Finding Goodbye Read online

  Finding Goodbye

  Brittany Elise

  © Copyright Brittany Elise 2018

  Black Rose Writing | Texas

  © 2018 by Brittany Elise

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First digital version

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-968-8

  PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  Print edition produced in the United States of America

  This one is for Grandma Burson, whose bedtime tales of Red Striper inspired my world of imagination. And for my family, who encouraged me to chase after my dreams, and believed in me even when I doubted myself. You will always have my unconditional love and infinite gratitude. I especially want to thank my sister, Erica, for being there every step of the way. You've endured the works of every piece of writing I've ever created, and supplied invaluable advice that I've depended on and treasured more than you can imagine. A special shoutout to my Beta readers who suffered through a quite awful first draft. You lot are the true heros that helped make this story come to life.

  “You can't fail if you're determined not to.” ~Darcy

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  October

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BRW Info

  October

  Luke stood beside me at the end of the pier. His arm was wrapped around my shoulder, shielding me from the wind. It wasn’t cold, but my body shivered in spite of the warmth. We stood there silently, gazing out across the vast stretch of inky blue. Fog was pressing in from the deep, adding a bleak touch to my already miserable day. I could hear a bell tolling in the distance–a buoy warning sailors of possible hazards in the bay. It was an eerie sound, but the steady rhythm of the toll against the waves was strangely soothing. I could lose myself in it, like watching a pocket watch swinging on its chain, easing into a hypnotic trance.

  My twin, Gabriel, had once taught me how to separate the chaos, and I used the technique like a crutch–creating an artificial place to escape.

  My mind was empty.

  “We should probably get back soon,” Luke said. “It’s getting dark.”

  I nodded, picking at the dirt that was caked beneath my fingernails. It was a ceremonial tradition to sprinkle dirt on a loved one’s coffin, a symbolization of the deceased returning to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. A final resting place. Only, I wasn’t ready for the final goodbye. My beloved brother was taken too soon...

  Luke helped me turn away from the railing, making sure I was balanced on my crutches before we started walking. There was a deep ache in my arms from the pressure of the padding pushing into my skin. My right leg was engulfed in a thick cast that made it nearly impossible to maneuver without looking like a clumsy toddler learning to walk. The pain was always there; ebbing at the surface, reminding me that I could still feel... reminding me that after everything was done–I was still alive.

  Chapter One

  Today marked exactly four months since my twin brother had died, and left me forever. Four, long, lonely, miserable months…

  There was an empty quietness that seemed to echo through the halls of the too large house, with its too many rooms, and pristine white walls. It was always dark; no matter how bright the sun shone outside. The curtains were always drawn, but if you looked closely, you could still see particles of dust drifting through the haze of muted light.

  After Gabriel died, home stopped feeling like home. It was difficult to be locked inside the walls, surrounded by the ghost of his memories. Everything reminded me of him. I’d wake in the early hours of the morning, pass by his room on my way to the bathroom, and I could still smell the cologne he used lingering in the air. His green toothbrush was still next to mine in the holder on the bathroom sink. His comb still had strands of auburn hair collected between the small, blue tines. His pictures lined the hallway, and his running shoes were still sitting on the mat beside the garage door; mud caked to the bottom of the soles. Everywhere I turned there he was, but wasn’t all at once. It was almost as if the house was clinging to an invisible hope that he would return, and pick up right where he left off.

  For some, it was easier to move forward by packing up and cleaning out the belongings of a passed loved one. Maybe the physical act of moving forward made all the difference, but my mother wasn’t ready for that. She needed to see his pictures, his intense brown eyes and wide smile; a mirror image of my own, gazing back at her from the silver frames. Like the house, she too was under the pretense that there would be a day when he’d come back home.

  I could almost see it; he’d come in through the door and toss a water bottle in my direction. “Get your shoes on,” he’d say, “we’re going for a run.” And God, how I missed those days. I missed sharing in the laughter and the freedom we felt as our legs carried us across the ground. I missed feeling like I was flying, but the reality of it all was that I’d never fly again.

  Every moment or memory that ever meant anything, started and ended with my brother, and he was gone now.

  The door in the kitchen opened and closed with a neat little click, bringing me back to the present. “Darcy?” my mother called out; the brass sound of her keys clinking against the marble counter top.

