Chapter 8
March 12/13, 2006
The room had been trashed. Somehow, during the course of the afternoon and evening, Kevin had quietly managed to pull the room apart. The bed linens had been ripped off and the mattress was lying askew and half off of the box springs. Clothing-women's clothing-Kristin's clothing-was lying all over the room. Books had been thrown or dropped and the window curtains were lying in a puddle on the floor. But the worst of the scene was Kevin.
His face was puffy and tearstained. His dress shirt was open at the collar and rumpled. Stains from spilled liquor ran down the front. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he was trying desperately to focus on her.
"Wanna join the party?" he asked, gesturing around the room. Tears were swimming in his eyes, and he grinned helplessly at her. "Maybe not, huh? Me neither. I don't feel so good."
The sudden light was making his head swim. The darkness had kept it under control, but now-now he suddenly realized that his stomach was churning. He tried to pull himself up to get to the bathroom, but it was too late. He dropped to his knees and leaned over clutching his stomach as most of what he had drunk in the last two hours came up.
Rachel was with him in a second. Holding his head and keeping him from falling into the pool of vomit. When all he had left were dry heaves, she pushed the mattress back in place, and pulled him up onto the bed.
"Kevin, we've got to get you into some clean clothes. Where are your pajamas?" He mumbled something that she couldn't understand, so she started to search the drawers. She finally found what she was looking for and then went into the bathroom for a washcloth. She sponged off his face and swabbed out his mouth as best she could. Then she pulled him up into a sitting position to pull off his soiled shirt and get him into a clean tee shirt. Next came the pants. He was close to passing out by that time, and she still needed to be able to move him. She couldn't leave him in here.
"Kevin? Come on. You've got to get up. I'm going to put you in your mother's room." He opened his eyes slightly. "Can you hear me, Kevin? You can't stay in here tonight. We're going to your mother's room."
"Mom's room?" He started to cry again. "I want to go to Mom's room."
"Okay, Kevin. Okay. That's where we'll go. But you've got to help. You can lean on me, but you've got to walk. Okay?"
"Okay," he answered softly. "You're going to help me?" Clearly he didn't even know who she was.
"Yes, Kevin. I'll help you. We'll get there together, okay?"
Rachel pulled his arm over her shoulders and helped him stand. The movement made him retch again, but there was nothing left in his stomach. Slowly, she got him out the door of his room and down the hallway to his mother's room. She pushed the door open and guided him to the bed.
As they entered the room, Kevin caught the fragrance that he associated with his mother. The knots in his stomach eased and he breathed deeply. This was where he needed to be. He tried to think who this woman was who was helping him get back to his mother. He knew when she first came into his room-why couldn't he remember now? She was easing him down onto the bed. The sheets were cool and clean and soft. She tucked the blanket around him and he burrowed into the pillow. As she turned to go, he caught her hand.
"Thank you," he mumbled.
"It's all right, Kevin," she murmured. She smoothed back his hair and her hand lingered on his cheek. It felt warm and soft on his skin. "Just get some sleep. Everything's going to be all right."
The faces and names were jumbled in his mind. Tracy? Kristin? Ellen? Rachel? Mom? He couldn't sort them out.
"G'night, Mom," he whispered. "I love you."
Rachel stood by the bed and whispered, "Good night, Kevin. She loves you too."
"Stay with me. Please," he mumbled. "Don't wanna be alone-always alone. Please stay."
"Okay, Kevin," Rachel said softly. "Okay. I'm right here." She climbed onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard, cradling his head in her lap. "I'm here, Kev. Everything's going to be all right. Just rest," she crooned as she stroked his hair. He sighed and soon drifted off into a deep sleep. Still she sat with him. Aaron was right, she thought. He needs someone to help him as much as the children do. He just doesn't know it.
Aaron quietly crept back into his bed. He was glad that Rachel hadn't noticed him peeking out from the doorway of his room. And he was glad that Rachel was helping his Daddy. Everything will be better now, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. Rachel's here.
* * *
When Kevin woke the next morning, he couldn't remember where he was for a moment. Then he recognized the room, but couldn't remember how he got there. There was something that he had done last night-yesterday. But he couldn't remember what it was. As he lay there, trying to focus, the feeling grew that he had done something very wrong. What?
He remembered going to the memorial service. Dozens of people crowding up to him to offer their sympathy. And not one of them understood what he was feeling. Yes, he was grieving, but he harbored a secret. The grief was only a tiny part of what was going on. He knew that everyone would be shocked if they knew. Mainly what he was feeling toward Kristin was anger. Anger that she had left him. Anger that she had held her own life so cheaply. Anger that she hadn't trusted him enough to let him be part of the decision to have a second child. Anger that she had been so certain that she was right. Because she wasn't right. And now she was dead. So he had listened to all of the whispers of sympathy and held tight to his secret.
And then he remembered coming home. Taking the two bottles with him to his room. Locking the door. He needed to drown the anger. He didn't know how else to cope with it. He remembered thinking that Mom would have known what to do-to say. But Mom wasn't here. So he had poured the first drink.
He remembered Brian begging him to come downstairs to eat. He couldn't face all those people again. So he'd told Brian-he closed his eyes and grimaced at the memory-he'd told Brian to fuck off. Yelled it at him through the door. That had worked. No one else had come near him.
But from there things got very blurry. He had flashes of window curtains dropping to his feet, and someone ripping the sheets from the bed. Kristy's wedding gown in his hands, and burying his face in her favorite negligee. The longer he thought, the more the feeling of shame and horror grew. Why was he in his mother's bed? What was wrong with his room?
Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself out of bed and went to the door. He looked into the hallway. No one was around. It was quiet in the house. He walked toward his bedroom. His hand was shaking when he turned the doorknob. He closed his eyes. As he stepped into the room he opened them again and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. The bed was made and the windows were open to the morning breeze. There was a large damp spot on the carpet near the bed, but otherwise everything looked normal. Until he turned to the windows and noticed that the curtains that were blowing in the breeze were different. And the wood around the fixtures looked splintered. He sighed. Whatever he had done last night, someone had taken care of him and the mess he'd made. And there was only one person it could have been. She had seen him at his worst. He needed to get out of here-today.
Chapter 9
Coming Home
Hosted Stories
Home