The days preceding Jason’s funeral pass in a blur. His friends plan a get-together for Friday night to comfort one another. While I’ve met many of them, I don’t consider any my friends. They include me out of respect for Jason, and I attend for the same reason. I expect a cryfest, but instead of bringing me down, their love for my brother warms my heart, and the anecdotes they tell about him boost my spirits.
The morning of Jason’s funeral dawns with oppressive humidity. At eleven o’clock, a larger than expected number of mourners gather around the tented area for the brief service. The cemetery is set on a hill above the James River where Richmonders sunbathe on rocks and kayak down the rapids like any normal summer Saturday. For me, today is the worst day of my life, a Saturday I won’t soon forget.
I’m wearing the yellow sundress I bought for my date with Drew. I don’t care if I stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of black. I want to look pretty for my brother. And I’m not the only one. I smile to myself when Stacy shows up in a short-sleeve emerald-green sheath.
When we hug, she says, “I feel his presence. He’s smiling down on us, willing us to be strong.”
During the service, I spot Drew at the back edge of the crowd, looking handsome in a charcoal-gray suit. He’s left countless messages on my cell phone, his tone urgent as he pleads for me to call him back. How can I think about romance when my brother is dead?
Drew approaches me after the service, and we share an awkward embrace. “I don’t know what to say, Jolie. Sorry seems inadequate. I know how much your brother meant to you. I’m here for you if you need me.”
“Thank you. I apologize for not responding to your messages. I’ve been focused on getting through the funeral. I have no idea what comes next for me. I need some time.”
Drew’s shoulders slump. This is not what he wants to hear. “I understand.”
Calvin appears from nowhere. Taking me by the elbow, he leads me away from Drew and over to his car. I feel Drew’s eyes boring a hole in my back. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. But he’s better off without me. I’m a mess. I can’t see myself being ready for a relationship anytime soon.
True to his word, Calvin has been my rock these past few days. He checks in with me frequently and sleeps on Jason’s sofa at night so I won’t be alone. We have long talks about the grieving process and how one moves on after a profound loss. The animosity I’ve felt toward him over these past few months is waning, and an easy friendship is developing between us. We now have something in common. We’ve formed our own private club—The Dead Siblings Society. Calvin doesn’t open up to many people, and his vulnerability is a gift I cherish.
Stacy’s parents host a catered reception with an open bar and elaborate spread of food. Marjorie and Edgar Quinn are an elegant couple in their late fifties. When I express my gratitude for their hospitality, Marjorie says, “It’s the least we can do. We adored Jason. He was a generous soul. He will be missed.”
Edgar gives his head a solemn nod. “I was thrilled about the prospect of having him as a son-in-law. I was determined to make him a golfer.”
“He would’ve been an eager student. Golf is the one game Jason always wanted to master but never had the time.” The image of Jason playing golf with Arnold Palmer in heaven brings a smile to my face.
A young man who introduces himself as Jason’s attorney drags me to the corner of the pool. Jason mentioned Chris Bates once, when I asked my brother if he knew a good divorce attorney.
“Jason had me draw up his will a few years ago,” Chris says.
I give him an incredulous stare. “His will? But he was so young.”
“He was doing me a favor,” Chris says. “I’d just passed the bar exam, and he wanted to throw me some business.”
I smile. “That sounds like Jason.”
“The document is straightforward. You’re the only recipient of his estate.”
I shake my head, unsure I heard him correctly. “What estate?”
“The equity in his condo, and a decent size savings account. He made good money these past few years.”
“Right. And he worked too hard to spend it.”
“The estate will go to probate court, but I can arrange for an advance if you need money to cover the funeral costs and make mortgage payments. Call me when things settle down.” Chris hands me his business card and wanders off.
I’m still standing beside the pool, staring down at his card, when Captain Winnie joins me. “I’ve gotta run, baby. But I couldn’t leave without speaking to you first. I want you to take all the time off you need. However, in my experience, work is the best medicine in cases like these.”
The best medicine, I think. If only I could pop a pill from a bottle labeled work, and all my pain would go away.
I smile because I don’t know what to say. I can’t fathom going back to work anytime soon. When Lucas died three months ago, my grief was nothing like this. I felt sad about the loss of his life. But he was cheating on me, and our marriage had been over for some time. The pain of losing Jason is unbearable. I can’t focus, can’t think straight. How could I possibly interrogate suspects and solve crimes?
