Because of You Read online

  “I’m sorry, Walter.” Dr. Redmond placed her hand on his forearm and patted it. “Cancer is most certainly a deep, life-altering tragedy. How is your mom today?”

  Walter’s face broke into a smile, so big it seemed to spread around the room. “She’s been cancer free for ten years!”

  Dr. Redmond grinned back. “Wonderful news. But let’s do some quick math. What are you, twenty years old?”

  Walter’s grin slipped, but he nodded.

  “And ten years cancer free means she was in remission when you were ten. What were you, eight when she was diagnosed?” Dr. Redmond probed, her attention focused on Walter.

  “Seven,” Walter corrected. “I was seven when she was diagnosed and when she had a double mastectomy.”

  The room was silent, and I found myself waiting on edge for the next question.

  Dr. Redmond rested her hip against the long table next to her. “Tell me. How has that affected you today?”

  Walter’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips pursed. “What do you mean?”

  “What are your hobbies?” Dr. Redmond asked.

  Walter’s grin was back. “I’m super into drag racing. I like to gamble. Party.” His attention turned to the room. “You guys know.”

  And he was back to annoying—he reeked frat boy.

  A few losers in the back cheered, but Dr. Redmond lowered her palm to shush them. “Have you ever been in a long-term relationship with a guy or girl?”

  The pink flush traveled to Walter’s ears. “I’m into girls,” he coughed into the microphone. “But, no. I’ve never done anything long-term. Why would I? Life’s too short.”

  Dr. Redmond faced the crowd. “A-ha,” she nodded. “And if I had to start analyzing the effect of tragedy on Walter’s life, that would be my thesis statement. ‘Life is too short.’ Racing, gambling, one-night stands. Risky behavior reminds Walter he’s really living, because at the age of seven, he first learned that there are no guarantees for how long we have.”

  She turned back to Walter. “Hug your mom extra hard for me, please. I’m happy she is a survivor and that you have a true zest for life. Just be careful.”

  Walter’s grin was crooked, and the poor guy looked a bit confused as he shuffled back to his seat.

  Dr. Redmond approached the middle-aged black woman next. “Hello. What is your first name?”

  “Monica.” The woman answered, her long, braided hair moving around and off her shoulders as she spoke.

  “Monica, the same question to you. What’s the strongest memory of tragedy that you can recall?” Dr. Redmond pushed her dark hair away from her face and waited.

  Monica spoke into the microphone, explaining that her childhood home had burned to the ground when she was twelve. She was babysitting and saved one sibling but not the other.

  Holy crap. Nothing like listening to someone else’s shit to make you feel less alone in the sucky life realm. From the corner of my eye, I saw the third student, rich bitch, fidget. She moved from side to side, her eyes wide and frown deep as she looked at Monica.

  Turning back, I watched Monica brush a tear away with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, blowing it out hard enough that her cheeks puffed.

  Dr. Redmond asked Monica how her relationship was with her mom today and the sad story continued. Her mother still blamed her for the accident and had cut her daughter out of her life. She went on to describe her life, taking care of and nurturing her husband and children, never allowing herself a release from the guilt of her past.

  Dr. Redmond’s eyes narrowed. “I wish, Monica, that you could allow yourself the grace to focus on the life you saved.”

  Sniffles echoed throughout the room. I wasn’t teary for fuck’s sake, but I got why they were. It was sad shit, mostly because it was true.

  Dr. Redmond faced the room again. “Ladies and gentlemen, the effect of a house fire and loss of life in said fire, can be termed: the hero made the villain. Monica is a hero. As a child, she acted quickly and saved her life and that of her sibling. But when tragedy strikes, humans can have a warped tendency to blame anyone possible. Monica’s mother, instead of embracing her for what she did do, blamed her for not doing more. Now Monica leads a safe life, taking care of her family and always putting others before herself.”

