Page 35 of Deliverance

Fuck, no, Maggie. Focus.

I’ve been busying myself in a spare room a few doors down from Harry’s office. If I heard him hurting Bridgette or losing his shit on her, I don’t know what I’d really be capable of doing, but I’d try like hell to protect her.

The room is filled with a bunch of unpacked boxes from our house. I still don’t understand why my mom sold it. Getting married or not, wouldn’t it have been a good investment to hold on to the place? Rent it out or something? My dad always said that letting go of real estate when you don’t have to is the most foolish decision anyone could make. Then again, my mother is quite the foolish woman.

Most of the boxes this far have been crystal and China serving ware. A few paintings and other décor are also scattered throughout, but nothing that my mother or I seem to be too attached to. That is until I come across one box labeled ‘Matthew.’ My heart clenches at my father’s name and my hands begin to shake as I peel it open.

When I do, I see some of his old pullover sweaters, a shirt or two, and some ties. One tie stands out above the rest, though. Lifting it out of the box, a thousand memories hit me all at once. When I was eight, I bought it for his birthday. It’s a black silk tie with candles twisting all around it. The thing is truly hideous, but my eight year old brain was excited that not only did I find something that symbolizes a passion we both shared, but one that he could wear every day. And wear it, he did. Even when my mother expressed her hate for it, he wore the thing nearly every day that he could.

So many nights he would come home from the office, exhausted and stressed, that tie wrapped proudly around his collar. I can still remember the smell of his cologne, how it never changed through the years. I remember the way the silk tie felt against my cheek when I would hug him and never let go when he came back from trips.

I thought that I’d moved through my grief. Mainly because I was given no choice, honestly. Then again, my father has been gone for less than five months. I think it’s okay to not be okay. I think it’s okay for my heart to still ache at the memory of him. I think it would be fucked if I didn’t. It would be a dishonor to his memory, to his legacy.

A figure steps into the room behind me while I’m drowning in the past, and my mother’s voice pulls me out of my happy memories.

“What are you doing?”

I blink back the tears brimming in my eyes as I attempt to clear my hot and scratchy throat.

“Going through some of Dad’s stuff,” I say as I look at her over my shoulder.

Irritation flickers across her face as she stomps over to me, yanking the tie out of my hands and throwing it in the box.

“There is no use in dragging up the past, Margret. It’s time to move forward. Your father isn’t a part of your life anymore. Harry is your new father.”

I stare at her like she’s grown a second head because honestly, I’m so taken aback by her words.

“Are you fucking crazy?” I shout.

“Do not speak to me that way!” she snaps. “I’m your mother. I am?—”

“The woman who climbed into bed with another man before my dad’s body was even cold in the ground.” I finish.

I don’t see the slap coming, but maybe I should have. The sharp sting burns across my cheek as I grit my jaw and face her once more.

“Then again, maybe you were already in bed with Brenton,” I spit.

Fire engulfs her eyes as she leans to the side, ripping the box from behind me with more strength than I would have thought and carries it out of the room.

“Where are you going?” I shout.

She doesn’t answer me. I follow the sound of her high heels clicking against the floor until we reach the grand fireplace; the flames flickering and roaring ominously. The moment I realize what she’s doing is a moment too late.

“Wait, no!” I shout as she throws the box into the fire.

The flames rage for a moment before mellowing down. I sink to my knees as I watch the last of his clothes burn. But most importantly, I watch his tie burn. Tears begin streaming down my face as I hear my mother make a satisfied humph before stomping out of the room.

I don’t give a fuck, though. I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes away from that tie as the flames eat up every inch of it before it turns to ash.

Gone.

Just like that.

This pain that started in my chest has now reverberated throughout my entire body. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can do is…stare.

Another set of footsteps sound behind me and I really don’t give a fuck who it is. I want nothing to do with anyone. Slowly, Bridgette kneels down beside me as she stares at the raging fire.

“Those are your dad’s things, aren’t they?” she asks, her voice oddly numb.

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