Part 25:
Not
A Day Goes By
*ONE YEAR LATER*
“Not a day goes by that I
don’t think about him.” A.J. pulled a
blade of grass through his thumb and index finger, watching a group of birds
flying overhead in a V-shaped pattern.
“Me too.” Kevin sat on the ground beside the speckled
gray and black marble headstone that bore Brian’s name, studying his hands in
his lap as he spoke. “It’s hard to
believe that it’s been a whole year since he’s been gone.
“Isn’t Nick coming?” Howie
turned, shielding his eyes against the sweltering hot, summer sun. “You’d think he could get his act together and
be on time for once.”
“Some things never change,”
A.J. said, smiling, as Nick’s yellow Jeep came barreling down the narrow
Cemetery Street, coming to a crooked stop in the middle of the road. “That kid will be late to his own funeral.”
“Geez,
A.J.” Howie slugged A.J. in the arm,
trying not to laugh at the bad pun, as Nick climbed from his car.
Adjusting the faded
Abercrombie and Fitch cap on his head, Nick jogged up the hill, a bright smile
on his tanned face as he carefully avoided stepping on the headstones
protruding from the ground.
“Hey buddy, we didn’t
think you were going to show.” Howie
laughed as Nick cupped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug
before doing the same to A.J.
“I wouldn’t miss this; you
guys know that.” Leaning down, Nick
reached for Kevin’s outstretched hand, as Kevin pulled him to the ground,
enveloping him in his strong, familiar arms before administering a noogie to
Nick’s head.
“You okay?” he asked, as
Nick rolled to the side, lying on his back in the grass.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
So many things had changed
since that fateful day exactly one year ago. The day Brian Littrell had lost his life.
***
Twenty minutes after Dan
Fortis had placed the phone call to Sergeant Cox, an ambulance, accompanied by
six police cars, sirens wailing, turned onto Demont Street, prepared to expect
the unexpected.
The group, lead by Officer
Park, converged on the house with guns drawn, the EMTs bringing up the rear, as
they pushed single-file through the hole in the fence.
Once upstairs, they
entered the first room on their left, beams of light from their flashlights
illuminating Dan’s terrified face as he hovered helplessly over the young man
lying on the floor beside him.
“Help him!” Dan shouted,
as Officer Park waved in the EMTs, who quickly assessed the situation before
loading Howie onto the stretcher and carrying him from the room.
“This one’s dead,” one of
the officers shouted, crouching beside the body on the closet floor, his
fingers struggling to find a pulse on the man’s blood-encrusted neck, as the
other officers looked on.
“Shit. Well, let’s just hope the other one makes it,
or we’ll have another double homicide on our hands,” Park whispered, dragging a
hand across his brow, as he turned and walked out the door, following his
fellow officers as they fanned out to do a search of the entire property.
***
Howie was admitted to the
hospital and kept under close supervision as he was treated for, among other
things, dehydration and shock, as well as a concussion he had sustained when Mo
had delivered the initial blow to his head in the backseat of the town car.
As the days went on, he’d
been hesitant to answer questions from police officers, wanting to leave the
memories of his ordeal locked away in the closet of the abandoned house where
he had nearly lost his life, but he knew things could never be that simple. And so he told them his story.
After two weeks in the
hospital with Collette and his family by his side, Howie was released with
strict orders from the doctor to take it easy, as well as to seek out a mental
help professional to assist him in his recovery.
As his nurse wheeled him
through the front doors of the hospital, surrounded by his newly-hired
bodyguards and Collette holding his hand tightly in hers, Howie was caught off-guard
by the bright camera flashes and cheering crowds that greeted him. It seemed as though everybody was moving in
slow motion as they lunged forward, shouting questions and screaming his name
over and over again until he felt like he might pass out.
He tried to put on a brave
face, waving to everybody as he was quickly shuffled into the limo waiting at
the curb. But more than one fan noticed
that he didn’t have any of the old, familiar twinkle left in his flat, brown
eyes.
***
Collette moved with Howie
into his Miami home, keeping a close eye on him as he recovered, accompanying
him to his appointments with his psychiatrist, and watching over him as he
slept, wiping his sweat-drenched brow when he woke up screaming Mo’s name.
She didn’t ask questions
when Howie had triple locks installed on all of the doors or when he began
sleeping with the lights on. And she
supported him when he made the decision to have a construction crew come and
reconfigure all of the walk-in closets in the house, taking off the doors and
adding skylights and windows, where it was possible, to make them more open and
airy.
One evening, as he and
Collette sat by the pool, sipping Margaritas and watching the sun go down,
Howie decided to ask her to marry him. There was no big, flashy ring or him getting
down on one knee. There was just the
question spoken in a whisper, as the sun dipped below the horizon, to which
Collette replied to with a soft, “Yes.”
They were married six
weeks later in a small, island ceremony in Maui, attended by their families, a
few close friends, and Kevin, Nick, and A.J. serving as Howie’s best men.
Slipping the platinum and
diamond band on Collette’s finger, Howie wasn’t sure if he was making the right
decision. In fact, he had not been sure
of anything since the night he had given up on his life at the hands of a
madman, and he didn’t know if he would ever again be the man he had once been,
but he knew one thing for sure.
He would never stop trying.
***
“Okay, so who wants to go
first?” Kevin asked, sitting back and letting the sun warm his face, as Howie
sat down in the grass beside Nick.
