Skipping Stones Read online

  “Hey, you don’t know what you’re missin’. Pear salad is delicious. In fact, I think Elizabeth will have to make you some of those tomorrow,” Papa teases.

  “Ha, she can make them all day. I’ll even help. But I’m not eating a mayo-filled pear. And if that’s not enough, you add cheese and a cherry. Just gross.”

  Papa takes a bite of the fried cornbread. “Be nice or we’ll fix you some of that good ‘ole ham hock soup to go with it.”

  I squint my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t!” I pout.

  He grabs his belly as he erupts into laughter. “Of course, I wouldn’t.”

  Ham Hock Soup has to be the most disgusting combination of food ever. It’s diced ham, stewed tomatoes, and macaroni. If you want to torture me, then you’ll feed me that. I don’t know what makes people find that appetizing. Just the smell and sight of it rolls my stomach.

  Papa interrupts my thoughts. “So you’ll be ready then first thing in the morning to go get out there before it gets too hot –”

  There’s a loud boom. It causes all of us to jump. The clashing of silverware hitting ceramic plates, my heart starts thumping in my throat. “What was that?” I exclaim.

  Memaw and Papa look at each other. “I don’t know,” Papa replies. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and puts it in his plate. “I’ll go outside and check to see if I can figure out what it was.”

  I nod and mirror his movements. My appetite is suddenly gone because of the nervousness in the pit of my stomach. “Okay.”

  He walks outside and comes back in quickly. “I hear a lot of sirens.” He looks to Memaw, his brows furrowed. “I’m gonna ride and check that out.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she offers, almost worried.

  I stand up, not understanding what the big deal is. Memaw can be dramatic. I just figure Papa wants to see what the excitement is all about. “Yeah, me, too,” I plead. “Maybe we can ride to get an ice cream for dessert from MacDonalds?” I glance to Memaw and smirk. It always amuses me when they call McDonalds MacDonalds.

  He shakes his head from side-to-side. “Okay. I suppose so.” As we’re gathering our things, he mumbles, “Fifteen years later and she still has me wrapped right around that pinky finger of hers.”

  We pile into their big Mark III van. I remember when Papa brought this home. We couldn’t believe he’d gone and bought a new van. My great aunt moved away a few years ago, but that summer, she brought my second cousin when she came to visit. We thought it was the coolest thing that we could climb up on the top, and it has a television for the people in the back seat, a cooler, and a table. It’s almost like having our own RV, except there isn’t a bathroom. That would be nice. I remember the look on Pop’s face that day. He looked so proud and excited to share it with us.

  Sirens are getting closer, and louder. Then there’s another explosion as we’re riding to the end of the street. It’s obvious when we get to the stop sign that there’s been a horrific accident at the next intersection to the right. It’s not the lights that are so blinding. It’s the blazing inferno that the firefighters are working to extinguish. It smells different. I’m not sure what it is, but my nostrils are filled with an almost sweet, but pungent, nauseating stench. The cars involved are hard to make out from so far away and all of the emergency vehicles in front blocking the view.

  A loud rumble comes overhead, and I look through the skylights to see a helicopter. It’s really low. I have no idea where they’d land that, but I’m pretty sure it’s one of those medical helicopters. My thoughts immediately halt.

  We are all silent. I don’t know about Memaw and Papa, but I’m not sure I’m even breathing. For some reason I have this sickening feeling. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t go anywhere. My mouth has suddenly become so dry I can barely move my tongue. My heart is pounding so loudly that I can hear the magnified sound in my ears. It’s like I’m beside a car blasting their music with the bass maxed out.

  This is why Papa wanted to check it out, and why Memaw insisted on coming. There’s no way it’s them. It just can’t be them. My parents have one of those fancy car phones in a bag that can be changed from car to car, but my grandparents don’t. I wish right now more than anything that we could call them. “Papa, can we go home and call them to see if they are okay?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Yeah, Alex. There’s no way we’re going to get close enough to that scene to know what’s going on.”

