Dad took a deep breath and met my eyes. “He thinks that he murdered two people, Mia. His mom and Joyce. Do you know why?” When I shook my head, my heart thundering loudly, he continued, “Because he thinks that if he hadn’t been drinking or gotten into a fight, his mom and Joyce would still be alive. His mom wouldn’t have gone to pick him up, and they wouldn’t have argued in the car and… I think he is scared of losing you, Mia.”
My lips wobbled, but I kept my hand clenched on my arm, mulling over my dad’s words. “I never blamed him. I never blamed him for the accident, but I can’t tell him that, Dad.”
I heard the armchair creek when he stood up and felt the light ruffle on my hair.
“Give it time, Pumpkin. I’m sure he’ll come around. He can’t miss our special Saturday dinners forever.”
I nodded, taking in a shaky breath and biting my lip. I’d have to give him time and love him from distance.
43
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
JAMES
Istared at the night lights of the small town that had become my home for the past couple of years. It wasn’t covered in snow anymore and winter’s harsh wind had turned to soft, cooling breeze in the evening. I trailed my finger on the glass, reminiscing about the time I had Mia pinned against it and made her come over and over again until she slumped in my arms, smiling at me with such a raw, giddy expression that I had taken her again on the floor.
My throat tightened and I downed the whiskey, relishing in the sharp burn it offered. I deserved more than just that burn. I looked around the empty house and yanked my tie away, hating each breath I took. I paused on my way to glare at my drafting table scattered with blueprints and the design of new hospital in New York.
Images of Eden, ex-dean of Saint Helena, flashed in my head. The numb, poker face of the freshmen who averted the cop’s gentle face when they prodded him with questions that no kid should ever be asked. Only if I had done something about it sooner… only if I hadn’t been drunk that night or gotten in a fight…
So many only ifs and what ifs.
I couldn’t be with Mia, my Princess, anymore. That was final. No matter how much I wanted her or needed her… sometimes wants or needs weren’t enough. I wonder if my love for her would ever be enough. I chuckled to myself,how could it be?She was eighteen and had a full life ahead of herself. She deserved to be with someone of her own age who wasn’t the cause of an accident that took her mother’s life.
Before I could pour myself another drink for such a sad, pathetic day, my eyes flickered to the iPad where I saw a familiar lithe frame on the screen. It was a live feed from the front of the building and I saw Mia, with her dark silky hair, holding a box in her hand.
My jaw clenched as burning ache spread through me. I punched receptionist’s number and snapped, “Tell her no one’s home.”
Without another word, I ended the call and watched the feed when Mia was stopped by the receptionist, her brows furrowing and arms hugging the box she was holding to her chest. My eyes hurt seeing the raw hatred and pain flicker on her face. I could tell she was going to cry. I couldn’t see it anymore. My head hurt. My heart hurt.
But finally, she left. Stomping through the floor and never turning back.
I slumped on the stool and stared at the auburn liquid in my glass. At the start of the year, I was confident that nothing would happen between Mia and me. Now, I was begging to touch her, hold her for a fleeting moment before I leave.
I downed the whiskey and said to myself, “Happy Birthday, James.”
* * *
A few months later
Mia
My face waspoker when our economics teacher kept babbling about spreadsheets. It was the last day of school. Our finals were over and we had to show our models to James. The best from each class would get the chance to have a paid internship straight after college at Fox Constructs.
I looked out of the closed glass window. Wind swept the empty branches of the trees. Leaves were scattered around on the ground and some of the kids in our uniform were laughing and playing football.
I hadn’t talked to James since the day our dean got arrested. He hadn’t come to any of the Saturday dinners or visited us for Christmas and New Year. When I drove to his penthouse to give him cake for his thirty-sixth birthday, his receptionist said he wasn’t home. I left crying, almost throwing the cake box on the floor.
He hadn’t responded to any of my messages, voicemails, or calls. When I tried to ask him questions during the class, he would answer coldly and never stayed alone with me even when I just wanted to talk to him.
Even though Emma had threatened to cut his balls, he didn’t care.
He didn’t want me. It was over.
I took a deep breath when I entered the class and froze, seeing Miss Laxmi instead of James.
“Where’s Mister James?” I asked, holding the small model I had made.