So Much More (34 page)

But when I meet his eyes, all the fear I feel is reflected back at me tenfold, so I do the only thing I can do. I lie. To put his heart at ease for a bit, I lie. “We don’t have details yet, but he’s going to be okay, Seamus.”

“You’re sure he’s going to be okay?” he asks, eyes pleading for good news.

I nod, and my stomach turns at the lie.
 

He releases a wobbly breath. It’s relief, and he sits in the chair next to me. Rory crawls into the chair next to him and takes his hand, and Kira climbs into his lap, and he wraps his arm around her. The three of them cluster into a loving, supportive mass because they know how this whole family thing works. They’ve mastered it.

I’m reminded again that I’ve failed. Kai. Them. Me. You name it. I’ve messed it up. I let them find comfort in each other while I finish the paperwork. When I return it to the nurse’s station, I ask if there’s any news. “They’re prepping him for surgery. A doctor will be out to speak to you shortly.”

Shortly isn’t soon enough when the mortality of my child is in question.
 

“Lost a lot of blood. Broken femur. Ruptured spleen. Broken ribs. Surgery.” He says more, but those are the words I remember.

I’m pleading again.
Please let Kai be okay. I’ll do anything. I’ll change. I’ll be the best mother the world has ever seen if you just let my little boy be okay. Please.
 

As if he can read my desperate thoughts, Seamus says, “He’s a tough kid, Miranda. He’s going to get through this.” Even though he just heard the same news I did, it’s optimistic Seamus putting positive words into action. Willing it to be true. He won’t even allow himself to consider a different outcome.

I felt pain when my grandmother died. It was crushing pain. My world was forever changed, my guiding force was gone. This pain is different. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s worse,
it’s so much worse
. It feels like pain I won’t be able to recover from. Pain that’s slowly squeezing my heart within a fist, and if this all goes bad it will constrict until it ruptures from the pressure, leaving only mutilated pieces to fall away in an act of defeat.

The pain is also the biggest epiphany I’ve ever had. I love my kids. Because only love could create this kind of reaction within me. Not guilt, but love.

I stand only to kneel in front of them. I take Kira’s hand and rub the side of Rory’s calf. “I’m going to find you both something to eat.” When I look at Seamus’s face it’s blank, he’s checked out and pulled inside to deal with this. Focusing all of his energy and thoughts on Kai. “Can I get you anything?”

The question doesn’t register in his eyes, but he shakes his head.

The wait is hell. I never realized what a formidable opponent time could be. It teams up with my thoughts and drives me to the brink of insanity all within the span of a few hours. It’s a constant battle. One minute I have myself convinced Kai is going to be fine. The next minute I’m cursing the universe that the possibility exists that children can be taken before their parents.
 

By their parent.

The doctor returns with more news. More words. “Critical condition. Sedated. ICU. Monitor closely. No visitors.”

Though his body still looks alert and determined, the light is still absent from Seamus’s eyes, exhaustion and fear have drained him. “I need to see him,” he pleads. “
Please
.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McIntyre. The situation is too unstable at this time to allow visitors.” I can’t see through my tears, but the doctor sounds sadly sympathetic.

Seamus was keeping it together. Not anymore. His eyes are glassy. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, he’s struggling to keep his composure. “He’s my son.
Please
. He needs to know I’m here. That he’s not alone. I need to see him.
I just need to see him to know he’s okay
.”

The doctor offers another, “I’m sorry,” before he disappears down the hall to our son.

Seamus hesitates for a minute before he rises and marches down the hall leaning heavily on his cane. I know where he’s going, but I don’t stop him.

The nurses do. “Sir, you can’t go back there. Sir, stop.”

Seamus doesn’t stop and disappears behind a door.

Only to reappear moments later escorted by two males in scrubs.

“He’s my son! I have a fucking right to see him!” His shouting is pain, nothing more. Sadness and fear have grown so great they’ve turned into pain.

The men are holding his arms tightly. They look small flanking his tall frame. “He can’t be back there,” they say to me when I approach. “Get him under control,” one of them adds rudely, as if Seamus is the first person to ever act out under stress in this facility.

