On The Run

Chapter Forty-Seven - "Ego Vobis Valedico"

RECAP:

Ricky

Only Chloe and Fitch were still in the living room, and I wondered – and partly hoped – that Lexie was waiting for me in my room. I was about to skulk away quietly when Fitch said aloud, “Lexie said to tell you she had to leave, but she’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

He said it almost scornfully and I wondered if he was a little sore about what I’d said to him.

“Oh,” I said, having nothing else in mind.

“I should go,” Chloe said, getting up suddenly and heading towards her room.

“What?” Fitch asked confused.

“You have stuff to . . . um . . . I’m going to bed,” she said unsubtly and disappeared behind the heavy wooden door of Fitch’s bedroom.

It was only after she left that I registered the rather comfortable position they had been in on the couch. I couldn’t help but smile a little at Fitch’s obvious antidote to his pain.

“I’m sorry about what I said, Fitch. You know I didn’t mean it. This is just . . . it’s been hard for me to get my head around it. I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault; I—”

He blew up with pent up anger, his expression changing, as he talked in a slow, steely voice that literally, gave me chills, “No. You do not get to do that, Ricky. I have had to watch her wither away for the last three years. And I have done it without complaint, because she was there for me when I needed family, so I did the same for her,” his voice was shaky and he seemed to be controlling his anger painfully through a clenched jaw, “I held her through seizures, through panic attacks, and when they needed somebody to pack up her stuff two days ago, I did it. I understood that it was hard for you to watch her in that state, and I understand that this loss isn’t easy either, but you have no right to make this about you. Do you understand me? I lost the only mother I’ve ever known, as did you. There is no blame game or guilt tripping, and it’s selfish – completely selfish of you to turn this around and make it about you. It’s not about you, and it’s not about me; it is about the memory of the woman we both knew and loved. And I have struggled alone through losing her every damn Sunday again and again, because it’s about her. So, don’t you dare turn this around. We’re not kids anymore, and you don’t get to run away from trouble, not to church or to another state. We are facing this head-on, and tomorrow afternoon, you and I are taking a road trip to clear our heads and spread mom’s ashes. In all the places I think she would have loved, because you gave up the chance to do that.” He glared at me for a second, letting out a furious breath and walked off, leaving me – if possible – more reproachful than I’d ever been in my life, and that includes the day I put a bullet in my father’s chest.

__________________________________________________________

Fitch

I didn’t mean to be so hard on him, but it had been building up inside of me since that day of her fleeting lucidity. I sympathized with his plight – fear, worry and devastation at the loss of his mom. But the abandonment, I couldn’t really support that. I treasured the bond of family too much. And he was all the family I had left – technically – which was why I felt bad about my little speech. It was unfair.

I woke up early the next morning; we had to be on the I-95 before rush hour. Chloe stirred next to me, and I murmured, “Go back to sleep,” as her eyes fluttered open.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she sat up, “What time is it?”

“Six a.m.”

“Are you leaving now?” she asked.