  She faced Monica, whispering private words in her ear. Monica’s smile was wobbly as she agreed. She took the stairs to her row, the sympathetic and understanding eyes of classmates following her to her seat.

  The entire class’s attention was now on student number three, who if possible looked even more terrified to be standing in front of the room.

  Dr. Redmond must have picked up on her unease as she moved from behind her table to drag around a chair—first for the student, and then for herself. She motioned for the girl to take a seat. “Please tell us your first name.”

  “Aveline.” Her name came out in a breath, whisper soft. I caught myself leaning forward.

  “Aveline, I’m sure you’re prepared with your answer after having listened to your two classmates. What’s your story?”

  The young woman looked to be about my age, with delicate features. She wrung her hands in front of her, swallowing several times before speaking.

  “I was in an accident eighteen years ago, when I was four.” She whispered into the microphone. The room was so silent, I swear you could hear the snap of chewing gum.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What kind of accident?” Dr. Redmond asked, a soothing, gentle tone taking over.

  Aveline looked around the room, appearing like she might bolt at any second. For some reason, I was desperate for her not to. “I was at the lake with my family, having a picnic lunch. And I fell in. In a matter of seconds, I was drowning.”

  Swear to Christ, my heart stopped beating for a second. I pressed my hands on my thighs to keep from standing up. Hot, white heat clouded my vision and the monster rose, growing in size and intensity.

  “A man dove in to save me… and he did save me, but in the process, he broke his neck. The water was too shallow to dive in, but how would he have known that?” Aveline looked at Dr. Redmond like she was trying to convince her.

  I moved to the edge of my seat, my hands balled into fists, breath coming in heavy pants. I willed the beast inside me to settle, a notion that he could overtake me, and I might erupt filling my brain.

  Dr. Redmond’s face looked stricken, as if she was expecting something sad, but not this. “What happened next, Aveline?”

  Aveline took a shaky breath. “Doctors told my parents that the witnesses reported he dove in, immediately breaking his neck, but somehow he was able to push me high enough out of the water that I could breathe before he lost the use of his arms. Bystanders saw me and got me onto dry land.”

  “And the man who saved your life?” Dr. Redmond probed.

  Twin tears ran down the girl’s face, and I watched, waiting to hear her answer. The answer one I already knew.

  “My parents found me right after I was pulled out. They told me another bystander carried that man from the water and emergency responders were called. I don’t know any more than that. We never learned his name. After he got hurt, everything happened fast. Ambulances and helicopters and… we never learned his name…”

  Aveline quietly sobbed, her face in her hands. Dr. Redmond rubbed her back, talking in her ear.

  I sat back in my seat, my breath coming out in a whoosh.

  That was the girl. Here, in my class, at my college. I squeezed my hands together until they shook. For most of my life, I’d pictured this moment. I wanted to charge the stage. To scoop her up, bring her home, and force her to look at what she had done to the man who had saved her. A low growl rumbled deep in my lungs and I coughed to cover it. Ideas raced around in my brain like cars on a track. I had to say something to her. I couldn’t let her leave. I should confront her. She had to know the damage she had caused. But I held back. I needed time to think and process what was right in front of
me.

  Aveline was the girl whose stupid mistake made my dad a quadriplegic.

  Because of her, our lives were changed for the worst.

  Now I had to decide what to do with this information.

  And exactly how to make her pay for what she took from us.

  Chapter Six

  Aveline

  AFTER A FEW comforting words, Dr. Redmond attempted to wrap things up. “As you can see, we often blame ourselves for things we have no control over. My dear, you were a young child. It’s not your fault you fell in the water and were unable to swim. I can see you carry that guilt with you. Are you like Walter, a risk taker?”

  I shook my head, a wry grin forming. “I’d say quite the opposite.”

  Dr. Redmond nodded. “A near-death experience as a young child will have a strong developmental impact on an individual’s personality. Thank you for sharing, Aveline.”