  Memaw reaches over and places her hand on his leg. I can see what I’m almost positive is worry in her eyes. Papa turns the van around in the street and heads the short distance back to the house.

  I pray the entire way there that they answer. We need to hear they are okay.

  Papa shifts the gear to park when we are back in the driveway. “Why don’t y’all wait here. I’ll go try to call.” He looks back to me and winks. “Then, once we know they’re safe, we’ll go for that ice cream.”

  I smile at what I think is his effort to lighten our spirits. Maybe he’s not even trying to lift our spirits. Maybe he’s willing them to be okay. Because they have to be okay. My hands come together in my lap and my fingers start moving in circles, fidgeting with each other. These few minutes of waiting seem to last an eternity.

  The look on his face when he comes out is not one that I will ever forget. I watched on television once that sometimes parents just know when their children aren’t okay. I think this must be a prime example. The color has left Papa’s face. He walks stoically to the car, and as he opens the door to climb back in, he calmly says, “They aren’t answering. It went straight to their voicemail.”

  “No, that means the phone is off,” I blurt out. Tears that I’ve tried to keep at bay begin to push their way out of my eyes. I shake my head. “They wouldn’t have it off. It’s always on when they are in the car.”

  He looks back to me through the rearview mirror. “I know, Alex.”

  “There has to be some other explanation, Lee.” She reassures us. “Maybe we should stay here instead of going for ice cream in case they try to call, or so we can keep trying. They’re probably in a bad area.”

  Before another word can be said, a car comes down the hill. In that moment, we all know there will be no ice cream tonight. Memaw gasps and immediately starts to sob. All I can say is no. No. No. No. No.

  I watch as the police car pulls onto the side of the road and two officers put their hats on as they exit the car. Through blurred, teary eyes I know this is my worst nightmare coming true. That’s what this has to be. It’s got to be a nightmare. I want to wake up. Someone help me wake up. “Please wake me up!”

  “Oh, Alex,” Memaw cries. “Oh my sweet, baby. Come to Memaw.”

  I painstakingly start to make my way out of the van and fall into her arms, all the while never taking my eyes off of Pop and the officers. When they are close enough, they say a few words and I watch my Papa fall to his knees. I feel mine getting wobbly. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m being suffocated. I feel like someone is burying me alive, piling bricks onto my chest. The lump that’s been in my throat since I saw, what I now know was my parents’ unrecognizable car, is growing by the second. I think I know what it feels like to die. I think I must be dying.

  It’s impossible to hold back the wails. Even though I recognize that I don’t even whether I’ve lost one or both of my parents, I know it can’t be good. I turn a quarter so that I can help carry my grandmother to Papa.

  “Pop,” I whimper.

  He pushes off the ground and moves towards us. I’ve never seen him cry. He shakes his head, and then glances towards me. He swallows as he wipes the tears from his eyes, his brows furrow. “We gotta go.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. “Where are we going? What’s happening?” I beg for information. Maybe we’re all overreacting. Maybe it’s not as bad as we thought. Maybe those are tears of relief for my Papa.

  Memaw is barely able to speak, her voice cracks. “Where to, Lee?”


  “Hospital.”

  I need to know what is happening. I’m not five. I’m fifteen. I’m old enough to know what in the heck is happening. “Are they okay?” I ask as we all climb back into the van and fasten our seat belts.

  He doesn’t say a word. He just shakes his head. “Tony’s...”

  He’s talking about my dad. “Tony’s what?” I plead.

  Memaw reaches her hand over and places it on his thigh. “Lee...What’s wrong with Tony? And what about Felicia?”

  He doesn’t answer as he backs the van out of the gravel, winding driveaway. As he shifts the gear to drive, he stoically replies, “Felicia has been air lifted to Doctor’s Hospital Burn Center.” The police are in front of us. It’s a small town. My grandparents are very well known, liked, and respected. I would assume that we’re getting some kind of escort to the hospital.

