. She didn’t get on the plane. She wouldn’t say why.’
This news hit harder than it should’ve. His next breath came with a sharpness, while his hands found each other in a tight and slightly awkward grip.
‘She’s not coming.’ he repeated.
He looked to the front, where Francis was now addressing the crowd. Peter recalled the car ride earlier, when Francis insisted he was the most grief-stricken. Between that and neglecting to break the news about their mother, even the sight of Francis sent a slight flush to his cheeks. Peter turned his head slightly and closed his eyes, with slight but noticeable tension. He slowly took a breath, trying one last time to convince himself that the funeral wasn’t entirely a failure. It couldn’t be. It was the day that was supposed to bring closure. It had to go okay. The frustration layered over the already lingering anxiety of this day exhibited itself as a tangible discomfort. Peter adjusted in his seat, although fully aware there wasn’t anything he could do to alleviate it at this moment.
Alice leaned close again, taking hold of one of Peter’s hands, ‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew.’
Peter nodded again. He gratefully held Alice’s hand in return, but he didn’t stop his other hand fidgeting with whatever it was touching.
*
Peter had remained in his uncomfortable silence for the rest of the service. By the end, he had no intentions to stick around for the wake. Earlier, Francis had insisted that they all leave together, but Peter knew he was going to leave as soon as possible, and certainly not with him. As Alice had excused herself to the bathroom after the service, Peter was waiting for her, trying to stay out of sight. Francis, however, spotted Peter hovering hesitantly by some corner. As he got closer, Peter could see that Francis had gotten a little tearful, probably during the speech of his. Of course, Peter hadn’t been paying too much attention to it.
Francis spoke a little quieter than usual. ‘Hey, how are you hold—’
‘Why didn’t you say that Mom wasn’t coming?’
Francis paused for a minute. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’ He said it as though he’d anticipated the question, yet not so soon.
‘We were always going to find out. You knew, you could’ve told me before. You should’ve.’ Peter felt his voice rising, though found it difficult to counteract. ‘At least I wouldn’t have expected her.’
‘It’s not my fault she didn’t show up.’ Francis spoke in his own defence, but he didn’t sound defensive. Peter hated the way he spoke so conceitedly and calmly, especially since he made it all look so easy.
‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. You could’ve said something earlier, and you didn’t. And that shit you were saying in the car was complet—’ Peter quickly cut himself off as Jack approached.
‘Hey. Are you two holding up alright?’
Peter turned his face away, aware of a mild flush coming over it, for the second time, ‘Yeah, it’s going okay.’ he mumbled.
Jack turned to Francis. ‘Have you seen mom yet?’
Over Francis came a look of slight tension, as Peter immediately interjected. ‘She’s not here, she’s not coming. He didn’t tell us.’ It still hurt to say but there was a very slight bit of catharsis to be had, now that he could blame someone.
‘You knew?’ Jack said, voice rising just the same. Francis gave a single, sad nod.
Jack looked to Peter, then away, then slowly back to Francis. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ he asked, voice calm again.
Francis went to answer but Peter, again, interrupted. ‘He did it on purpose. That’s just how he is—’
‘Peter, I don’t think he was trying to upset us.’ Jack spoke gently.
‘I wasn’t. I really didn’t mean to.’ Francis said, sincerely.
‘That’s not the point. You’re not listening. This is ridiculous.’ Peter began to walk away, when Francis took him by the arm.
‘Peter, hold on a second. Thi—’
Peter jerked his arm away and walked off.
*
It was when they’d gotten home that Peter finally decided that he’d failed. The funeral was over, and too much had gone wrong for him to believe it was a success. He’d kept trying to make it better. But it hadn’t worked. The day had been unsatisfactory, and there was no second chance.
