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The doorbell blaring throughout the house wakes me. Noting it’s still dark outside, I panic, wondering what could be wrong as I race down the stairs. I whip open the door to Sheriff Wilkin and his deputy, holding hats in hands.
My heart stops.
Everything stops.
Still groggy, I weigh the possibility that I’m dreaming, but the reality of the officers in front of me snaps me back to earth and kickstarts my heart. What time is it? Why are they here?
The sheriff doesn’t show up at the door for social calls at this late hour. My heartrate speeds up, thumping so hard I can hear it. Whatever they’re here for cannot be good.
Something is definitely not right, but I’m not sure I want to know what it is.
I gaze back over my shoulder, confused. Mamma and Daddy...They’re staying in Mobile. Scenarios play through my mind, affecting my reasoning: their car broke down...that’s all...My head swivels, and I search the sheriff’s eyes, noting they appear glazy. My head shakes, and I stare off into the space behind them, silently willing the officers not to speak, not to tell me what I’m pretty sure they’re going to.
“Miss...Zeta,” says Sheriff Wilkin—his voice cracks, but I won’t make eye contact, I can’t. Instead, I focus on his shiny, middle-aged, balding head, while trying not to faint. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident...”
My eyes bulge, refusing to hear it, I blurt out, “They’re not...” This time my eyes meet his, searching, praying, desperate.
“I’m so sorry, Zeta. Your daddy didn’t make it, and your mamma is in surgery—it—doesn’t look good. If you want to change, we’ll take you there.”
My legs move, and I’m flying up the stairs, sobbing, blind through the hysteria that pours from my eyes. The rest is a blur: getting dressed, leaving the house, the car ride...I’m lost in the dark void of devastation, floating above myself, praying Mamma makes it.
Sitting in the hospital waiting room, I’m told it was a head-on collision. Lydia Montgomery was driving and has passed along with my daddy. Mr. Montgomery is in recovery with minor injuries and Mamma is in surgery—hours pass, maybe it’s minutes—I don’t know how many as I sit here, stunned, every moment I can ever recall with Daddy passing through my mind.
He’s a good man, so kind, supportive, my best friend, the best daddy ever. I’d rather spend my time with him than anyone else in the world—just me and him—working the orchard, stargazing, chatting on the porch at the end of a long day.
I can’t believe he’s gone, can’t accept this cruel reality, don’t want to.
It seems so impossible, so surreal. Denial is my crutch, even though I know it’s futile.
My fingers coil a lock of my blonde hair around them, over and over, as I think of him—these golden locks, long and smooth, they’re not the only trait I got from Daddy. The dirt in my veins, the passion for farming, all the unladylike things that Mamma abhors but also adores about me.
Mamma. My sweet glowing Mamma. She’s the only reason I’m not running wild, dirty, and lost amongst the trees. She’s the glue that holds our family together. Without Daddy, I’m not sure how we’ll survive, how we’ll move on. Without Mamma, I’ll be alone. No glue, no love, no support.
Swallowing hard, I will away the acid in the back of my throat, forcing myself to be patient, to think positive and have faith, but it’s an impossible feat. I’ve become part of this chair, immobilized by the fear of losing my precious mamma too. I pray, harder and longer than I ever have: I promise God, I beg. I’ll do anything if only he’ll spare her—she’s all I have left.
At some point, I become aware of someone’s arms around me. I’m leaning into him, resting my head on his shoulder. Snapping my head up, I search out his eyes.
Branson.
I don’t even know when he arrived, didn’t even know he was holding me. The second our eyes connect, we both breakdown and sob, clinging to each other for support.
Time passes like a dagger slowly slicing across the flesh when waiting for news on our parents. Branson is able to see his father, but I’m stuck in limbo, sitting in this awful hospital waiting room, crushed by the thoughts about the future that are rolling around in my head.
They play off each other, these thoughts. I have to plan a funeral; my daddy is gone. My mind refuses to entertain the situation with Mamma. She simply has to pull through this.
Branson returns from seeing his dad, and he’s ashen, lost, broken.
“How is he?” I ask, worried we might have lost him too.
“He’s fine. Only minor cuts and bruises.” There’s bitterness beneath his words, and he must hear them too because he clears his throat and checks himself. “He was sleeping—I didn’t want to wake him.”
Nodding, I slouch back into my chair. My butt is sore, and I need to move around, so I rise and start to pace the room, flipping through pamphlets on the wall but not really seeing what any of them are about.
Through the corner of my eye, I sense people entering the room, and I spin towards them. It’s a doctor and a nurse, and they don’t look happy.
My body jolts as if it’s been punched in the gut.
“No,” I cry, my head shaking vehemently. “No. I won’t hear it. You have to save her!” The air around me thickens, and my vision is blurry, fuzzy. Sucking in huge gulps of air, I try to right myself, but I can’t gain control.
The nurse rushes to me, just in time to support me before I collapse, and ushers me to a chair. She sits beside me, holding my hand with one hand while rubbing my back with the other. I’m fighting hard to remain upright as the doctor approaches.
He releases a resolved sigh. “I’m sorry, we did everything we could...”
Nothing else registers, my eyes burn, they’re fuzzy—I feel the room fading, everything...fading.
I wake on a gurney, disoriented, the blinding overhead lights burn my eyes. Someone squeezes my hand and my eyes dart to the source as I squint against the invading light.
Branson.
There’s a millisecond of confusion, but then everything comes rushing back, and I gasp from the magnitude of my losses.
