Fortuity

Chapter 24

Delaney has been staring at the same black speck on the tan waiting room carpet for the past twelve hours. She's hardly blinked.

Nobody's speaking.

We were all right there.

I should've grabbed her sooner.

I should've caught her before she hit the water.

But I didn't, and now my wife is dead.

She's gone.

It happened so fast. She didn't come up for air.

I was laughing and she was drowning.

I've fought back tears, but I'm tired of fighting.

She's dying, or dead, and I didn't save her.

I didn't help her.

I bury my head in my hands.

My wife. My beautiful woman.

I wrack my brain for the last thing I said to her.

I think hard.

What did I say to her last?

Oh god, I can't think!

I feel the tears leaving my eyes, but I don't care.

I remember.

That last thing I said wasn't I love you. I wasn't telling her how beautiful she is.

I never buy her flowers.

I don't tell her as much as I think it.

She said to me, she said:

"I love singing, you know. It's fun. It feels good. But when I sing and people look at me or think of me like I'm some goddess...I don't like it. I liked when nobody knew, because now they're all looking at me differently. I could never get paid to sing. It's a hobby. I don't want to be paid to do something I love. It's like, like being paid to be Emily's Mom, or being paid to be your wife. If I fucked up at any of those things, I'd be judged. My paycheck would be fucked up, and I'd be so worried about the money that I'd stop enjoying being a Mom, or your wife. It's the same for singing."

And my reply was:

"Sunshine...Everybody sings. Even when they're not good singers, we sing. Why? Because we like singing. It feels good. You're so worried about people judging you that you're not enjoying yourself."

And she said:

"But if I enjoy myself, people are going to judge and just want more."

And the last thing I'd said to her, the last time she heard my voice, I said:

"We'll want more silently. We're your family, Carmen. You should be allowed to enjoy yourself."

I didn't even call her Sunshine.

I look down at my two fingers, tears sliding slowly down my cheeks. It's public now. People passing with their children to visit their love ones can see.

My whole family can see.

And for the first time, I don't give a flying fuck if somebody sees me crying.

My two fingers.

I can still feel her neck on them when I checked for her pulse.

I can still feel that there was no heartbeat.

Grandpa puts his hand on my shoulder. He's to my left, and to my right is Mom with Emily.

He doesn't say anything; he just squeezes my shoulder.