Peter had been to funerals before, though never for someone this close. And unsure of whether it was the pressure he put on it to go well, or the fact that not another person seemed to feel the same, or whatever other things had gone wrong, the failure brought with it more disquiet. It began, again, in his stomach, but soon spread further out, tangibly but impossible to determine exactly where. This wasn’t the first time this had happened in days recently passed, of course, but this time felt particularly frightening.
Peter had sat down in the living room for only a moment, before he covered his face with his hands. His voice came quiet and tight, ‘I can’t believe I fucked that up.’
Alice sat herself closely next to him. ‘What do you mean?’
Peter uncovered his face. ‘The car, I should’ve shown up in it.’ It seemed to be the first thing he thought of.
‘We’ll go and get the car next week, when it’s ready.’
‘I needed it today. It’s too late now. It didn’t…’ Peter’s voice trailed off, as he slowly placed his hands back over his eyes.
‘Are you alright?’
‘My head hurts. I feel sick, I—shit—’ his voice quickened, ‘could you please get me the painkillers?’
Alice hesitated. ‘You know that’s not going to help. You’re tense, you need to calm down.’
‘No, it—please—it hurts, something’s really wrong.’
His voice grew too urgent, and Alice folded, as she reluctantly but promptly retrieved some painkillers and a glass of water. Peter pulled his hands from his face, only to take them. As he went to put his hands back, Alice gently caught hold of them. Peter resisted for a moment, before allowing Alice to bring them down between the two of them. She made secure contact with his eyes, but gentle enough that he could break it if he wanted.
‘Where does it hurt?’
‘I-it’s— a lot of places, I don’t know.’
Alice nodded attentively. ‘Alright.’ She could feel a restlessness in his hands, still holding them tight. ‘I’m sorry today didn’t go to plan.’
Peter shook his head. ‘I should’ve tried harder.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes these things just happen.’ Alice’s words hung gently in the silence, and there was no urgency to replace them. Peter became aware of the quiet and even sound of her breathing. And without trying, he found himself following along.
A quiet sense of helplessness came over him, but not in the gut-wrenching way it had been as of late. It was peaceful, and sort of comforting.
For the first time since the accident, Peter felt himself relaxing. And it was an overwhelming relief. He was able to sit still, and just exist at ease. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a week, but that was far too long, and he hoped he never had to go that long without it again.
He was almost sure he wouldn’t. This was a milestone, for sure. The fact that he was able to be okay in all of this brought great comfort, as well as the first genuine and honest belief that, in time, things would get better again. The worst was surely over.
Peter weakly smiled at Alice. ‘I think I feel okay now.’
Alice smiled back and squeezed his hand. ‘You just have to give these things time. I think it’s easy to forget that.’
They both stayed in the living room for a while longer, gently enjoying the quiet. The next move back into discomfort was inevitable, but there was time to sit for a moment, just to rest and relax.Chapter 4
Peter hadn’t wasted time getting home once the trip was over. After the phone call he’d had with Alice at the airport, he realised that he’d messed up pretty badly. Of course, he knew that running away was bad, even as he was packing his bag in the dark hours of the morning, with Alice still asleep, whispering into the phone for a taxi. But he’d been able to ignore it. The truth was, he’d spent so long being quietly terrified. Being responsible for someone else’s life, someone so young and vulnerable, it was huge. Of course the idea made him nervous. But it had been getting worse as the months had gone along, as he slowly was beginning to realise that it was going to happen to him. And Francis’s unexpected family reunion had been the perfect opportunity to get away. To have some time to figure out his next move.
But that, of course, didn’t happen. And since the first phone call, since releasing just how much he’d upset Alice, he’d only been given more to worry about.
Peter had spoken to her a few more times on the trip. Each phone call, mostly, was just yet another apology and an update on how many days until he’d get back. He was in deep water and he knew it. Hence, he didn’t want to waste any time getting home.
He’d taken a late flight back. Midmorning on his end, but by the time he’d arrived home, it was late. Francis had seen Peter right to the gate, before going off with Jack, until his flight. However, he still insisted on micromanaging Peter from another country, booking a taxi for exactly when he’d leave the airport. Peter would usually hate this, but he needed to get home quickly, so he took up the offer (not that he’d had a choice, anyway).
