Forever: A Lobster Kind Of Love Read online

  “Okay Ryan, now we are just going to work backwards from the first transfer we did. Except this time, when we dance, I will pull your pants up the rest of the way, got it?”

  AnnMarie grabbed my fresh boxers and sweats and threaded them over each of my legs. Then, she put my socks on followed by my sneakers. She pulled them all the way up to my thighs, and I wiggled from side to side a bit to help her get them as high as possible.

  “You won’t always have someone to lift you once you get out of here, but while you are here this is the quickest easiest way to get dressed. Pretty soon, I’m sure you will be able to do it by yourself,” she said as I wrapped my arms around her neck and she pulled my pants up and into place. We swiveled once more, and she squatted down, slowly depositing me softly into my awaiting chair. She handed me my t-shirt, and I was dressed, clean, shaven, and ready for another nap.

  “Who knew taking a shower was going to be such a damn mission?” I asked exasperated.

  “It will get easier, I promise. Now let’s see if we can grab some of that chicken.”

  “I’m going to tear that up! I’m starving and worn out, but thank you, AnnMarie. I’m sorry if I’ve given you a hard time.” I kind of felt bad for being such a dick.

  “I learned a long time ago not to take things to heart, Ryan. You are one of the better guys around here, trust me.” AnnMarie stated very matter of factly as she pulled off her rain outfit and slipped back into her crocs. Well hell, those other guys must have really been assholes to her if she thought I was one of the good guys. As she opened the shower room door, the smell of sauce and chicken cutlets flooded my senses and made my stomach growl.

  “I will share my pudding with you if you roll me to the dining room? I am so tired, I probably won’t make it through dessert.” AnnMarie laughed, and I turned around in my chair quickly enough to catch her smile. I was glad I finally got to see it.

  Lydia

  This drive was taking its toll on me. I had driven 224 miles, finished a pack of cigarettes already, and it was 6:00 pm.

  Oh my anxiety! What the hell was I thinking that I could do this? I popped my evening dose of Xanax and washed it down with some flat soda.

  I needed to find a new pharmacy, pronto, new doctors…I mentally groaned. I did not know, nor was I sure I could do this.

  I decided to stop in Mystic, Connecticut at Mystic Pizza. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, besides the coffee and soda that kept me running. I couldn’t resist stopping here when I saw the sign. I remembered the movie about this place.

  There was a motel across the street and I pulled in the lot and checked in before I grabbed dinner. This place would do; it was clean, cheap, and didn’t look too run down.

  I walked across the street to the pizza place and felt dread build inside.

  I hated going to restaurants and asking for a table for one. I didn’t want the looks, thinking they knew exactly what had happened. I knew I was just being paranoid. Being 224 miles away from home, they had no idea who I was, but I couldn’t help feeling self-conscious.

  Looking over the menu, I tried to figure out what to order…the hell with it; I ordered a ‘kitchen sink’ pizza and a diet soda.

  The waitress brought my soda, and I raised my glass to my lips. “Here’s to new beginnings!” I took a sip. Sometimes goodbyes were second chances and I reached for my necklace.

  Half a pizza and a few soda refills later, I made my way across the street, and eventually, to my room. I undressed and clicked on the TV. Lying in bed, I stared at the atrocious paisley curtains and the TV, playing who knew what, nailed to the dresser.

  I thought about my game plan to Maine. It was almost 9:00 pm, and I stared at my phone and thought about those I needed to reach out to. Oh my god, Facebook. There were 99+ new notifications, and I didn’t even want to look at them. Why should I?

  My family hadn’t even called me before I’d left. My sister-in-law messaged me via Facebook wishing me well, but my own mother hadn’t picked up a phone. When I told her I was moving, her only response: “You need more help. Maybe a short in-patient stay at a mental health facility will do you some good.” I was a 31-year-old widow, who had lost her 2-year-old son. They were gone, taken away. I was not sick; I was lost. My heart was gone. That’s when I knew it was time for a change.

