Chapter two
Abigail quickly wiped the butter knife in her hand clean with a fresh paper towel to get the mayonnaise off it, and then cut a banana with it, all the while trying to give food and water to the cat. “Riley!” She shouted for the five year old boy hastily, pouring the cat chow into the cat’s bowl as she threw the banana peel into the trashcan. She gave the sandwich she had just made an expert karate chop, only succeeding in smooshing the bananas and mayonnaise out the side. “RILEY!” She called again, this time her tone less kind and more annoyed.
“What?!” Riley’s boyish voice, thick with sleep, answered her from the living room, where he was probably watching tv.
“The school bus will be here in five minutes!” Quickly wiping up the mess she had made with a dry towel, Abbigail gathered all her hair together in the back and tied an elastic around it, then tightening the ponytail. “Come on and get your breakfast!”
Riley ran into the kitchen, sliding on the tile floor with just his socks on his feet. “I don’t want toast again,” he groaned, sticking his tongue out as Abigail pushed a plate with half burned toast and frozen butter towards him.
Abigail sighed as she stuffed three sandwiches in three different paper bags labeled with the initial of Abby, Riley, and M for their mother. “I didn’t have time to make anything else. My alarm clock went off late today.” She glanced at the distasteful scowl on Riley’s face and shoved the paper bag in front of him. “Your lunch, Mr. Blackburn.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the bag from her hands and stuffing the piece of toast in his mouth. He grabbed a glass of orange juice that was sitting on the counter and drained it of its liquid contents, washing down his dry breakfast with it. “Have you seen my backpack?”
Abigail raised her eyebrows and shook her head, concentrating on trying not to burn her mother’s piece of toast. “No. Have you lost it again?” She turned an almost accusing eye towards him as the toast popped out of the toaster. Riley jumped at the sudden surprise motion, but Abigail remained motionless, as if it was just a new song playing on the radio. “Riley?”
“I didn’t lose it,” he said, bringing his empty glass over to the filled sink of dirty dishes. “I just can’t find it.”
“Oh,” Abigail nodded her head in understanding. “Okay. Well maybe you should go and find it before the school bus gets here.”
Riley nodded in assent and dashed upstairs to his room as quickly as his legs would let him.
Placing the unburned piece of toast on a scratched, old looking plate, Abigail gingerly spread a chunk of soft butter onto it, not saving any for her piece. She also poured a glass of orange juice in a foggy, chipped glass and placed that, along with the toast, on a platter to take up to her mother, who was probably still sleeping. Abigail knew that the past year had been hard on her while their father was away - fighting for their freedom in a different country -, so she had done her best to do all she could for her mother that made her burdens less heavy. Abigail thought that she would appreciate it, or at least acknowledge it, but her mother didn’t. It seemed as if all their mother ever did was sleep, go to work (and that seemed to happen less and less often every week), eat, and sleep again.
I wish you were here, Daddy, Abigail sighed, walking slowly towards her parent’s room down the hallway. You would know how to get her back to normal. As she reached her mother’s room, Abby hesitated to open the door. She might either get yelled at for disturbing her, or be called an angel for thinking of her “poor, helpless mother”. It varied these days since...
“Mom?” Abigail expertly balanced the tray in one hand and knocked on the door softly with the other. “I made you breakfast... again,” she whispered the last part to herself. She quickly opened the door as she tilted the tray, the door creaking open at a snail’s pace. A dark room greeted her as she kicked away an empty can and made her way towards the four posted bed that her mother was in, covered in sheets and a fluffy comforter. She was nothing but a sprawled out ball of clothes, surrounded by empty cans.
Placing the tray of food on the nightstand next to the bed, Abigail scribbled on a soda stained, scrap piece of paper that was meant as a note telling her mother that she and Riley were off to school and that no letters from their father had come. “See you later tonight,” she whispered, picking up the empty, metal cans, stacking them in her arms, and slipping out the door. Once in the kitchen again, she emptied her full hands of cans into the trash barrel and quickly tied the bag up so she wouldn’t have to look at the horrid, metal cups anymore. No wonder she’s fast asleep, Abigail thought, lifting the bag from the barrel with a grunt. She’s been drinking again. She sighed heavily, tossing the trash bag to the side. I cannot wait for Daddy to get home and straighten her out.