On the way home, Calvin gives me a lecture about moving on with my life. I tune him out. I have only one thing on my agenda for the foreseeable future. Drinking. Heavily. When we reach the parking garage, he turns off the car and moves to get out. I grab his arm. “I need some time alone, Calvin. Thanks for all you’ve done for me these past few days. I wouldn’t have survived without you. But you don’t have to babysit me anymore.”
He thumbs my cheek. “I don’t think of it as babysitting. I think of it as helping a friend in need. I’ll respect your privacy. But I will be checking on you.”
“I’m counting on it,” I say, kissing his cheek.
I get out of the car and walk over to the elevator. Instead of going up to the condo, I ride the elevator down to the underground level, where I parked my truck.
I drive to the liquor store, load up on tequila, and go on a five-day bender. I drink. I sleep. I cry. When my phone battery dies, I don’t charge it. I don’t open my laptop. Don’t check my emails. I go days without showering. My body is numb, my brain in an alcohol haze.
Around eight o’clock on Thursday night, Calvin pounds on my door.
“Jolie, I know you’re in there. I’m worried about you. Why aren’t you answering my calls and texts? I need to know you’re all right.”
I stare at the door without opening it.
“Fine. I’ll give you another twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming back and kicking the door down.”
I drain the remaining tequila in my glass. Sliding off my barstool, I dart across the room and throw open the door in time to see Calvin disappear into the elevator. I could go after him. He would give me what I need. But it’s just as well. I now consider him a friend. And I make a point of not sleeping with friends.
I return to the kitchen and pour more tequila in my glass. Jason is the only one who knows about my sordid past. And he took that knowledge with him to the grave.
There was a period in my life, in my late teens and early twenties, when I slept with any man who crossed my path. Jason, recognizing the pattern as self-destructive, insisted I see a therapist. After six months of weekly sessions, she determined my reckless behavior stemmed from my mother abandoning me at such a young age. Another six months of cognitive behavioral therapy and I had given up promiscuous sex. Three months later, I met Lucas.
My craving is intense. I’m a crack addict in need of a fix. In three months, I’ve lost my husband and my brother. I’m expected to fall into bad habits.
For the first time since Jason’s funeral, I leave the condo. I take an Uber to a popular Irish pub in Shockoe Slip. A rowdy crowd has pushed together several tables, but there are plenty of seats open at the bar. I’ve been drinking since noon, and I slur my words when I order a tequila neat from the pretty young bartender.
She gives me a skeptical look. “Sounds to me like you’ve had enough already.”
“I’ll nurse it. Promise,” I say, fingering a cross over my heart.
She brings me the drink, and I take a baby sip. Glass in hand, I spin around on the barstool. My vision is blurry, and I close one eye to focus. All the occupants of the rowdy table are guys. Seriously hot guys. I lock eyes with a tall blond who’s standing at one end of the table as though preparing to leave.
He moseys over and gestures at the empty stool beside me. “Is this seat taken?”
I smile up at him. “By you.”
He sits down beside me, and I spin around to face the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
I lift my half-empty glass. “I’m fine. But thanks.” I yearn to drain the tequila, to ask for another. But I won’t embarrass myself by having the bartender refuse to serve me.
He touches his nearly empty beer mug to my glass. “I’m Russell,” he says, but he doesn’t ask my name. He’s just what I’m looking for. A no-strings-attached roll in the hay.
We make small talk while he finishes his beer. Despite his blond good looks, I sense a wickedness lurking within. Good! I like them naughty.
Desire pulses through me when he says, “What say we get outta here, go somewhere quieter?”
I toss my thumb over my shoulder. “What about your friends?”
He dismisses them with a flick of the wrist. “Those are just some guys from work. I was getting ready to leave anyway.”
“Awesome.” I pay my tab, and we exit the pub together.
I stumble on the way out, and he grabs my arm, preventing me from falling. “I hope you’re not driving.”
“Nah. I Ubered here.”
“Cool. My car’s around back.” I follow him around the side of the building and down a short alley to a silver sedan in the small parking lot. He shows me to the passenger side. I’m thinking he’s a gentleman, helping me into the front seat, when he opens the rear door and pushes me inside. He dives in on top of me, leaving the door open with his feet sticking out.
He’s biting my neck and pawing at my body. He tears my blouse open, the buttons flying in all directions, and tugs at my bra. I sober up fast. He’s going to rape me if I don’t stop him. I try to fight back, and he slaps me hard across the face.
“You know you want it, you whore.”
I manage to twist an arm behind me. When my hand connects with the butt of my pistol, I say a silent prayer of gratitude.