  Memaw and I gasp. I cover my mouth as the tears I’d just dried up resume. “And Daddy, Papa? What about Daddy?” I ask.

  Memaw reinforces my question. “Yeah, Lee. Please tell me Tony is okay. Please, tell me that he made it. He has to be okay.”

  I can see Papa’s big brown eyes in the rearview mirror filling up with tears. He doesn’t respond. He just shakes his head.

  Memaw buries her head in her hands. The only time I’ve heard cries like this are on TV. I’ve never witnessed a mother finding out that her baby, even if he is forty-five years old, has passed. Maybe it’s because I’m in shock, but it’s taken me a second to follow suit with the bawling. I can’t contain the feeling that someone has taken a scalpel and sliced my chest wide open.

  When we arrive at the hospital, we’re ushered to the Intensive Care Unit. This experience reminds me of times when I would be watching movies with my mom. I remember always asking, “What does that mean? What’s happening?”

  She’d always reply, “Shh, you’re watching the same thing I am.”

  Her point was always that she didn’t know any more about the situation than I did because we were seeing the same thing. If I didn’t understand, then neither could she. You’d think I’d learn, but every time I always thought there might be a chance she would understand. The whole older and wiser thing.

  It’s like that right now. I want to ask a million questions. Can we see her? Can I touch her? What happens next? But I know they are all a lost cause. I know in this moment that if my grandparents knew what was going on, they would tell me. It’s obvious by their walk, the firm grasp they have on each other’s hands, and their blank stares they are just as lost as I am.

  So I just tag along, like a broken third wheel. I watch everything, listening intently for a clue. It’s a distraction. It’s something to do to get my mind off of the alternative, which is that my father is gone. My Daddy. I shake my head. No, Alex. You can’t do this right now. Be strong. Chin up.

  We are ushered into a small room. The plaque on the wall says, Family ICU Waiting Room.

  At the moment, I wish there was a switch for my feelings. Like a button I could press that would turn off all emotions and make it so I could just exist, but there isn’t. Instead I try to deny this is happening.

  That’s what I have to do. Pretend none of this just occurred. Act like we’re here visiting someone else. Let this play out in my mind like it’s a movie because the reality hurts too much. Refrain from asking questions about what’s going to happen next, because I have a feeling that the answers aren’t ones I’m ready to hear.

  There’s a television in the corner, a pot of coffee that smells old, Styrofoam cups, stirrers, cream, and sugar. Other than that and a few chairs, this place is empty. It’s uninviting, not a place intended for long-term stay.

  That is probably because people don’t stay here long. They either get better, or, the alternative is not one I can wrap my head around at this moment. I see movement at the door, and I’m grateful for the distraction. It’s my mom’s parents.

  Again, the expressions on their faces will forever be imprinted on my brain and my heart. The apprehension, the anxiety, the heartache that is plaguing all of us are visible. My grandmother is usually beautiful: flawless, dark skin, seafoam green eyes, silky black curls just barely speckled with gray. I’ve never seen her unkempt. She’s in her sixties, but she looks like she could be my mom’s sister. Today, her eyes are bloodshot. Her hair looks frazzled.

  My grandfather is tall compared to her. He has her tucked into his side. I can tell in one glimpse that he’s trying to be strong. He’s completely no nonsense. I admit that sometimes I don’t know how to act around him. He intimidates me. I have the complete opposite relationship with him as I do with Papa. Whereas Papa has a little dark hair to cover his mostly bald head, Grandad has the softest white hair. It’s clear that both of my parents inherited their brown eyes from their fathers.

  I spring from my chair, thankful to stretch my legs, but also thankful to be with the people I love. There’s solace in knowing that I’m not alone in this misery. “Hey,” I say as I approach them. They both wrap their arms around me, and we are suddenly in a group hug.

  Their bodies muffle my growing whimper. Like everything else in my life right now, it’s not something I’m able to contain. The tears escaping my eyes increase in their rate of frequency and volume. The bricks that have taken occupancy on my lungs, making it impossible for me to catch my breath, seem to be pressing harder with every single breath.