A sharp knock from the front door suddenly jolted Abigail out of her thoughts. Brushing burnt toast crumbs from her pink shirt and blue jeans, she rushed to the front door, knowing that the person who was there had probably been there a while, because their doorbell was broken. “Coming!” She called out, tripping over a jumbled mess of sandals and shoes in the way. She pulled open the door and stood staring at the man in front of her. Her first impulse was to rush up to the stranger and hug him fiercely, but she stopped herself in time before she made a fool out of herself. This wasn’t her father.
“M-may I help you,” Abagail asked timidly, greatly disappointed that the man wasn’t her father. He was dressed in military uniform, and his hair was cropped short with his hat held tightly between his hands. His face was pinched at the nose and his cheeks were sunken in, matching his hollow eyes.
“Is Mrs. Maria Blackburn home?” He asked, his voice the exact opposite of her father’s. Her father’s was deep, soothing, and even, and this man’s was high pitched, nasally, and annoying.
“What do you need her for?” She was vaguely aware of a cream colored letter with typed writing on it clutched in his hands in front of his hat.
The military man’s faced seemed emotionless and stone cold, as most service men’s faces usually are, and his body posture remained stiff as he stood erect and proud. “I would like to talk to Mrs. Blackburn, if you please,” he stated, his dull brown eyes staring directly above Abigail’s forehead. It seemed as if he couldn’t make eye contact.
“I’ll go get her,” Abigail mumbled, knowing that there was something very amiss going on, something very important. “Wait right here.” Her heart fluttering and her stomach suddenly becoming light, Abigail raced down the hall and burst into her mother’s room, where she had been not a minute before.
“Mom!” Abigail almost shouted, jolting her mother’s sleeping, snoring form with more force than she meant to. “Mom, there’s some military man at the door. He needs to talk to you!” There was no response. “Mom!” Her tone was desperate as she shook her mother harder, throwing the sheets off of her and pulling her arm. “Wake up!”
A tired and irritated groan escaped from the lips of Abigail’s mother as she jerked her arm from Abby’s grip, fondling it like it was hurt. “Go away, Abigail,” she slurred, her tone groggy and mean. “Tell HIM to go away. I’m hibernating.”
“I can’t! I... I think it’s about Daddy.” Abigail wasn’t sure that she should have mentioned her father to her mother, but she knew that that was the only thing that would get her up, out of bed, and answering the door.
“What about your father?” Abigail’s mother’s attention was suddenly drawn away from her sleep and to Abby’s words. When Abigail was silent, she raised her voice, “What about your father, Abigail? I asked you a question, young lady, and I expect you to answer me right away!” Maria Blackburn was now in a sitting position, glaring at Abigail.
“He didn’t say,” Abigail squeaked, backing away from the bed and bowing her head in submission. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
Maria flipped the covers from her thin, malnourished form and stood up unsteadily, clutching the bed post for support as she stood. Her old and tattered nightgown hung loosely around her malnourished frame and her long, golden colored ringlets of hair fell just below her shoulders. She rubbed her cornflower blue eyes fiercely, succeeding only in smudging and spreading mascara from the night before that she hadn't taken off around and below her eyelids. She looked frightful, but also at the same time a frightful beautiful. "Get me my bathrobe," Abigail's mother demanded, rubbing her shoulder with her hand.
Abigail ran into the bathroom and grabbed the grungy-looking, once pink bathrobe that was carelessly thrown on the ground and brought to her mother, who was beginning to rub her eyes again. “Here,” Abby mumbled, holding it out to Maria.
Snatching it quickly from Abigail’s hands, Maria slipped it over her shoulders and shuffled out of her room, holding onto the wall for balance as she tripped over her own feet. Abby followed closely behind her, oblivious to the fact that the visit from the man in the military outfit at the door would bring news to them that would change the Blackburn family forever.
*****
“What? What are you saying,” Riley asked, his tone dry and misunderstanding. He sat in front of Abigail with his legs crossed and was leaning against his half full backpack. He stared at Abigail, his eyes portraying the puzzlement and confusion that he was feeling.