  As I lay in bed, I debated whether I should open my Kindle and read a bit. It was chock full of books, but in the last few months, my passion for reading had stopped too. I hadn’t read an entire book in almost six months; newspapers and celebrity tabloids didn’t count. I used to love romance novels, but I just hadn’t been able to stomach anyone’s relationships, or their sex. I tried reading a few times, but the last book I started, Southern Roots by Julie Morgan, had sat dormant at the 31% mark.

  DING DING

  The trolley car chime of my text message alert shook me out of my thoughts. I reached over to the night table and retrieved my phone. A group text from Tonya and Jill looking for updates lit up my phone. I loved these two. I was so lucky to have them as my best friends; they were my family. I shot them a quick text and let them know where I was staying for the night.

  Settling down for the night in Mystic, CT. Ate at MYSTIC PIZZA. How cool is that? Laying down at the no-tell-motel. Hitting the road in the AM. Love you! Xoxo.

  I clicked out of Messages and the wallpaper of Mason holding Braxton for our Christmas photos filled my screen. I opened up my Photo app and started flipping through the photos.

  My baby, my Braxton, he was a clone of his father. He was our precious baby, the light of my life. Mason and I were so thrilled when Braxton was born.

  Why do I do this to myself?

  I wondered if it would be like this forever? Would I forget what they looked like, their smell…their quirks?

  Why them?

  This was what I asked toward heaven every day. When would I wake up from this bad dream?

  It was getting late, and I knew I needed to try to get some rest, even an hour or two. I didn’t need to be falling asleep behind the wheel. I was determined to get to Eastport by the end of the day. I was only 450 miles away from a new beginning. From what I hoped was a new beginning.

  I popped an Ambien with a sip of water and prayed for sleep. One night without nightmares would be a blessing. As I shut my eyes, I held tight to the thoughts of adventures that lay ahead as the Ambien pulled me under.

  Ryan

  “Hey Ryan, you coming?” Pedro popped his head in our room just as I finished brushing my teeth. I spat the rest of my toothpaste out and quickly rinsed my mouth.

  “Yeah man, I am coming.” I wiped my mouth and threw the small face towel next to the sink.

  Pedro was leaving today. He was going home and as happy as I was for the man, I wasn’t. Call me pitiful, but there it was.

  I rolled out into the community room and it looked like a day care center for kids, not a rehab facility. Pink, light blue, and pastel colors adorned every surface with bunnies and egg shaped decorations.

  Those night nurses had been busy last night! I thought to myself as I entered Peter Cottontail’s wonderland. It shouldn’t have surprised me.

  The staff and volunteers made a big deal out of all the holidays to brighten the spirits of the patients. I’m not sure if it worked or not, it tended to be a slap in the face with each passing holiday. Easter wasn’t as offensive as Thanksgiving or Christmas. Those were the worst holidays to pass alone.

  “Hey Ryan, ready to get dirty?” Pedro asked.

  “Dirty? Come on man, you know it’s a mission to get a shower around here on the weekend. It’s a skeleton crew. Who knows when I will be able to get into the shower room? Now you want me to go get dirty?”

  “Hell yeah, man. We’re going to color eggs and there is a contest. I am going to make the ugliest fucking eggs ever and I bet you peanut butter under your socks that they announce me the winner. It’s release day, they aren’t going to make me lose.”

  “Seriously? What a
re we, five years old? Coloring eggs?” I asked with a raised brow.

  “Yeah, well they can’t exactly have an egg hunt. Can you imagine? There would be rotten eggs all over the place. That, or someone would step on one and fall…oh, the lawsuits! So marshmallow Peeps and coloring eggs it is!” He had a point. I shook my head and followed him over to the tables set up with rows of hard-boiled eggs and cups filled with different colors of vinegar-tainted dye.

  “This is going to be one big fucking fart fest later on,” I chuckled. “Lucky you get to escape the madness!” Pedro laughed as he continued to color his eggs with white crayons and dip them in dark colors until they were blotchy and resembled camouflage.