Freeing the weapon from my waistband, I dig the tip of the barrel into his belly. “Get off of me or I’ll blow your guts all over the roof of your car.” Watching his blue eyes grow wide in fear gives me great pleasure.
Russell throws his hands in the air. “I swear, I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Like hell you weren’t. You were going to rape me.” I jab the gun at him as he scrambles out of the car. He’s on his feet, zipping up his pants, when I slide across the seat and kick him in the nuts with the heel of my cowboy boot. He screams and doubles over in pain. I get out of the car and karate chop him in the side of the neck. He falls to the ground, and I kick him in the ribs with my pointy toe. “Take that, you miserable prick.”
Holding my torn blouse together, I take off running back down the alley to Cary Street. I spot a Richmond City squad car idling at the corner. I approach the car on the passenger side and tap on the window. I’m relieved to see the officer is my old friend, Leo McCormick. He unlocks the door and I collapse onto the passenger seat. “Can you give me a ride home? I live nearby.”
Leo looks me over, taking in my ripped blouse and the bite marks on my neck. “What happened to you, Jolie? Did someone assault you?”
“Someone tried.”
When Leo reaches for his radio, I swat his hand away. “Please don’t report it. I was asking for trouble. I’m not myself right now. I let the wrong guy hit on me.”
His features soften. “I heard about your brother, and I’m sorry. You’re understandably going through a tough time. Are you sure you don’t want to go after the bastard?”
“Positive. He got what he deserved. He won’t be trying that again.”
Leo furrows his brow. “Is the guy still alive?”
“He’s in a lot of pain, but he’s alive.”
Leo puts the car in gear. “In that case, let’s get you home.”
I give him the address, and he speeds off. I study Leo’s profile on the way. In the few years since I last saw him, he’s gained a few pounds, and his hair is thinning on top. Middle age has set in. He’s been patrolling Shockoe for as long as I’ve been around. “Have you ever considered doing something different, Leo?”
He glances over at me. “Nope. I love my job. I’ve passed up promotions several times. My wife is a research analyst for an investment firm. She earns the big bucks in our family. I’m making a difference on the streets. I’d be bored to tears in an administrative role.”
My new job isn’t as challenging as I’d hoped. Detectives follow up after a crime has been committed. Cops are on the scene when the action happens. I prefer to be in the thick of things.
When Leo drops me at the front of Jason’s building, I say, “Can we keep this between us? I don’t want everyone worried about me. I’m doing fine, really. I just had an off night.”
Pinching his fingers, he drags them across his lips. “Mum’s the word. Call me if you ever need to talk. I was fifteen when my brother died in a drowning accident. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’d like to hear about him sometime. Thanks for the ride,” I say, and slam the car door.
Inside the lobby, I glimpse myself in a mirror. I’m a mess with unkempt air, blood trickling down my neck, and a red cheek where Russell slapped me. I’m relieved not to encounter anyone in the elevator.
I take one of the sleeping pills Jason’s doctor friend gave me and crawl into bed fully clothed. I sleep until past noon the next day. I open my eyes to the sight of my gun on the bedside table.
I let out a loud groan. I screwed up on so many levels last night. I know better than to take my gun out of the safe when I’ve been drinking. Even worse, that I left home in my condition with a loaded gun at my waist. My risky behavior jeopardized my safety and my career. The gun saved my life, but things could’ve been so much worse. Someone was looking out for me last night. Jason was looking out for me.
My head is pounding, my body aches, and I’m craving alcohol. I push myself up and sit on the edge of the bed until the room stops spinning. I spot a framed photograph of Jason and me on his chest of drawers. I traipse across the room and pick up the frame, running my finger over my brother’s gloomy little face.
The picture was taken on our tenth birthday. Our favorite foster parents were getting a divorce, and we’d just been told we were being separated. Later that night, in the darkness of our shared bedroom, we made a plan to meet at The Alamo on our eighteenth birthday. I still remember Jason’s words. You’re a survivor, Jolie. Be strong and fight for keeps. He took my hand and placed it on his chest. You will live in my heart until we meet again.
The next day, our social worker found a foster couple willing to take both of us.
Returning the photograph to the chest, I shift my gaze heavenward. “You will live in my heart, Jason, until we meet again.”
I go to the kitchen and pour every drop of tequila down the drain. After two cups of strong black coffee, I take a long hot shower and dab antibiotic ointment on the bite marks on my neck. Fortunately, the bites are far enough back on my neck for my hair to hide them.