  I couldn’t move fast enough off that stage and to my seat. I sat and listened as Dr. Redmond clinically analyzed her three case studies. At some point, I turned off, unable to hear any more. The end of Dr. Redmond’s lecture roared dully in my ears as I processed my thoughts.

  My hands were ice cold compared to my face. Sitting back in my seat, I pressed my fingers against the heat of my cheeks, willing my racing heart to slow down. Those were the toughest words I had ever uttered.

  And that was the first time I had ever spoken them aloud. Sure, my parents and I had talked in sign language about the accident as we did with everything else. But I had never had a reason to form the words with my lips and hear them with my own ears. The shock that coursed through me at hearing my story was surprising. Even eighteen years later, the pain was fresh.

  My God, I could still picture everything about that day. The sun, the breeze, the clouds in the bright blue sky. I could smell the fresh cut grass, hear the birds chirping and children laughing as they kicked a soccer ball around or tossed a Frisbee.

  In the life of a four-year-old, it was a great day. Mom had her special picnic blanket on the grass and spread on top were salads, sandwiches, and yummy cupcakes. I loved to dance back then, and I twirled and twirled moving faster and faster in circles until…

  Black.

  Cold.

  Silence surrounded me.

  All around, students began standing, closing laptops, and grabbing bags. I moved quickly, shoving my laptop into my satchel and following the herd out of the building into the cold January afternoon.

  Head down, I walked to the parking lot slowly. There was no need to rush. Nowhere to be. No one waiting at home.

  The biggest impact of my accident was a paralyzing fear of loss from my parents. To me, it was understandable. Being unable to hear your drowning child call for you and having to rely on strangers to find her and save her, was debilitating for them. They explained that this was why I was homeschooled. I was only allowed to attend a college course in person this year after taking classes online to complete my undergraduate degree. My mother became the ultimate helicopter parent, hovering, fluttering, and fussing, until I was afraid of my own shadow. Afraid one wrong move would catapult me back under into the dark, cold, silence.

  Reaching my car, I unlocked the trunk and placed my bag inside. Across the lot, a man stopped and stared.

  He was the boy from class that bumped into me and helped me find my glasses. I’d thanked him and tried to apologize for being in his way and troubling him, but he stormed off, looking irritated.

  Again, as he looked at me, I sensed he was mad.

  My first instinct, as always, was fear. But it was fleeting and replaced with something much less scary. Intrigue. He was simply stunning to watch. Tall, with jet black hair, pulled away from his face and shoulders into what I assumed was a ponytail behind his head. His skin was light brown, not black, but most likely Hispanic, with multiple tattoos visible along his neck. He dressed simply, almost rough, in heavy boots, worn jeans, and a leather jacket that looked like it had seen better days. My eyes lingered on his body. Muscles so defined, they appeared to be painted on with an artist’s brush. He was, quite simply, breathtakingly gorgeous.

  But it was his face… his… fury that caught my breath in my throat.

  His jaw was tight, visibly popping as he clenched and unclenched. Eyes narrowed at me in a lethal glare. He looked me up and down, and then at my car, before slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and hitching a leg up and over a huge motorcycle. Seconds later, the engine was roaring, the sound so loud my ears rang and were wracked with pain. He tore out of the parking garage, his body leaning with his bike first to the right and then to the left, dropping close to the ground. I feared he would crash as he navigated the turns in the road ahead of him.

  Then he was gone… out of my sight.

  Climbing into my car, I closed the door, locking it behind me. My finger found the ignition button, pressing and waiting for the engine to start.

  That angry boy was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. But why had he glared at me? What had I done to upset him?

  I placed the car in reverse, using my rear cameras as I navigated out of my space and the garage.

  I drove the short distance home from school, my mind wandering every which way. What would it be like to ride a big motorcycle like that? To feel all that power between my legs. My core clenched at the thought and I bit my lip as my body stirred to life at the idea.