  “What did you write on them?” I asked.

  Pedro’s fingers were brown and blue-ish purple from repeated dips into the dyes and he held up four eggs, two in each hand.

  You will think of me later.

  Thanks for the air.

  Eat now, Grunt later.

  Blast from past.

  He lined them up, along with the other seven-dozen eggs, on the cartons set up for the judging. Pedro took a seat next to me as AnnMarie came in to judge the eggs. Pedro purposefully mixed and scattered his eggs amongst the others to prove his theory.

  AnnMarie paced back and forth across the front of the dining table where the eggs were lined up. Every third or fourth egg, she would lift one up and inspect it like it was a gem and peer over the rim of her reading glasses.

  What a drama queen.

  She continued her perusal and then started to lift the final five selections and place them into an awaiting empty egg carton.

  “Boy, they really get into this don’t they?” I whispered to Pedro.

  “They’ve got to have some fun around here. Why not? If it makes them happy, let them go at it.” He shrugged, and we both turned to AnnMarie as she gathered up five little ribbons.

  “And Fifth place goes to ‘Peel me’ who did this one?”

  Percy, a head injury patient, raised his hand and slurred, “Please?”

  “Here you go, Percy.” AnnMarie pinned the ribbon onto his shirt.

  “Please?” Percy slurred again pointing to his egg. “Peel Me.”

  The room erupted laughter as Percy grinned widely revealing his broken smile. Percy loved to eat and his poor egg wasn’t making it until lunch. AnnMarie called out the rest of the runners-up and pinned the winners until she reached the last egg. Sure as shit, it was Pedro’s camouflage egg that read: you will think of me later.

  “And the winner is…” AnnMarie announced, “You will think of me later.”

  “Woo hoo! Told your ass!” Pedro bellowed as he hopped up and down like he’d won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes.

  He strolled up to AnnMarie to be pinned the winner and before she turned away, Pedro gave her a big kiss square on the mouth.

  As the room erupted in hoots and catcalls, AnnMarie turned red, swatted Pedro in the arm, before succumbing to laughter herself.

  “You know, you are only getting away with that because you are leaving, Pedro.” The now lively bunch of men settled into a murmur of oooh’s and she-told-you’s. We all waited for Pedro’s witty retort.

  “What are you gonna do, AnnMarie? Spank me?” Pedro smirked as he popped his hip out in her direction.

  “You would love that, wouldn’t you?” she fired back. She quickly changed gears in an effort to redirect the now rowdy bunch. “All right, let’s go see what Shelly is cooking for lunch, you guys. I see I need to borrow one of her wooden spoons for some whooping today.”

  “I’m first!” Pedro hollered as he took off, followed by an entourage of wheelchairs and walkers to the dining room. I watched as AnnMarie attempted to gather the remaining eggs and consolidate them into fewer cartons.

  “Need some help?” I asked as she tried to juggle a couple cartons and her clipboard. “I have a free lap. Rides are going to cost you though. Nobody rides for free.”

  She handed me three cartons of colored eggs and I placed them on my lap.

  “What, no ride? Do I smell?” I sniffed at my pits, just to check. “I got a shower last night.”

  “Maybe next time. Thanks for the help, Ryan. I’m going to give these to Shelly and her crew in the kitchen. She can make some deviled eggs or some egg salad with them.” She walked beside me as we headed to the dining room.

  “I just hope you guys have plenty of air freshener ready or it’s going to be a long night.”

  Pedro left shortly after lunch. One of his cousins picked him up. I missed him already. The only thing left of him was his empty bed on his side of our room and his ugly eggs. I ate them in his honor at dinner.

  Lydia

  When six a.m. hit, I woke and felt ready to start my day. I’d actually slept through the night. I looked at the disheveled blankets and realized I had been restless in bed. I’d had no nightmares for the first time in months, and I was grateful.

  I knew I needed to come up with a game plan.