I pick up a salad bowl from Roots Natural Kitchen on my way over to the cemetery. I haven’t been here since the memorial service, and I’m pleased to see Jason’s name etched in the granite plate on his niche. I sit down on a nearby park bench to eat the first substantial meal I’ve had since before Jason died. I carry on a one-sided conversation with my brother, telling him how badly I screwed up last night and how lost I feel without him. I imagine what he’d say if he were here. He would tell me that, in order to address the symptoms, I need to get to the root of the problem. The crippling anger and sadness are the problem. If only I could figure out how to control them. Drowning them with booze is only making matters worse. Jason was a proponent of physical exertion. I haven’t exercised since before he died.
I dump my empty salad container into a trash can and hit the pavement, race-walking the winding streets of the cemetery. It’s blazing hot, and I’m soon dripping with sweat. I can smell the tequila emitting from my pores. But it feels good to perspire, to cleanse my body of the impurities I’ve consumed over the past few days.
I walk for over two hours. I’m exhausted when I return to my truck, and my heart is still heavy, but I’m able to focus for the first time in days.
Back at home, I take another shower and dress in gray knit loungewear. I stretch out on the bed and fall into a deep, restful sleep. Jason is the first thought that enters my mind when I wake around dinnertime. The deep sorrow has returned, along with the temptation to drink. But there’s no alcohol in the condo. And no food either.
I pad on bare feet into the kitchen and eat a spoonful of peanut butter. I make a cup of tea and power on my phone, thumbing through five days’ worth of text messages from friends and coworkers. I don’t respond to any, but their expressions of sympathy touch me deeply.
I listen to three urgent voice messages from Calvin, Captain Winnie, and Mel. They’re worried about me and need to know I’m okay. I set the phone down. I’ll call them tomorrow.
I open my laptop and sign onto the social media site with my largest following. Hundreds have posted thoughtful comments about my loss. How do they know?
I’ve only podcasted sporadically since my video of Laurence Riley went viral back in April. I haven’t had any inspirational material to share. I drag an armchair over by the window, and position my laptop so the camera captures the sun setting over the river in the background. I click the Live button and begin to talk.
“Good evening. I’m speaking to you off the cuff and from my heart. As many of you know, I recently lost my brother. My twin. My better half. Thank you for your kind words. Your thoughts and concerns mean more to me than I can say. I had coffee with my brother the morning he died. He told me he was getting engaged and showed me the ring. If only I’d known that would be the last time I’d see him alive. There’s so much I would’ve told him. So much I wanted him to know.”
The number of viewers watching me rapidly ticks up, increasing from hundreds into the thousands.
“Jason and I never knew our father and were abandoned by our mother. We were six years old when she dropped us off at the police department in Amarillo, Texas. I would never have survived without Jason. He was my rock. I don’t know how to live without him. I don’t want to live without him. I’m struggling. I’m surrounded by darkness. I’m at the bottom of the ocean, gasping for breath. I can see the light at the top, but my pain has rendered me paralyzed. I’m trying, but I can’t swim toward the surface.”
“Many of you have experienced tragic loss. How did you survive?”
I read out loud the comments from my followers. “According to Sara, time is the only healer.”
“Alex suggests I surround myself with friends and loved ones. Maybe one day, Alex. Right now, I just want to be alone.”
“Christine’s therapist really helped her. I see a lot of therapy in my future, Christine.”
My breath hitches when I see the name of the next commenter. “Calvin writes: Jason was a hero, a modern-day Romeo. He risked his life to save the woman he loved. And you’re a hero too, Jolie. You saved hundreds of people in the emergency room that day. And now you must save yourself. Your mission in life isn’t over. You’re only just beginning to make a difference. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for Jason. He’s up there watching you.”
I suck in an unsteady breath. “Thank you, Calvin. Thank all of you for the pep talk.” A tear spills from my eye, and I wipe it away. “That’s all for now. Thanks for joining in and for your support during these tough days.”
I end the live segment and shut down my computer. I stand and turn toward the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Another long night is ahead of me, endless hours of loneliness and sleeplessness. The urge to drink is strong. I check my watch. I can make it to the liquor store before it closes. Retrieving my bag from the bedroom, I’m reaching for the doorknob when someone knocks. I freeze with my hand on the knob. I’m not in the mood for company.
More knocking is followed by Calvin’s voice. “I know you’re in there, Jolie. You have thirty seconds to open the door before I kick it down.”