I nod. “He’s upset.”

“Upset doesn’t mean you don’t have to follow the rules, ma’am.” He’s laying down the law like Seamus was caught trespassing on private property, there’s no emotion involved. And then he repeats, “Get him under control or I’ll call security and have him removed. Understand?”

I step to him. “Do you have children?”

He shakes his head.

I lower my voice and the barracuda in me comes out. No one is going to fuck with my family today, Seamus included. “Then you have no idea what he’s going through. Don’t be an asshole. I’m not asking you to break rules, but back off and show some goddamn compassion. His son is fighting for his life back there.” I point to the door in a violent manner because punching this guy in the teeth won’t help our situation. “There’s no need to make threats.”

He’s unblinking but unhands Seamus. Words are over. My dirty looks aren’t, my scowl follows them as they retreat behind the door.

“I need some air, are you good with Rory and Kira?” He’s a shattered man and it’s killing me knowing I’ve done this to him. I’m responsible for all of the pain in his life. All of it.

“We’ll be fine. They’re sleeping. Go outside. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.” I wish I could help him. All those years when he needed me and would’ve accepted and welcomed my help, I ran the other way. Now, when I want nothing more than to be the one he turns to, it’s his turn to run. My timing is absolute shit.

Watching him walk away makes me realize that when you love someone, you only want what’s best for them. And how much I wish what was best for him was me. It’s not. It never was, and it never will be. And then I sit down in a chair next to Rory and Kira, who are both sleeping, and I bawl. It’s crying that wets my cheeks and demolishes my soul. The tears are for Kai. And Seamus. And me. And my grandmother. All for different reasons. I can’t get the visual of Kai lying crumpled, bleeding, and unmoving on the street out of my head. It was an accident.
 

Accident
.
 

An innocuous occurrence.
 

Until it involves my little boy on a bike being hit by my car.
 

Or my grandmother riding in the seat next to me.
 

There should be a different word for this type of accident. Accident seems too mild when tragedy is involved. Accident—Kai and my grandmother are meshing together in my mind until they’re one bloody heap that I feel wickedly responsible for. For years, I’ve tried to ignore the guilt that crushes me regarding my grandmother. It has a far weightier companion now.

When Seamus returns, I’m cried out. For now, anyway. I excuse myself to the restroom.

Bladder relieved, face splashed with cold water that does nothing to relieve mental or physical anguish, the waiting room receives me back in like an unwelcome guest. I wonder if Seamus can feel my guilt, it’s a larger presence in the room than I am. I need to tell him what happened and face his justified wrath.

Rory and Kira are huddled together, still sleeping in one big chair under Seamus’s jacket. Part of me wants to close my eyes too, but even if I did, I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep, my waking nightmares are worse than anything my imagination could dream up. I may never close my eyes again and just endure the torture.

I drop into the chair across from Seamus. He’s sitting up straight in his chair, but it’s contradictory to the exhaustion and sorrow in his eyes.

“You can talk to me, you know?” he says. It’s quiet, I’m sure because of the late hour and the kids sleeping next to him, but it’s also his concerned voice. A voice I haven’t heard in years. A voice that wraps me up like a warm blanket.
 

“My grandmother died.” This is me talking.

He looks at me thoughtfully, he’s never heard this story, and I’m sure he wasn’t expecting anything remotely close to this. “The one who raised you?”

I nod.

“When did it happen?” he questions. I know he thinks this is strange; I’ve always refused to talk about her to him.

“I was eighteen. She was sixty-two though I always thought of her as ageless. A woman with the wisdom time affords, but with the vitality and enthusiasm of someone much younger. An enigma. The type of person who should be able to dodge death, outsmart it, forever.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I killed her. It was my fault.” I’ve thought those words thousands of times. They’re loud and condemning in my head, but quiet and wounded when they dribble between my lips. It should worry me that this type of shock-worthy declaration is registering shock-free on his face. But I’m not worried about me for once. I’m purging. Purging all the bad. “We were in a car crash. Hit a tree. I was driving.”