Abby took a deep breath in and sat directly in front of him, giving him a very serious look. She shouldn’t have been the one to tell him. It was their mother’s job. “Riley,” her voice started to crack as she began. “Daddy isn’t coming... home.”
She watched as his face contorted into a frown and his eyebrows curved into a V. “What do you mean? Is Daddy staying there for a long time? Are we going to move there?”
Her heart tearing into two, Abby shook her head slowly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to contain the tears inside. She had to be strong for Riley, at least for a little while. “He...” How do I tell a five year old that his Dad is never going to be home again, that he will never get a strong hug from his father, or he will never again feel the love of his father? “He’s... gone, Riley,” she whispered painfully, aware that a hot tear started to streak down her face.
“Gone?” Riley’s words echoed through Abby’s mind, over and over, never ceasing to stop.
Gone... gone... Daddy’s gone. Gone. “He’s dead, Riley.”
Abby saw as Riley’s chest began to rapidly rise and fall, and his face became red, then all at once he dropped his head and started to sniffle violently. She didn’t think that he would understand what really was going on at five years old, but Riley did. He understood fully what was happening, and that was something that Abby was not grateful for. “So that means he’s not coming home? Ever?” Riley snubbed, his whole face the definition of devastation.
“No. He’s not coming home.” A flood of tears suddenly overcame Riley’s small body, shaking him violently, so violently that it started to scare Abby. She scooted next to him and wrapped her arms around her brother’s trembling form, rocking him back and forth soothingly. She barely felt the tears fall down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and drew Riley onto her lap, stroking his hair. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, resting her cheek on his head as he cried, hugging him tighter as if he would be torn away from her grasp and be gone forever.
“Why’d he leave?” Riley sobbed through his tears, taking short, gasping breaths in between as he held on to Abby tightly. It was as if he felt the same way she did. “He didn’t... didn’t have to!”
Abby shook her head slowly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to think of an answer to a question she barely knew. “I don’t know, Riley.” She lifted his chin up so that he was looking into her eyes. His bright blue eyes were even more intensified, looking like a stormy day, from crying, and his face was bright red. “I do know this, though. I will never leave you. I will never, ever leave you, Riley. I promise.”
Riley’s gaze locked onto Abby’s own tearstained face, staring at her wonderingly for a moment until Abby thought that maybe he didn’t understand. But she was wrong. Riley threw his arms around Abby’s neck and started to cry again on her shoulder. She felt his hot tears through her shirt as he buried his face into her shirt. “I won’t leave you, either,” she heard him sob, clinging to her neck.
Abigail squeezed her arms around him and forced herself to stop her crying. She had to be strong for Riley. He was counting on her now. “I love you, Riley,” she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.
*****
The deep rumble of thunder in the distance, vibrating the ground underneath, just added to the dreariness and darkness, the monotony and gloom of the dreaded day of Gabriel Blackburn’s funeral. The sun was blocked by the menacing, ominous clouds that covered the sky that threatened to break open and pour down sheets of cold, chilling rain. Among the dull, mourning crowd that was gathered in the cemetery around a freshly dug hole in the ground stood Abby, wearing a black ruffled dress and staring down at the wooden coffin that was being lowered into the ground. Her red-rimmed, glassy eyes that hadn’t shed a tear gazed dully ahead, watching a newly made American flag as it was draped over the coffin.
The sky suddenly opened up and a light drizzle started, landing softly on the ground and dead grass, falling on Abby’s bare arms. She looked up at the sky, barely hearing the pastor’s words as he spoke over the dead body and filled coffin of her father, and felt the cold chill of the rain run down her back. Everyone had flipped open black umbrellas, but she did not. She preferred to feel the rain. She wanted to feel something more than emotions. Something more than agony, desperation, sadness, anger, grief. She wanted to feel something soft touching her skin, making her feel like she was still human, and that she was still alive.
