The survivor

Thirty-Six

For the third time in ten minutes, the phone rang, and Courtney finally dragged herself out of bed to look at the call display. The bedroom drapes had blocked out the sun and kept everything dark, and the laminate floors were cold against the soft flesh of her feet as she lumbered down the hall into the living room.

She hoped the call was from Raine. Unlike everyone else, Raine understood her. How couldn’t she? They had a connection, a unique bond. Courtney had lost her mother just two years ago, and Raine had lost her dad last year when her parents broke up and he moved away to Hong Kong. It made their friendship like a kinship. Kind of.

Like sisters.

The living room was no warmer than the bedroom, though brighter with the sun pouring in. It smelled of woodsmoke and whisky and lemons. Courtney passed the coffee table where Dad and Felicia’s mugs still stood and picked up the phone. She stared at the small screen.

Missed call.

She hit the missed calls button and saw Dad Cell spread across the screen. God, he was stubborn. She scrolled down and found the same listing three more times. Totally stubborn. Stubborn as hell.

She put the phone back on its cradle, then spotted her cell phone lying in the middle of the room, just in front of the fireplace. The phone was flipped open, the grey casing cracked down the side from where it had slammed into the wall. It made her angry all over again because she hadn’t even finished paying off the damn thing, and she would never have reacted like that, were it not for Felicia.

She picked up the cell, powered it on, and was happy to see it still worked. There were nine missed calls. All but two were from friends she had at school. No doubt they wanted to talk about the shootings.

Courtney erased every one of them from the phone’s memory. She had no interest in talking about the shootings. Not now, not ever.

All it did was remind her of Mom.

The last two calls were the only ones she cared about. Both were from Raine. The first had come in late last night, at two-fourteen a.m. The last one had come in about a half hour ago.

Courtney called back, got the answering machine: ‘Leave a message, but don’t Raine on my parade.’

That always made Courtney smile. ‘It’s the Court,’ she said. ‘I’m up. Gimme a call.’

She hung up, hoped her message sounded cool, hoped her tag name wasn’t getting lame, and she linked her cell to the charger. As she tried to think up a new nickname — something cooler than The Court — thoughts of breakfast ran through her mind. She decided to skip it. Her stomach wasn’t ready.

She turned on the TV, and saw the shootings on every channel. Police, paramedics, teachers — all running and screaming, some crying. There were quick flashes of blood with every scene. Carnage. The sight made her heart race, made her feel sick.

Looking away, she hit Input 2, so there was no chance of catching any more news channels. As far as she was concerned, it was time for avoidance and denial. She knelt down and opened the hutch, grabbing the disc she had left in the far back of the cabinet. It was the video from Christmas three years ago. The last one Mom was here for. And even though it hurt like hell to watch it, Courtney always did. Too many times to count. She was like a drug addict, always needing more.

The disc tray was already open. Courtney put in the disc, closed it, hit play, and the TV screen came to life, showing the Christmas tree all lit up with red and blue lights, and Mom sitting in the La-Z-Boy between the window and the crackling fire. Toby, their calico kitty, was in the picture too, jumping up on the chair and nestling in Mom’s lap. He had disappeared a week after Mom had died, as if he’d known his favourite person was never coming back. Courtney often wondered where he’d gone.

The thought saddened her, but she watched on, like she always did. She felt she had to. Like it was her duty as a daughter. To let go of the pain was to let go of Mom.

In the video, the camera bobbled slightly as Dad moved around the room, panning down on the presents, then finding her with the camera and zooming in.

‘Merry Christmas, Pumpkin,’ he said.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’

‘Go stand with your mother so I can get a shot.’

Mom waved her hand at Dad, almost spilling her glass of rum and eggnog. ‘Oh Jacob, put that thing away for once.’

There was a pause.

‘Come on, Amanda, just one shot.’

In the feed, Mom sighed and Dad chuckled, and then Courtney crossed the room and sat beside Mom, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She gestured to the rum and eggnog, gave a pleading look, and asked, ‘Can I have one of those?’

Her mother just gave her the look, and Courtney laughed. Then her mother frowned at the camera.

‘You got your shot, Jacob, now put it away. You’re always such a nuisance.’

‘Fine. Merry Killjoy,’ Dad said.

And the camera shut off.

Courtney grabbed the remote, hit stop, and closed her eyes. She could still feel the moment like it was yesterday. The fire’s warmth soothing her skin. The spicy smell of the rum in Mom’s drink. The eggnog of her own drink. And the pine-scented smoke that seeped out of the fireplace and hazed the room just a little bit.

It was all so wonderful. It made her cry.

And she hated Dad for that.

She hit play and watched the feed again. The shot was a bit dark, and there was a low humming noise in the audio. The video was anything but high-def, but it was the best movie she’d ever seen in her life.

Oh, Mom.

It wasn’t fair.

She missed her so much her stomach hurt and she wanted to keep crying forever. And the more she missed her, the more it bugged her how Dad just plain didn’t. Oh, he said he did. He said all the right things, especially when he caught her watching the videos which he never watched.

‘She loved you so much,’ he would say.

‘You made her life wonderful,’ he would say.

‘I miss her too, Pumpkin,’ he would say.

But that didn’t stop him from fucking that Spanish whore.

Courtney thought of Felicia, and Dad, and how Mom was no longer around, and it made her feel small. Alone. No one cared. No one knew how she felt. No one understood her.

Except Raine.

Raine knew because Raine had also gone through some horrible things. Like all the fights and the divorce and her dad leaving town.

With that in mind, Courtney picked up the phone and called Raine, but again, all she got was the message service. She thought about leaving another message — still wasn’t sure about using The Court for her tag — then just hung up. She watched the video two more times, and soon her grief mutated into anger.

Mom should never have died that night, she thought. Dad should have done something. Something, for Christ’s sake! He was the goddam cop, he should have acted. He should have damn well cared.

But he didn’t, did he?

And even though he said he missed Mom, and even though he’d said he was sorry a million times, it didn’t mean shit. Because Mom was gone. Forever. All because of what he didn’t do. Of what he chose not to do. In the end, there was only one way to view things.

It was Dad’s fault Mom had died.