“Sounds like an accident. Accidents aren’t anyone’s fault.” It’s still his concerned voice. I know that will all soon change.

I take a deep breath and when I do the sob climbs from somewhere deep in the bowels of me where I bury the ugliest of the ugly and erupts in quiet expulsion. “It’s my fault. I was in such a fucking hurry. I needed the fucking ricotta cheese, and that’s all I was thinking about.”

When I look at Seamus, his eyes are wide and disbelief is mounting in them, contorting his face though he’s fighting it. I watch it slowly transform into the grimace of hate. He knows I’m not talking about my grandmother. “What exactly are you saying, Miranda?”

I look away and turn my brain off because I can’t bear to hear the words, let alone say them. “I hit Kai. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.” My body is shaking, not in fear, but self-loathing. I’m preparing myself for the onslaught of rage.

He leans over and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and I watch his fingers curl into fists that look like they could punch through steel. His right heel is vibrating up and down like a jackhammer, ferocious and destructive. Quicker than I’ve seen him move in years, he leaps from his seat and strides roughly on a grave limp to the other side of the room. When he stops, his back is to me. He looks larger than his six foot four inches, filling up the other half of the room with his presence. Hands on hips, head dropped back so he’s peering at the ceiling, I watch his posture stiffen into something I’ve never seen before. He’s preparing for a fight.

Let me have it,
Seamus,
I think to myself.
The kids are sleeping; say everything you’ve kept bottled up for years. It’s time. I deserve it.
     

He doesn’t hesitate and spins on his heel. Eyes blazing, he thrusts an accusatory finger at me.
“You. Fucking. Bitch.”
It’s a low, growling whisper.

I don’t respond. The truth pierces my nonexistent armor, and I let it wound me, breach my skin, muscle, and bone.

“Were you sent straight from hell to destroy my life, Miranda? Because that’s how it feels. Years upon years of destruction.” He’s spitting the words at me through barely moving lips and gritted teeth. “Is there anything you’d like to say before I continue because shit’s about to get real? Buckle up.”

“I love you.” It isn’t filler, it’s the prologue to the horror story that’s about to unfold. It’s my one ultimate truth.

For a fraction of a second he just stares at me; it’s outrage. “
You don’t know how to love, Miranda.
” His words are biting, bitterness and anger, a vicious pair.

Regret is leaking from my eyes and dripping on my folded hands in my lap. A year ago I called him broken. He’s not. I am. Always have been.
 

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath before he stabs me again. “You killed my baby. Without even telling me, before, during, or after, you killed my baby.” His voice cracks. “Why? Why didn’t I get a say?” He’s trying to hold his outburst to a whisper, but it’s strained. The veins in his neck are bulging with effort. “Why?” His lips don’t move when he says it. His words pry my ribcage open to get at the heart of me.

“I’m sorry, Seamus.” I have no idea how he knows about the abortion, and I don’t bother to deny as he delivers his truth.

He takes three steps toward me, leans forward and spews more truth, “Sorry doesn’t resurrect what could have been.
Sorry does fuck all to right your wrongs
.”

The tears continue as I welcome his hellfire.

He retreats a few steps and takes a seat putting needed distance between us again. His hostile glare is frightening, not because I fear him, but because I know I created this fury inside this gentle man. “How many affairs were there aside from Loren? While I was sitting at home blindly loving and trusting my wife, how many men were sticking their dick in her?”

Shame, it hits me like a wrecking ball. “Dozens,” I answer honestly. The time for hiding is over. The admission is humiliating.

His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. “Dozens?” he questions.

My head weighs five hundred pounds when I nod. “Dozens,” I confirm.

Mouth still agape in shock, his head drops back and his eyes go to the ceiling, probably to avoid having to look at me. “Jesus fucking Christ. Dozens,” he repeats to himself. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Seamus. You were a good husband. I was a shit wife. That’s not your fault; it’s mine. You deserved better. From the start, you deserved better. I’m just not equipped for better.” I wipe my running nose with the back of my hand, the tears still flowing freely.

He runs his hands through his hair before his chin drops to his chest. “Did you feel remorse? When you were fucking them did guilt ever cross your mind?”