Several months ago, I emailed my new friend Jolene Perry (I think we'd only been known each other for a month or so) and said, "I sort of have this idea. I have no clue what the back story is, but the first scene is this...." And I introduced her to Tobin. With zero hesitation (because she is SUCH a good sport), she picked up right where I left off and told Delia's story.There are so many things that I love about this project (that I hope you'll love to), but the best part of this collab has just been writing with Jo, and being able to say, "I wrote the next Chapter, it's super rough, and probably crap, but have at it..." and it be okay. I've always kept my writing pretty close to the chest, and have had a hard time sharing it in it's roughest forms, but this was totally different and totally awesome.
ANYHOW.
My Heart for Yours will be available on May 8, 2012.
We are SO excited to share it with you! And as a preview, here's the first Chapter.
One
Tobin
“Tobin, how are
you feeling son?” I flinch as Pastor Mike claps me on the back.
I force a small
smile and a nod. I can’t manage much else.
Numb. That’s how I feel.
Well, numb
alternating with feeling like my insides are being shredded. But who wants to
hear that? No one. Not even Pastor Mike. People don’t want the truth when they
ask how you’re doing after you lost your brother.
Shit.
How do you lose
your brother? You lose your grandfather, your distant uncle, your dog for
Christ’s sake. Not your brother. Especially brothers like mine.
I want to hate
him for what he did. Leaving us. It’s not right. He’s gone and I’m stuck here
in this fucking funeral home, staring at his casket. There’s no way out. Not
for me, and certainly not for him. The casket is closed. Bolted shut for
eternity. No one forced him to be a Jackass
wannabe, though.
I try to avoid
eye contact as I make my way through the foyer. Most of these people are
strangers, but I know that they know who I
am. When I pass the casket display room, I fight the small twitch of an
inappropriate smile. Eamon once hooked up with a girl in there. Classy, right?
That was Eamon, though. He could score anywhere and anytime. He was wild, for
sure. He’d stay at Carl’s playing pool all night and somehow, make it in to
work every morning at the oil refinery by five AM, without fail. Never late.
Never sick. Work hard and play hard was his motto.
We had some crazy
times, he and I, but it wasn’t all like that. He taught me how to fish when I
was a kid at Coulee de Salle. It would later become our meeting place when shit
hit the fan when we got older. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go back there.
He taught me about women. Well, he’d like to think he did at least. I figured
out a few things on my own. He taught me to fight, to defend myself, to stand
up for what I believe in, and protect the people that I love. I thanked him for
that lesson after that weekend in New
Orleans when some guy put his hands on Delia and I had
to tear him apart.
He slipped me my
first beer and always covered for me when I’d had one too many, or when I’d
snuck out to meet up with Delia at the boat launch. Shit, I’d gotten to a point
where I’d managed to stop thinking about her everyday. I wish she’d stop invading
my thoughts right now. I can’t handle that on top of everything else.
Eamon had a
completely different side to him too. He showed up for church every Sunday
morning, ate supper with us every night and would protect my Mama to the death.
It’s just that he had that other motto. “I’m
not getting old!” he’d say and I’d always laugh it off. He was my older
brother. Untouchable. I never imagined he actually meant it.
I swear I passed
a small kitchen or something earlier. I’m not hungry, but hopefully I’ll find
some peace and quiet. It takes an immeasurable amount of effort to make it down
the dark hallway. I run my fingers along the thick, fabric wallpaper to steady
myself. Putting one foot in front of another feels like learning to walk all
over again. My body’s still working. Heart’s still beating. Lungs still moving.
But not because I want them to. They do those things on their own, without me
even asking them to. So why didn’t they do it for Eamon? How could his body
just give up on him like that? Fall apart. It made him seem so fragile, and I
don’t want to remember him that way. He was the strongest guy I knew. How could
he break so easily? It seems like our bodies would be built better. It just
doesn’t fucking seem real.
I push through
the double swinging doors into the kitchenette and immediately regret it.
Huddled in the corner, Dad and Mom glance up at me but don’t say anything. I
contemplate backing out of the room. I guess that’d make me look like a total
asshole, though.
My mom’s in a
wheelchair, not because she’s injured, but she’s been hooked up to a constant
sedative drip since it happened. I
don’t know what’s going to happen when the doctors take her off of that thing.
Will the grief hit her all at once? Flood over her like she is drowning? Or
will she feel numb like I do now? Is she just prolonging the misery of feeling
like the rest of us do?
“Hey, Pops, Mom,”
I say. I kiss her on top of the head before taking a seat at the retro looking
laminate table.
“Tell me again,
Tobin,” Mom says.
I inhale deeply
and hold it. Every time I do this lately, I feel like I need to see how long I
can hold it. See if I can understand how Eamon must have felt. But I know
nothing would make me understand that kind of agony. The fear. Did he know he
was taking his last breath when he gasped that last time?
“Tell me, Tobin,”
Mom repeats. I know what she’s asking, and it’s exactly why I don’t want to
answer. She wants me to repeat the story of how I found Eamon. I’ve been forced
to relieve this shit for a week now. I don’t know why she wants to hear it
again. Maybe because she has the luxury of drugs to keep her from feeling, but
it’s not fair to me.
“Tobin,” Dad
says. I glance up and he nods at me, encouraging me on. I can’t believe this. He was my brother! I want to scream.
I finally let the
breath out and feel the relief course through me. Eamon never felt that relief.
Maybe I deserve to have to retell this story. At least I get to be alive,
right?
“I don’t know how
it happened, Ma. I only know how I found him. He was out there with Traive and
Leslie.” I don’t tell her that what they were really doing. How stupid he had
been. “They said he had his back turned. He must’ve not heard it somehow. When
I got there, the medics were already working on him, Ma, they did everything
they could. I’m sorry.” This is a lie.
There was nothing left to work on. There’s a reason for the closed casket.
Mom doesn’t respond. She never does.
I don’t know which is sadder. Mom’s emotionless glare or Dad’s constant
reassurance—like he’s doing it for her sake, not to keep himself together. I
don’t think I’ve seen either one of them cry yet. I wonder when that will come.
“I need to get some air,” I say. No
one acknowledges me.
I make my way
toward the entrance, weaving through a thick sea of black clothing. It’s even
more crowded in here than just a few minutes ago. I know for a fact not all of
these people knew Eamon. But small towns like Crawford, Louisiana
are like that. Even if you didn’t know someone personally, you knew someone who
did. You served their coffee on Saturday mornings, or they take the offering at
Church on Sundays. When your hometown’s main claim to fame is being the “Rice
Capital of the World,” everyone knows everyone. So that’s who is here—everyone.
A thin, polished
woman walks in. She sticks out immediately in her expensive looking navy dress,
shiny bag and shoes that probably cost more than I make in a month. My breath
leaves me when I see that her arm is draped around a younger version of
herself. That hair, it’s pulled back way too tight now, but I’d run my hands
through it a thousand times before. That face, now in a layer of makeup that
makes her look older than I remember, I’d held it in my calloused hands and
kissed those lips goodbye over a year ago. She said she’d never see me again
and I’d learned to accept that. She destroyed me, and I’d moved on.
No. Not her.
She’s not from here anymore. I don’t know who that person is anymore.