  Shower, pack up, checkout, and find a coffee shop. I needed my fix. I only had two vices, iced coffee, and cigarettes. I’d quit smoking for almost two years, then the accident happened, and I’d started it up again. I wanted to quit, but not right now. It was the only thing keeping me sane and from chewing my fingers off.

  I felt pretty accomplished as I completed my tasks. I hadn’t taken a Xanax yet. I wondered if I should take one before I hit the road, or wait until the shortness of breath, anxiety, and panic started in.

  As I headed toward the bathroom to shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had lost so much weight. My stomach was flat, but the scar from my C-section served as a constant reminder.

  I felt like I was withering away, one day at a time.

  Deep breaths.

  I finished up my shower quickly, wrapped a towel around my body, and another in a turban twist around my head. I peeped in the mirror again and saw the dark circles rimming my eyes. They’d appeared about four months ago and became more permanent by the day.

  I did not wear makeup. Why should I? I had no one to impress. My hair was devoid of luster, red hair with no shine. My stylist, Jami, would have my head on a spit if she could see me now.

  Getting myself dressed in my comfy road trip clothes, I pulled my still damp hair up into a ponytail and I was ready to conquer this drive. Once I grabbed some coffee, I wouldn’t have to stop, except to pee, so I should get to Eastport by dinnertime, assuming that traffic was not an issue.

  Double-checking that I had everything out of my motel room, I loaded up the car, shut the door behind me, and dropped the key at the front desk. I had my duffle bag ready, and I reached for the tote bag. I packed the urn in the tote, keeping it close to me. I put together a memorial necklace with letter charms for each of them, and a little bit of each of their ashes inside the locket.

  My Boys was engraved around the edge. I clutched it like a lifeline; I always had a piece of them with me.

  Let’s get this drive over with.

  It was almost 9:00 am as I pulled onto I-95 North, but I knew I’d miss all the rush hour traffic, despite it being a Thursday workday. I just wanted to get settled into my new place and relax.

  As I lit up another cigarette, I realized I really needed to quit smoking. Stress had made me pick up the nasty habit again and driving long distances there was nothing better to do but smoke and sing along with the radio.

  I pulled over at a rest area for a break. I stretched, used the facilities, and refilled my coffee.

  When I left Nazareth yesterday, I’d felt a huge weight lift off my chest. With each passing mile, I could breathe a little easier. I had pretty much cut everyone off after the funeral, except my friends Tonya and Jill. The only time I left the house was for work and grocery shopping. I didn’t visit anyone.

  I stopped answering my doorbell because I just didn’t want to deal with whoever was behind it. If it happened to be Tonya or Jill, well they both had keys to my h
ouse. I thanked God for them; they are my blessings. They didn’t judge me and we were family by choice. To be honest, if it weren’t for them, I would probably be in heaven with Braxton and Mason by now.

  I had attended grief counseling weekly for almost four months. My doctor had suggested a support group, telling me it would be good for me, help me connect with others.

  Ironically, I felt no connection with anyone in that group. I really tried, but no one could understand my loss, my nightmares, or my heartache. Most of the people in the group got to hold their loved ones until they passed away or were elderly widows. A few attendees were friends and family members of those who had terminal illnesses with long death sentences. They had time, they were old, or at a minimum, they’d had warnings. There were no deceased children grieving groups, none that I was able to locate in Nazareth. No one should ever have to bury his or her child.

  I’d had none of that. My husband had been a healthy man in his thirties and my son was barely out of diapers. I gave my husband and son a kiss goodbye that morning and told them I loved them, as was the norm. I’d had no idea it would be our last moment together. They were supposed to be home waiting for me when I got home from work.

  It was two days after Christmas and three hours into my shift at my client’s home, when my cell phone rang with an unknown number. That phone call would change my life; the phone call from the State Trooper that opened the door to the hell I have been living.

  The State Trooper asked if I was Mason’s wife and Braxton’s mother then proceeded to explain that my presence was needed at the hospital. They sent a patrol car to retrieve and escort me to the hospital. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to do. So, I called my agency and told them to send another nurse because I had a family emergency.