I’m busted. He saw my video. He knows I’m here. There’s no putting him off this time. I open the door.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“Gee thanks.”
He gestures at my purse. “Are you headed out?”
“I am,” I say, but I don’t tell him where.
“Have you eaten dinner?”
“Yep,” I say, unable to meet his gaze.
He folds his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah? What’d you have?”
“Peanut butter.”
He tilts his head to the side. “A peanut butter sandwich?”
“A spoonful.”
He strides over to the refrigerator and opens the door. “There’s nothing in here. Not even a bottle of ketchup.”
I shrug. “I’ve been too busy to go to the grocery store.”
“Busy doing what?”
I glare at him. “Mourning.”
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”
His grip is strong, and I lack the strength to resist.
Cool temperatures have replaced the heat from earlier, and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair when we exit the building. We walk in a companionable silence over to The Tobacco Company.
Calvin orders a Heineken in a bottle, and when I ask for sweet tea, he raises an eyebrow.
As soon as the waitress leaves, he says, “No tequila?”
I stare down at the table. “The tequila was becoming a problem.”
“I figured as much,” he says with a sigh. “Taking those first baby steps back into the real world is difficult, but the longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.”
“How am I supposed to walk when I’m barely crawling?”
“You can start by coming back to work. It won’t be easy, but everyone at the department supports you.”
“I’m not sure I’m coming back to work,” I say and tell him my reservations about my new job.
“At least talk to Captain Winnie. Tell her your concerns. Your life needs purpose, Jolie. You can’t stay holed up in your brother’s condo with his ghost for the rest of your life.”
The waitress returns with our beverages, and we order dinner—the meatloaf for Calvin and the crab cake for me.
Calvin waits for the waitress to leave before taking a long pull of his beer. “Speaking of Jason’s condo, how long are you planning to live there?”
I pause a beat. I haven’t really thought about my living arrangements. “I’m not sure. Jason’s presence has a hold on me. And I’m not ready to let it go.” I take a swig of tea, wishing it was tequila. “He left me a small savings account. I can stay indefinitely if I want. But it’s Jason’s home. Not mine. Just like my apartment is Lucas’s home. He lived there before we were married, and most of the furniture belonged to him. I’m ready for a place of my own. I was saving up to move to a new apartment when . . .” My voice trails off.
“You don’t need two homes. You should get rid of one.”
“My lease isn’t up until the end of August. Considering the circumstances, the building’s manager may make an exception in my case. If I get my act together, I could be out of the apartment by the end of the month. There’s no sense paying rent when I’m not living there.”
“Thatta girl. Now you’re thinking in the right direction. I’ll help you move.”
I scrunch up my face as I consider the work ahead of me. “What will I do with Lucas’s furniture?”
“Hmm.” Calvin drums his fingers on the table. “Why don’t you have a yard sale?”
“That’s actually a brilliant idea. I’ll move my stuff to the condo and sell the rest. Surrounding myself with some of my things—my books and the rest of my clothes—might help Jason’s condo feel more like home. Right now, I feel like a visitor.”
“Agreed. And for God’s sake, buy some groceries.”
This tangible first step toward moving on with my life brightens my spirits. While we eat, we discuss the logistics of moving and having a yard sale.
“Thank you for dragging me out,” I say to Calvin on the walk home. “I really needed a change of scenery.”
“Yes, you did. Fair warning. I’m going to ride herd on you. To make certain you keep taking these baby steps.”
“Fine. Just promise you won’t bust down my door.”
He chuckles. “We won’t have a problem if you stay in touch.”
When we reach my building, I give him a kiss on the cheek. “I will. I might even take you up on your offer to help me move.”
“Anytime.” With a final wave goodbye, Calvin gets in his car and speeds off. As I watch his taillights disappear around the corner, I think about how, not so long ago, I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Calvin. He’s proven to be a good friend. Because of his own tragic loss, he knows exactly what I need.
I head up to the condo, feeling more like myself than I have since Jason died. I’m getting ready for bed when I notice my packet of birth control pills in my cosmetic case. I’ve been such a mess this past week, I neglected to take them. I shudder to think how close I came to having sex with Russell. I would’ve insisted he use a condom, but accidents happen. A memory comes crashing back to me. Calvin and me on the sofa hours after Jason died. He didn’t use protection. Is it possible I got pregnant? Surely not. It was just a quickie. I shrug off my concern and drop the packet in the wastebasket. I won’t be needing them. I’ve sworn off sex for the foreseeable future.