  “In here,” I responded. I was lying on my bed opposite the pillows with my legs propped up against the wall. I’d been lying on my back, watching the ceiling fan spin in dizzying circles above me. I had picked up a habit of watching or listening to things that had a consistent tick or movement–something like a metronome. If I concentrated on those things long enough, I could sometimes pull myself into a state of what I liked to call the “in-between.” It was somewhere between reality and a kind of peace–a peace where I could just exist and turn off my feelings. It had all started that day on the pier, and I had become obsessed with finding it in every situation so I could make myself get through the dragging days. Call it a coping mechanism.

  “Knock-knock,” my mother said as her knuckles rapped softly against my wooden door. I didn’t move to ackn
owledge her presence, but I felt her weight shift the mattress in her favor at the end of the bed.

  “How was your day?” she asked, her voice cheerful.

  I shrugged my shoulders in response.

  “Did physical therapy go well?” She reached out, taking a strand of my auburn hair between her fingers, like she had done to comfort me when I was a child. I looked down at my legs; bare beneath the hem of my shorts.

  The cast had come off a little over a month ago, and I had been in physical therapy to relearn how to walk with the new equipment holding my bones together. My right leg was practically bionic, and I had the ugly, rigid scars to prove it. There was always a certain level of pain and stiffness that never subsided, but it was a small price to pay; considering I was the one on the green side of the grass.

  “Fine,” I replied.

  “Today was your last clinical appointment,” she stated. “Did Luke go with you?”

  “He did,” I said.

  “Well what did the doctor say?”

  “I’ve been cleared to do home therapy on my own now,” I said. “My leg has healed as best it can, so as long as I keep up with my routine, I shouldn’t have to go back for any more appointments.”

  “Well that’s great news, honey.” Mom squeezed my shoulder in approval. I felt the mattress give a little as she stood from the bed, moving so that I could see her standing before me. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” she began. I watched her tuck a strand of mahogany hair behind her ear–a nervous habit. She wiped the palms of her hands across her scrub pants, buying time.

  “Mom?”

  “It’s work,” she said finally. “They want me to start traveling again.”

  “Where?” I asked. My mom had been an RN at the local hospital since Gabriel and I were children. It wasn’t until we were in high school, and our father lost his job at the accounting firm, that she had even considered becoming a traveling nurse. Nursing jobs were always in high demand, but the pay for a traveling nurse was substantial enough to support our family while my father searched for a new job. My mother possessed an uncanny ability to care for people. It was a rare gift of unbridled compassion, an instinct that somehow separated her from the rest.

  I knew she always felt a little guilty for leaving us–sometimes for a couple of months at a time–but out there, she was in her element. She was good at her job. Though, “job” was a term I used loosely when it came to my mother’s profession. She was really one of a kind; an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a nurse. She could take someone’s worst day, and somehow find a way to make them smile–even when it seemed impossible. My mother always knew the right thing to say, or when to say nothing at all. Sometimes a simple touch was enough.

  My father eventually found a new job, but my mother had fallen in love with her traveling position and decided to continue with that lifestyle. Of course, she had returned to the hospital after Gabriel died so she could be close to home. Mostly, I think it was so she could keep a close watch over me.

  “Phoenix,” she answered. “Desert Pine’s Nursing Home.”

  “Desert Pine?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “I guess it sounds better than Desert Cactus.” She shrugged and leaned up against my bedroom wall.

  “When do they want you to start?” I asked.

  She tilted her head back and forth as if weighing her response. “If I accept the position, I’ll start a week from tomorrow.”

  I shifted on the bed so that I was sitting up, feeling the rush of blood pooling from my head. There was a pit in my stomach, an aching hollow place that dreaded the thought of actually being alone for months. Ironic, since I craved desolate solitude. I wanted to be left alone, but I also liked knowing that someone else was sharing the emptiness with me. Sharing a space with someone–even if you weren’t speaking, was a more comforting notion than being completely alone.

  “You should go,” I said instead. I tried to make myself sound enthusiastic. I knew how much the job meant to her, and I knew it would be a good opportunity. I couldn’t allow myself to be selfish with this one. If my mom was ready to get back out there and take on the world, I wasn’t going to be the one to stand in her way. This was a good step for her–a needed step. Besides, there wasn’t a good reason that the both of us should stay here collecting dust.

