It would have been an accident.
It would have looked like one.
I hadn’t planned to slip.
At first I was terrified.
Then…not so much.
Now I’m just furious.
Lorna isn’t great company for this mood. More than even a shower, I want to talk with Max, force him to tell me what he meant by all of that.
“What happened to you?”
“I almost fell off a cliff.”
My sister barks, “What? You okay?”
I mutter, “No. Yeah. I don't know,” and drop her heavy promise of an uninvited stay just inside our front door, quickly crossing to our kitchen sink. I’ve gotta clean the scratches the ledge engraved in my skin.
I’m waiting for my sister to launch into me, and when she doesn’t say a word, just walks around our kitchen table in a casual way, I relax. Is she going to skip the questions? That would be amazing.
Lorna comes to stand beside me, leaning against our counter top that stretches in an L-shape. She’s got our coffee pot to her right, Max to her left, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, hands tucked. She walked in front of him to get here.
I see a tote hanging from her shoulder and, snatching a dish towel, dry off while pointing with my chin. “What's in the bag?”
Lorna shrugs, looking friendly, “Some wine, bread, cheese. Sandwich fixings. Good stuff like that.” She sets the tote on our kitchen table and turns to ask, “What do you mean you fell off a cliff?”
Dammit. Here we go.
I set down the towel, shrug it off like this is a normal day for me, “I was hiking and I slipped.”
“You're not supposed to hike alone, Abs.”
I exchange a look with my husband and Lorna catches it, looks around and right through him. “What are you looking at?”
“I was just making sure the place was tidy for you.”
Lorna smiles, “It looks great,” scanning the cabin again, but quicker this time, again looking right through her brother-in-law. “I was expecting a disaster.”
Max smirks, “She knows you.”
I mutter, “Funny,” and Lorna doesn’t realize I’m commenting on what he said, not what she said. I’m so used to talking with him I forget I can’t in mixed company. “What's been going on in the world?”
She crosses her arms, and looks as if she were twelve. “Same old, same old.”
“Lorna...what's with the face?” Pretty fucking comical her feigned innocence, so I have to hold back a laugh as my hip leans on the counter.
She tries to keep it up, but can’t. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“You have?” I grin, shocked. “The last time you had a boyfriend was Sean.”
“Eck. Don't remind me. You hungry?” She goes for the bag.
“I’m starving. But let me do it. You just tell me all about it!”
As I pull a wine bottle from her tote, she says, “You know him.”
My eyes widen as I remember our genius, musical friend wanted to ask her out. I told him to when he wasn’t scared by her. This is wonderful news, and I’m so excited for her and, “Arthur?!”
Lorna laughs, “Arthur? Really?” rolling her eyes, “I would terrorize the guy. Eat him alive. Come on.”
“You probably would. Then who?”
We stare at each other.
My grin flatlines.
“Now let me explain.”
I whisper, “No way.”
She steps close to me. “He's been sober ever since, Abs. Goes to meetings. Takes service commitments.” My head is shaking in denial as I stare at my own flesh and blood breaking my heart. “He's not the same guy you knew—”
“—Not Barry.”
She steps even closer to me, when she should back the fuck off. “It turns out he was really in love with me this whole time. And I treated him like shit and he drank more and tried harder and — it's a vicious cycle of crap!”
My rage smashes the wine bottle in our sink. Lorna leaps away
I cry out to Max, “Can you believe this shit?” and switch my focus to her. “He is the reason my husband is dead!”
Lorna whispers, “Abby…”
Max says, “Come on.”
I explode at him, not her, “If he hadn't gotten drunk, you wouldn't have been hit by that car!”
Lorna gingerly steps closer. “Who are you talking to?”
Helpless, hurting, I’ve got no answer for her. I need space. Now.
I storm out, lost in grief and regret.
Lorna shouts, “Wait wait! Don't go in there yet!”
Looking up I catch sight of the ultimate betrayal.
Barry is on our porch.
No warning.
Just a preface of sandwich fixings.
And wine?
I spin around, “You have got to be the most selfish person I have ever met! Are you kidding me?!”
With zero apology in her tone she fights back, “I am so sorry, I didn't realize you were going off your rocker!”
“I’m not crazy!”
Max passes us into the living room where he can get a better look at his still-breathing best friend.
She points to where the wine is a memory. “You were just talking to thin air! Tell me you weren't just talking to your dead husband.”
“Don't call him that!”
“Abby! Stop it! You're acting crazy!”
“Do I look fucking crazy to you?”
“Yes! And pissed.”
“Oh, I'm pissed alright because if anyone's crazy here, it's you! How dare you bring him here!” I storm to the couch, sit down so I don’t slap her. “You didn't call me to warn me! Nothing!”
“You're the one who said, 'Poor Barry.' Think about someone besides you for a second.” I blink, stunned my sister is saying these horrible things to me. She is practically shouting, “Max was his best friend! He's been dying over this.” My head rolls like I might bite hers off. From my glare, Lorna realizes her poor choice of phrase and as she hears herself say, “Do you have any idea how much it killed him that—”
She blinks.
Sheepish.
Regretful.
Self-aware.
Finally.
Max mutters, “There are a lot of ways we absently use words connected to death in common conversation.”
Now that she’s no longer shouting at me, I exhale to explain why I’d said those things about ‘poor’ Barry, “I was trying to forgive him, Lorna.”
My sister melts, voice quieting, even tender as she approaches me. “I know! I should have called and warned you.” She drops to her knee and clasps my right hand in both of hers. “Maybe you need to talk to him. Maybe it would help you move on.”
Give me a fucking break.
“Tell him not to come inside.”
Cautious knuckles rap on the glass, and Max grumbles, “Too late,” as I lock eyes with Barry who’s silently asking me if he can come in.
I know he grew up here, and it’s practically his second home, too, but I really don’t care. His name is not on the lease, it’s on the police report.
I look at my sister.
She’s here for her, not me.
And suddenly it sinks in that Lorna hopes for my approval. No, she needs it. Knew it wouldn’t come without a fight.