39: Franny (2/2)
”Not as much as I love you.”
Usually I would try and argue that. But sitting here, an emotional mess next to my even bigger mess of a dad, I don't have it in me. Instead I grip his hand and don't let go.
***
Tyler has a busted-up face, cracked ribs and a limp, yet he still grins at me as he walks up the driveway.
His dark hair is a crazy mess upon his head but I smile and lightly hug him, careful of his ribs. Tyler cups my cheek and kisses the side of my head.
”God, I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks,” he says. ”I missed you.”
”I missed you, too,” I say and run my hand over his knuckles that are scabbed over.
”When I saw you like that . . . ” Tyler says quietly.
I gulp, remembering the gunshots, the pain, all the red.
”I know,” I whisper. ”But we're fine now.”
Tyler nods, pressing his forehead to mine. ”We're fine.”
We hop into his red truck and hit the road, driving for a while as the radio plays softly in the background. We pass through the town, taking in the people, the fields, the street signs. For a moment, I remember that it isn't long until senior year is over. That I actually have to do something soon. And with my dad and Tyler, I haven't even applied to college.
To think, I had been so upset over my dad spending my college fund . . . and then I didn't even bother applying.
I close my eyes and just focus on the rumble of the car for a few minutes before we turn off and drive through a gateway. I look out the window and my eyes roam over all the headstones I've seen before—the one that always has the red roses; the tall, marble one that always has yellow and orange flowers; and the smaller, stone one that has a fresh ring of daisies before it whenever they're in season.
Tyler pulls the car to a stop and we both get out slowly, cautious of our injuries. I take the bouquet of flowers that were on my lap with me and begin to walk along the little path that goes further into the graveyard.
Tyler comes up beside me and our hands touch as they hang by our sides.
”Thanks for letting me come with you,” Tyler says. ”I know you usually come here alone.”
I shrug. ”I didn't want to be here alone this time.”
Tyler nods and I look down at the purple, pink and yellow flowers in my arms. Mom was always fond of bright colors.
”Did everything with the detective go okay?” I ask.
”Yeah,” Tyler says as we walk. ”It went easier than I thought. I don't know what happens afterwards though, they just told me to leave it to them and not mention it to anyone.”
”It could have gone wrong,” I say.
Tyler sighs. ”Yes, it could have gone very wrong.”
”That was a big risk,” I point out and turn off from the path, walking along the grass.
Tyler falls a step behind and I hear him sigh again. ”I had to take it.”
I smile tightly. ”I know.”
I slow down as I come up to the familiar tree and then stop in front of her gravestone. It's an average-sized one made of stone, the top forming a semi-circle. I kneel down and place the flowers in front of the gravestone. I look up and stare at my mom's name, forever engraved on a slab of stone.
”I felt helpless,” I say, still kneeling. ”When you were in there and I was standing to the side . . . there was nothing I could do. You were getting beaten up and all I did was stand there and watch until it was my turn. The last time I felt that weak was when I watched my mom die.”
I hear the crunching of footsteps coming closer.
”You weren't weak,” Tyler says.
”I hated that feeling,” I say. ”The day my mom died and the day you nearly died. I couldn't do anything.” I clench my hand into a fist. ”It clung to me, clawing at me. I needed to do something, but I just stood there.”
Hot tears burn my eyes and my mom's name blurs over.
I turn my head back towards Tyler.
”I never want to feel that helpless again,” I say through gritted teeth. ”Ever.”
Tyler kneels down beside me as the tears fall down my cheeks in hot, heavy drops. His hand rubs the back of my neck and he brings my head to the crook of his neck.
”You won't,” he whispers. ”You'll never feel like that again.”
- Ellie x