He reaches out to smooth the hair from my face. “I’m so sorry, Zeta. Your mamma, Constance, was an amazing woman, and your daddy, Russell, he was the father I always wished for...”
Tears fall, soaking my cheeks as I prop myself up on one elbow and reach for Branson with the other. We hold each other, crying.
At some point, I find myself at home, entering our house—a house that will be the emptiest it has ever been. Climbing the stairs, I amble towards the master chambers and collapse onto their bed, hugging their pillows close, inhaling the last of their scents.
In one night, the world around me has crumbled.
It’s surreal, but as I lay here spooning their pillows, desperate for a connection to them, I know that this is all very real.
They’re gone.
Just like that, everything I loved was taken from me.
Gone.
Branson joins me, tucking me in and then crawling in beside me, pulling me into his arms.
How did we get here?
He drove me home. I’m having difficulty recalling much. The only thing I know, the only thoughts forming, revolve around what I have lost and the double funeral I have to plan. These thoughts come in flits, but they’re the only ones registering.
Branson holding me in my parent’s bed? This doesn’t faze me. I need this. I need to be held, and I suspect he feels the same. He’s lost too. His beloved mamma is gone, and he is now at his father’s mercy. My heart swells with pity and bitterness all at once.
Why would God take three such loving souls and leave the likes of Mr. Montgomery unscathed? How could God be so cruel, so unbelievably unjust?
Why, why why?!
I’ve never questioned my faith, never doubted, until now. This agony, this pulsing in my chest that feels as though I’m being crushed, brings with it a certain level of resentment, but it’s pointless. I know it.
They’re gone.
Nothing will bring them back.
God’s will. God’s plan—I’m sure he has one, but oh how my heart and soul ache—the agony is crushing.
Branson muffles a sob, and it rakes across my heart like a blade. We hold each other tighter, and through our pain and tears we connect in this dark place. At some point, we find ourselves making love—I don’t know how it happened, how we both became undressed, but everything seems like it’s happening before me but not to me—like I’m watching it all unfold, but I’m a willing participant. Clawing at him, I cling to him as we kiss and fumble—I’m desperate for something—I don’t know what.
My first time with a man and the details I will likely not remember, but I won’t forget. I’ve broken my vow, but I don’t have it in me to care. When it’s over and he rolls off me, I feel only the agony of loss and regret.
Nothing else.
Maybe in my mind, in his, we thought we’d feel something good when we are both feeling so bad, but I only feel worse.
He pulls me into his arms and within minutes I feel his restful breath on the back of my neck. Sleep won’t take me so easily. Loss and shame haunt my every thought. I can’t close my eyes. I’m afraid of what I will see.
Crawling out of bed, I dress and leave the house for a late-night stroll. This past twenty-four hours, if it’s even been that long, has been the longest of my life and the most devastating.
Lost in heartache, I walk the span of the orchard, taking in the fresh autumn air. Somehow, I make it to our stargazing spot, where the trees stop, and the peanut fields begin. My eyes take in the blanket of stars above me. The sky is clear, and for a minute, I find myself calming, knowing my daddy is here with me, looking down from his and Mamma’s place among the stars.
It sinks in. Deep.
They’re gone.
It hits me like a hammer in the chest, knocking my feet out from under me. Collapsing to the ground, my fingernails dig into the earth as sobs rack my body to the point that I find myself gasping for air.
I’m alone.
Except, I’m not alone.
Sensing someone in the shadows, my head snaps up. I can’t see who it is through the tears, and I’m not sure I care. Continuing my meltdown, I wrap my arms around myself and allow the pain to tear through me as I scream my sorrow up towards the night sky.
I feel masculine arms around me, pulling me up and then cradling me as he lifts me up into his arms. I can’t contain any of it, can’t catch my breath. Hysteria has a full grip of my sanity. The tears keep flowing, but I stop screaming, I just stare blankly into space as I’m carried through the orchard.
When my body lands softly, I come back to reality. I know by the air around me that I’m in the greenhouse. The cushioned lounger beneath me creaks as I sit up and look around, trying to see through my tears in the dark. Nick sits across from me, concern creasing his forehead as he watches me.
“I’m so sorry, Zeta.” The worry in his voice startles me. He knows—bad news travels the fastest.
My eyes bulge against the reality of this situation, and my hand flies to my mouth as nausea rolls from my stomach, catapulting what little contents remain up into my throat.
Swallowing hard, I try to defy it, but lean over the edge of the lounger at just the right moment for vomit to spew from my lips. After it’s passed, and I sit back up, I notice Nick beside me.
“I’m here if you need to talk about it.” The genuine offer tugs at my cold broken heart.
I flinch, knowing I have to say the words—I have to speak the hateful truth.
“It was a car accident...my...parents...” Tears roll down my cheeks, and my throat closes—I can’t say anything else—it hurts too much. He yanks me into his arms as I sob, using his shirt as a tissue.
He doesn’t speak, probably doesn’t have the words—I know I don’t. We just sit like this. Time passes, and we find ourselves laying back in the lounger, me snuggled into the nook of his arm as he strokes my back with his free hand.
There’s comfort here in Nick’s arms, and I feel a sense of calm washing over me. And with the calm comes a quiet resolve.
As if reading my mind, he says, “You’ll get through this, Zeta. You’ll move on and take care of your daddy’s land because he would have wanted you to. You’ll live your life, be happy, be strong.”
“Yes,” I whisper, nodding against his chest.
I will do whatever it takes to ensure that my daddy’s legacy continues into the next generation.