  What would it be like to be touched by a man like him? Someone tall and strong and… sexy. Up until the age of eighteen, I had never been allowed to date. My parents made it clear that was not an option. They worried too much about all the what ifs…

  Date rape. Roofies. Alcohol poisoning. Drunk driving. STDs. Unexpected pregnancy.

  The list went on. I often wondered what my parents would do with themselves if they weren’t worrying about me.

  But then, after turning eighteen, I never had any offers for dates. Of course, being homeschooled up until now prevented those opportunities from coming my way. If I was being truly honest with myself, I wasn’t ready to date when I was younger. Fears, anxiety, and debilitating shyness were struggles I still dealt with. Part of my reason for taking this class on campus was to face them. And to meet people. Perhaps date one of those people. One day, I had to hope that my time would come.

  And when I wasn’t working on my four-point-oh grade point average at home on my computer, I devoured romance novels.

  By the dozen.

  Countless books that described in detail every type of man imaginable. I had a type. I’d narrowed it down to the domineering CEO. I liked the suits, fast cars, and snarky banter. I pictured my dream man clean shaven, with close-cropped hair, and a lean, long body.

  In short, nothing at all like the beautiful man I saw today.

  Yet, I was instantly captivated by him. Would I ever have a chance with a guy like that? A date, a dinner… a chance to prove to myself that I could break out of the shell I had been carefully surrounded by ever since that day eighteen years ago.

  “Argh, Aveline. Quit it. You have no chance in hell with a man that hot.” There was something that amused me about talking aloud to myself when I knew no one else in my home could hear it.

  Pathetic, I know. But sometimes the silence needed to be filled. Even if it was only with my voice.

  * * *

  STANDING IN THE doorway to my father’s office, I took a moment to study him. His slight frame and thinning hair showed his physical aging, but his intellect and wit remained as sharp as ever. I smiled at his focused concentration. My slight movement from the doorway must have caught his attention.

  My father looked up, removed his glasses and placed them on the shiny wood surface of his desk.

  “Dad”—I signed—“Got a minute?” Speaking about the accident in class today left me unable to focus on anything else. I wanted to ask my father questions about that day, even though I knew it was difficult for him to think about.

  “Of course, my dear
. Sit, please.” Dad’s hands moved rapidly. I followed along, walking further into the room and sitting on his brown leather loveseat.

  “How was your day at school?’ Dad asked.

  I smiled. “I love school. I love being out of the house. I haven’t made friends yet, but I hope to soon.”

  “Good,” Dad grinned. “What’s up?”

  Tucking my legs under me, I nestled into the cushiony, worn, couch. “In psychology class today, we talked about how tragedy can affect a person’s personality.” Dad sat up straighter, his attention on every move of my hands.

  “I was randomly picked to stand at the front of the classroom and talk about the worst trauma I could remember.” I paused in my signs and Dad looked into my eyes, his own glistening with unshed tears. “Of course I talked about the accident and how I was saved. I spoke about never meeting the man who saved me and how all we know is that he broke his neck.”

  “That’s right.” Dad signed, with a deep frown on his face.

  “Is that all we know? In all these years, did you ever get a name? Find out if he lived? Try to thank him?” My fingers moved furiously as I hit my father with question after question.

  Dad pushed his rolling desk chair away. Walking to the window, he kept his back to me. His head dropped, but I gave him his space to process. Finally, he faced me again. “I don’t know any more than that and it has haunted me, too. I tried to ask the paramedics at the scene after the man was helicoptered out and once we knew you were breathing and okay. I wrote on a sheet of paper, ‘name of man who was hurt’ but they only shrugged. A bystander responded to my note, telling me that the man didn’t speak English and his family had left the park for the hospital. Your mother and I had a hard enough time communicating with the people helping you. We did find out you both went to different hospitals, but they wouldn’t tell us which one. At that point, we wanted to put the whole thing behind us. I know it makes us sound like terrible people, but you were our only priority.”