  “Darcy,” Mom lowered her voice, and reached out to take my hand. “If you’re not ready for me to leave, I can put it off for a while longer.” I knew she meant it, but there was a sparkle in her eye–a yearning that I recognized and couldn’t deny.

  I had learned from a young age the tell-tale signals of my mother’s body language. It was something most people didn’t pick up on because her face was always calm and collected–a delicately poised mask that she had perfected over the years. In part, it was because of her job, but also because she was truly selfless. I admired that trait, and wanted to be more like her; but sometimes I thought I was the furthest thing from selflessness.

  Before Gabriel had died, I was very… complicated, according to my mother. My father called my behavior “willful” but I could admit to (at times) being a stubborn teenager. I wasn’t disrespectful, but my emotions tended to pull rank. Anything I felt, I felt it all, and I felt it deeply. I was sentient, and raw with emotion, showing every inch of them with a realness that unhinged my soul. You could read me like an open book because everything was on the surface. I was high on life, and full of a bright energy… But after Gabriel died, it was like the fiery light had gone out inside me. Someone had flipped the switch, and I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

  “Darcy?” My mother was looking at me, waiting.

  “I think you should do this, Mom. You’re too good at what you do; I shouldn’t keep you to myself. It would be a crime against humanity.” I pressed my lips into a smile, more so for my own benefit, trying to convince myself that I would be strong without her.

  “You’re sure?” she asked me, squeezing my hand.

  “Absolutely. Maybe I’ll stay with Grandma and Grandpa MacKenna while you’re gone.” It had been a while since I’d been able to visit them at the farm. At least there, I would be surrounded by constant movement.

  “Or you could stay with your father…”

  I shot her a pointed look.

  She held up her hands–a halting gesture. “I know I can’t force you to speak to him, Darcy. You’re eighteen, and you have the right to decide who’s in your life, but I really think you need to hear his side of the story.”

  “I’m not interested to hear his side of the story,” I said. My father and I were currently on the outs, and I wasn’t remotely interested in listening to anything he had to say. Not after what he had done.

  “Okay,” she said in defeat. “I’m sure your grandparents would love to see you.” This was my mother’s subtle way of changing the subject. She didn’t like conflict; she was noncontroversial by nature.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, remembering to check my attitude.

  “Hey, are you hungry? I’m hungry, and I don’t really feel like cooking anything tonight,” she said. “What do you say we run out and get a bite to eat?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “Grab your coat.” She smiled at me. “I’ll go start the car.”

  I collected myself at the end of the bed, searching for a warmer pair of clothes to change into. Though it went unspoken, we both knew what today represented. The anniversary of his death hung over us like an ominous cloud, promising a lifetime of regret and sorrow. We each had our own ways of coping, but I kept Gabriel close to me in my own way. I wore his class ring around my neck on a thin silver chain. It hung low, nestled safely against my heart. Thi
s way, I’d never really have to say goodbye.

  Chapter Two

  The morning sun sifted through the bare branches of an old oak tree, and the February wind nipped viciously at my face. I had always disliked winter, and the cold that seemed to last infinitely. Though winter couldn’t be classified as “miserable” on the coast of Carolina, to me, it felt like the warmer months would never come again.

  “Okay, I’m all set,” Mom said as she loaded the last suitcase into the trunk of her Subaru. She was wearing her best wool coat: beige, with large black buttons. It was a classy choice, and went nicely with her sensible black winter boots and matching knit hat. Her short hair curled underneath her chin, framing her angular face.

  I had rarely seen my mother out of her scrubs, but even with the simple clothing it was easy to see how naturally beautiful she was. Faint lines pulled at the corner of her gray-blue eyes; the only sign that showed her age of forty-one. She was tall, like me, but had curves where I was lacking. I was built more like my father–more like an athletic runner. Lean. Wiry. My long waves of auburn hair may have been the only attribute working in my favor.

  “I’ll miss you,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.

  “And I’ll miss you. Say hello to your grandparents for me, and be sure to call me if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I said.

  She planted a kiss on my forehead and cupped my cheek with her gloved hand. “I love you, Darcy.”

  “I love you too; now, get out of here before you miss your flight.” I forced myself to smile as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  My mom was stronger than me. She had always been this indestructible force, radiating a sense of security and sureness. I had seen her cry twice only, and since I had been sharing in her misery I was never sure how to be there for her. She had been the able one, stepping in to take care of me.