Count On Me

I

Cal:

I wait outside on the school grounds for my daughter, leaning against my Jeep. I spot Sukie coming out of the front doors with a group of her friends. She spots me, waving goodbye to some girls before parting. She smirks when she gets close enough, and I hand her the cup of coffee I bought for her earlier.

"Mocha?" She asks

"Yes."

"Vanilla?"

"Yes."

"Whipped cream?"

"Yes."

She grins. "You're the best."

I shrug, pushing off of the car and walking around the side to get behind the wheel.
Sukie slides into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut before shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it in the backseat.

"I hate school uniforms." She mutters before grabbing a sweatshirt out of her backpack.

"Hey. You're in a great school." I say giving a sideways glance at her.

"The people there are mean." She argues.

"Well. I'm the greatest father on the planet and got you coffee." I offer.

She doesn't grin, just takes a long drink from her cup.

"Look, Sukie," I sigh, "I know that moving to a new state and new house and new high school is a big transition, and it's not easy at all. Especially since work has been a bit hectic and you're not with your old friends anymore. But California isn't so bad. Good weather."

"I just want things to be the way they were last year." Sukie murmurs.

I press my lips together. "I know." I sigh.
Ever since Sandy died, it's been hard. Sukie doesn't have a mother, and I don't have a wife.
Sandy was 34 years old when she died; young, headstrong, and complicated. Just because she died doesn't change how I feel about her at all. She faced challenges that weren't acknowledged, and because we were so careless we never talked about things. I still love her, and I miss her like crazy. I don't know why she died, it can't be controlled or understood...maybe she just couldn't take the pressure, and that hard yet beautiful part of her life caught up with her. We discovered that she was pregnant when we were in college, and it was a milestone and nightmare. We were too young then, unprepared and stupid. Sandy dropped out of college, but I stayed to major in college and get a masters degree. We both knew someone needed to work, to make money for our future child. I wasn't there when Sukie was born. I wasn't there when my parents yelled at her for having a child so early. I wasn't there to support her like her friends and family did.

I wasn't there when she needed me the most. I think the only time I've ever really seen her happy was when it was just us two in college, two lovesick sweethearts. I knew she was scared, but she was stubborn and refused to believe it. We got married when I graduated, and when Sukie was here I thought everything was going to be all right.

It wasn't.

I spent my life working for a job, and when I got one, I spent every minute trying to support everything else around me. I thought I was helping my family by supporting them, but I was really ignoring them.

So when I got a call from the police telling me that a woman, my wife, died in a car crash under the influence of alcohol, I didn't believe them. It wasn't until I was brought to the hospital, that I knew it was Sandy. Her face was cut, one of her eyes swollen. There was dried blood in her hair, and the blankets around her were stained too.

My Sandy didn't drink, she barely touched wine. But the hospital made me confirm that the body was my wife, this corpse that was beyond drunk. I didn't want to see that body, it wasn't Sandy. It wasn't the woman I fell in love with, it was just a mistake. The doctors nodded, took me outside, and I was afraid to see them wrap her up in fabric, suffocate her when she could still be breathing. Maybe they didn't check her pulse right. The police drove me to their station, sat me down at a table, and played me a tape. I watched a light blue SUV shoot down the road like a rocket, and the car suddenly swung in a sharp turn, it's side open and bare to the people in the other lanes. A car slams into it, the front of a grey car shatters, and the blue SUV receive a large dent in the side. Glass shatters, a body slams against the window and blood splatters across. The tape is cut and the police ask me to sign some files. I confirm that it's my car, and that the license plate matches.