As the rain continued and grew harder, the coffin was lowered into the hole, and the dirt surrounding it started to turn into mud, making the ground soft and squishy. Abby didn’t even notice as she stepped forward, that her feet sunk and her shoes became wet and muddy. She didn’t care. All she cared about was the coffin that was no longer visible. Don’t go, Daddy, she thought to herself, clutching the bundle of Baby’s Breath flowers in between her pale, cold fingers. Please... come back to us. Come back to me. Tears would be a welcome thing, Abby thought, but they wouldn’t come willingly. She had only shed a few tears in the beginning, and that was it. No more had come. It was as if she was numb. She wanted to be numb so that she wouldn’t feel the pain. She didn’t want to feel anything.
Slowly, people in the funeral crowd started to disperse, heading their separate ways, leaving, until eventually it was only Abby, Riley, their grandmother, and a few stragglers. Crushing the flowers in between her fingers, Abby stared at the wet tombstone that rain was dripping slowly down. It read: Here remains Gabriel Patrick Blackburn, loving husband and father who died in service to this great country. Abby pulled apart the tiny white buds from the stem of the flower, squeezing them in between her fingers and dropping them onto the ground as the rain pelted her face and ran down her dress, soaking her through. “No more flowers,” she whispered to herself, letting go of the last of the Baby’s Breath. Her father used to bring her home Daisy clustered with Baby’s Breath flowers all the time, calling Abby his baby. “No more Baby’s Breath.”
Abby suddenly felt two arms wrap softly around her waist. Riley had tears streaming from his eyes and down his face as he squeezed her tighter, as if he would never let go. Abby, in turn, enveloped him in her arms as he buried his head in her dress and clutched her tightly. There was no need for words. It seemed as if an inseparable bond, a vow to each other, was made right then and there between brother and sister. They would always be there for each other. No matter what.
The wind, which had started to pick up, along with the frigid, steady falling rain, chilled Abigail to the bone. Riley’s shoulders shook, partially from sobbing and partially from the windy rain that had begun to beat against them. She wanted to get away from the grave, from the people lingering near who wore dreaded black, and from anything that reminded her of her father. But holding Riley, being hugged by him like she was the only thing left in the world he loved, and feeling loved by him was what kept her from running. Kept her from running away from her emotions.
Abby heard her name suddenly being called. She lifted her head and saw Jadon, dressed in a black suit with his usually neat hair flat and wet from the rain. His eyes were rimmed red and swollen with dark, puffy circles under them, and his face looked drawn and solemn, as if he had aged overnight. It looked like he had been crying all night. She suddenly felt a warmth inside as his strong arms wrapped around her and Riley, almost protectively, as a mother would protect her children.
“Jadon,” Riley whimpered, wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand quickly.
“I’m here, Ry,” Jadon whispered, stroking the top of Riley’s damp head soothingly and drawing him closer.
Abby looked up into Jadon’s solemn, tear stained face and frowned deeply, almost on the edge of tears. “You can’t leave us, either, Jadon.” Her voice cracked slightly and her face showed a hint – and only a hint - of pain.
As she looked up at him, Jadon’s glassy blue eyes seemed to bore into his heart and allow her to know what he was feeling. His whole face registered agony. “I wouldn’t leave you guys,” he breathed, dropping to his knees so that he was at their height level and could look at them straight in the face. “Not for anything.”
Licking his already wet lips, Riley faced Jadon, his lower lip quivering with sobs, and looked at him seriously. “You promise?” He asked, his eyes brimming with tears and eventually dropping to the wet ground.
“Oh, Riley,” Jadon swallowed, taking the boy into his strong, protecting arms and holding him tightly. “I promise.” Jadon stood unsteadily, tenderly placing one arm around Abby’s shoulder’s and the other around Riley’s, nudging them softly forward. “Come on, let’s get you guys home.”
She didn’t want to go. Abby wanted to stay in the graveyard; she wanted to stay near her father so that she could at least know that he was close by. His remains, at least. She didn’t know why, but she let Jadon lead her away without a shout of protest or a cry of agony. “Bye, Daddy,” she whispered under her breath, straining her head around for one last glimpse of the stone that marked where he lay. No more crying, she rebuked herself, sniffing back the wave of emotions that was threatening to break through in a torrent of tears and grief. I am done.