Sure enough, the taxi was waiting when Peter arrived, and he was dropped home well within the hour. He approached his front door as the cab drove off, but came to a stop. It grew quiet, with the car gone, and suddenly, Peter remembered exactly why he’d found it so easy to run away. He paused, then stepped slightly away from the door. He wasn’t ready for this. There was no way he could go inside. He needed to think. Wasn’t this supposed to have already happened, on the trip? Peter sat himself down on the front steps, placing his suitcases down on either side of him. He pulled his sunglasses from under his jacket, fidgeted with them for a moment, and then slipped them on. It was dark, probably close to midnight, he knew that. But wearing them had made things feel better in the past, if only slightly.
Things were meant to be better by now. He hadn’t really questioned it. It was just going to happen, things were going to change for the better. He’d been gone for weeks, surely that should’ve been enough time. But it wasn’t. Nothing had changed. He’d barely spoken to Francis or Jack about it. He’d mentioned that Alice was pregnant to Jack, that was it. He hadn’t gone into it. Even when Francis had asked him about it, he’d just said what he always did, “I don’t want to talk about it.” And that was true, really. Peter didn’t want to talk about it. He truly wished he didn’t have to.
That just wasn’t an option, in his mind. He didn’t talk to Jack or Francis about this sort of stuff, or to anyone really. Except Alice. She had been there the night his father got killed, and the many long nights to follow. She’d been there for family gatherings when Patricia hadn’t shown up. She knew Peter well, and knew that he didn’t like to talk, but she knew how to make him feel better. He never even had to say anything was wrong. Never a word. She could just tell. But that wasn’t happening this time around.
And, Peter couldn’t just tell her. He couldn’t just say that he was scared, when he had said he was okay to go ahead with the pregnancy. He didn’t say he wasn’t ready, and he certainly couldn’t say it now. Why hadn’t he said it then? Maybe it had seemed like something he should be alright with, or maybe it just felt unreal enough to hide from for a while. Maybe he thought he had time to figure it out, to become okay with it.
And now, he was sitting alone on the porch, too frightened to go inside his own home, with one short month until dawn turned to day, the sun too bright to ignore any longer.
Peter didn’t suppose he was going to stay out here all night. But he didn’t feel he could go in either. This wasn’t a new situation for him. Usually, he’d take a few minutes to collect himself, wherever he was hiding, then just head back into the world, and nothing ever changed. But, with everything coming to a head so soon, even just the thought of doing that again sent a pang to his stomach. He was getting nowhere. And it was this feeling that drove him to finally knock.
It was completely spontaneous. He suddenly found himself on his feet and awaiting a response. However, the time period in which knocking on the door felt like a good idea ended just as quickly as it had started. The pang in his stomach heightened to sickness, as footsteps with the urgency of someone who had been waiting sounded closer and closer.
Epilogue
The short story sat folded up, on the edge of the sink, as Peter inspected his face in the mirror. He rubbed both of his eyes, leaving the rest of his fingers spread somewhat over his face. He then let his face rest into them. A moment passed. Peter quickly straightened up and took a breath, moving his hands away, determined not to get caught up a second time. He looked in the mirror again and inspected his eyes. They were only ever-so-slightly tinged with red. Peter was almost sure that his brothers wouldn’t notice, and he was just as sure that he didn’t want them to. For a brief minute, he listened to himself breathe, to check it sounded steady. He knew he wouldn’t need to talk much, but when he did, he wanted to know that there would be no waver. Peter decided the suspicion aroused by staying in the bathroom much longer would be worse than that of the slight shakiness in his voice. He picked up the pages from the sink and folded them carefully between his fingertips. Then, lowering his sunglasses, Peter carefully opened the door, walking discreetly back into the world.