  Nothing’s said. There’s nothing to say. None of us are ready for what comes next. Even if my mom gets better, we have to bury my father. That’s when I totally and completely lose control of me, of my mind, of my body.

  When I wake up, I pray that everything I just experienced was a nightmare, but it quickly becomes clear that isn’t the case. I’m surrounded by my family in an unwelcoming, sterile room. It reminds me that I’m in the hospital...and fatherless.

  I hear Memaw cry, “Thank God. Alex, you scared us.”

  Papa scolds her, “Give her some space.”

  I have never really heard them argue. I’ve heard him pick on her about getting onto him for his driving. The tensions are high in this room, and I feel guilty for my responsibility in it. We should be focused on my momma. Instead, everyone is fawning over me.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper. My mouth feels like all of the air has been sucked out by one of those things at the dentist and stuffed with cotton balls. “I wanna see my momma.”

  Grandma rubs my arm as she nods her head. She turns to Grandad. “Let’s find out if Alex can see Felicia.”

  He leaves her side without a word. Papa swipes a tear that has dripped from my weepy eyes. It’s only replaced by another, then another. “Papa?” I say.

  “Yes’um?”

  “You’re going to need a bucket if you are trying to catch all of them.” My chin quivers.

  A small smile escapes. He nods as he pulls his hand away from my face. “You’ve always been a strong girl, Alex. So much more than we give you credit for.”

  I shake my head as I try to choke back the lump that has formed in my throat. “I don’t feel very strong.”

  “Me, neither,” he agrees. “Me, neither.”

  A few seconds later Grandad is back. He nods. “They said that we could go back to see Felicia two at a time.”

  Then I realize that they are her parents. They should get to see her before me. “You two can go. I can wait.”

  Grandad furrows his brows. “No.” He gestures towards me and Grandma. “You two go first. I’ll be fine.”

  I glance back to Memaw and Papa, and they both give me a reassuring look. Reassuring me about what, I don’t know. That they will be fine, that mom will be fine, that I won’t die from a broken heart? I’m just not sure, but whatever the reason, it comforts my soul.

  Last night at the visitation and today at the funeral, there were so many people approaching us that it went on for hours. My poor grandparents had to finally get chairs because they just couldn’t physically handle all the standing. There’s apparentl
y a whole part of our family I’ve never met. They hugged me like they’d known me for my entire life. They cried on my shoulder telling me how sorry they were. I felt like, instead of them trying to comfort me, it was my responsibility to comfort them.

  I tried to act myself, but I just couldn’t. I still can’t. How am I supposed to stand around for days and hold it together? I just lost my father. My mother doesn’t even know she’s a widow. She’s fighting for her life, barely recognizable from the extensive burns she suffered.

  The stench of burnt skin. The scene. The sound. All of it comes flooding back into my mind, and I shudder just thinking about it. It’s as fresh as it was in those first moments. I can’t sleep. I can’t even bear to close my eyes. I see it vividly.

  The pills my grandparents’ family physician prescribed seem to be helping me. I don’t feel like I have a ton of bricks on my chest at the moment. In fact, I don’t feel anything. I’m sure this numbness is partially medically induced, but I’m sure the other part could be described as shock.

  Guilt, maybe? Guilt that if I hadn’t asked to go to the bathroom, then they wouldn’t have felt rushed to get to the airport. Guilt that if we hadn’t been a little behind schedule that they wouldn’t have been in that exact spot at the exact same time as the drunk driver. Guilt that I wasn’t with them.

  Then there’s the anger. The anger that’s consuming me. The anger I have for the man who was so selfish that he thought he was fine to drive after getting completely and utterly plastered. This is what drives me to my feet, through the front door, and charging down the side street that leads to the creek.

  The creek is my comfort zone. It’s the place where I know I can be all alone because right now those bricks are coming back, and I need to be able to breathe without feeling like I’m suffocating.

  It only takes a few strides before I can see it – and him.