“I’ll go first.” A.J. sighed, pushing his sunglasses up onto of
his head as he stepped forward. “Hey, buddy,
it’s me.” As he spoke, he tugged
nervously on the hem of his gray, sleeveless t-shirt. “You know, I heard this joke today that I
thought you would like. A guy walks into
a bar…”
***
In the weeks following
Howie and Nick’s release from the hospital, A.J. had flown back to Florida with
them, doing his duty, shuttling himself back and forth between the homes of his
two friends while they recovered, cheering them up with his lame jokes and wild
tales that only A.J. could spin and make you believe they were true.
At night, when he could
come back to the house that he and Sarah shared, he would quietly sneak
upstairs, making sure she was safely tucked beneath the big satin duvet in the
master bedroom. Then, grabbing a pack of
cigarettes and a bottle of wine from the wine rack in the kitchen, he would
climb the stairs to the rooftop patio, sitting until the wee hours of the
morning smoking cigarettes and watching the stars with the unopened bottle of
wine by his side.
Sometimes, Sarah would
awaken to find A.J. ’s side of the bed empty, and she would go to the roof,
standing, arms folded across her chest, in the doorway, watching silently, an
ache in her heart for the man she loved.
One evening, she
approached him without a word, laying a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even flinched; it was as if he had
known she was there.
“A.J., I’m afraid,” she
whispered.
“I am too.” A.J. exhaled, tears spilling down his face.
“I’m afraid for you, A.J.,
and I’m afraid for us.”
“I’m taking things one day
at a time, and I’m doing the best that I can, but if you want me to guarantee
that I won’t fuck things up, Sarah, I can’t to it. I just can’t.”
“Then… I can’t stay.” She dragged a hand through his hair, leaning
down to plant one last kiss on his head before turning and walking away from
him for the last time.
She got the engagement
ring, the lemon yellow Porsche, and the dogs, and A.J. got the houses in Miami
and Port Townsend and a lifetime of memories of a true love lost at the hands
of a man named Mo…. a man whom A.J. had never even met.
In the months following
Sarah’s exit from his life, A.J. retreated to his home in Port Townsend, trying
to make sense of the direction his life was going. He spent most of his days on the deck of the
house, watching the sailboats and talking on the phone with Nick, twice a week
venturing into Seattle for an iced mocha and to attend the local AA meetings.
Slow and steady wins the
race, his Mom had always said. And maybe
in the race he was running, he wouldn’t be the fastest runner or the guy who
broke the ribbon at the front of the line, but by God, he was going to finish… if
it was the last thing he did.
***
“So anyway, Brian, I hope
things are cool where you are. And I
hope you know how much I miss you, man.” Backing away from the grave, A.J. turned to
wipe a stray tear from his cheek, as Kevin rose, wiping his palms on the front
of his shorts before stepping forward, a peaceful smile on his face.
“Okay, well, I guess I’m
next,” he began, clearing his throat…
***
After the shootings, Kevin
had virtually gone into hiding, holing up in the guest cottage behind his
Florida home, where he struggled with debilitating bouts of depression, while
questioning the meaning of life.
After two months of barely
seeing her husband, Kristin had grown tired of Kevin’s behavior, confronting
him one morning as he lay in the dark in the big, king-sized bed, reeking of
stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.
“I’m not going to let this
thing destroy us, Kevin, destroy you!” she screamed, throwing open the blinds
before tugging the blankets from the bed and dumping them on the floor.
“Leave me alone!” he
shouted back, shielding his eyes from the harsh morning sun. “Just get out, Kris, and leave me the fuck
alone.”
“Look Kevin, I married you
for better or for worse.” Reaching for
his face, he smacked at her hands. “And
this part is the worst, Kevin, the very fucking worst.” Grasping his pale, bearded face into her hands,
she held him tightly, forcing him to make eye contact with her, tears
glistening in his red-rimmed eyes. “But
now it’s time for the better, baby. Please,
Kevin, let me help you make things better.”
“How? How can you possibly make things better?”
Kevin pleaded, his hands trembling as they grabbed for her arms. “Why would you want any part of what my life
has become?”
“Because…” She planted a soft kiss on his lips, brushing
a stray piece of hair from his forehead as she spoke. “Because I love you.”
He had hit rock bottom,
and now it was time to slowly start the long climb back up to the top.
And over time, with love,
patience, and a wife, family, and therapist who were willing to see Kevin
through the high times, as well as the low times, things had, indeed, slowly
gotten better.
He began volunteering his
time to local charities, playing in a local basketball league that met on
Tuesday nights at the gym, as well as working on an album of instrumental
tracks with old, trusted friends in the business.
In May, Kristin gave birth
to their first child, a son, whom they christened Brian Thomas Richardson.
He became the light of
Kevin’s life, and his reason for going on.
***
“He’s got a big head and a
mischievous smile, just like you, Brian, and he’s everything to me. I wish you could have met him, taught him how
to throw a curve ball and attempt a skyhook. I wish so many things, but above all, I wish
you were here.” Stepping back, Kevin
made room for Howie as he approached the headstone.
“Brian, there are so many
things I want to tell you,” Howie began, choking on his words, as Kevin placed
a protective arm around his shoulder, urging him on.
Nick lay back in the
grass, not really listening to Howie’s words, as he focused on the blue sky
overhead…
***
