Chapter Twenty-Eight: In the Wake of his Death...

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT



On an ordinary day, Alyssa Galica possesses a look that drives middle-aged women crazy. With sultry full lips and mischievous eyes, the young girl has the power to make a man’s mind wander to dangerous places.

“Serena…”

But this is no ordinary day.

“I don’t want to live.”

The young girl appears as pale as the moon.

“He never raped me.”

Smudged mascara rings the skin below her eyes, eyes diminished to slits. She stands hunched over, trembling, her arms wrapped around her waist as though she's about to vomit.  

“I can’t discuss this right now… or here, Alyssa. Certainly, you understand this?”  Her voice is as fragile and unreliable as pond ice in the spring.  She does not trust it to hold the weight of her anger.

"I coaxed him to do it… I told my father a lie in order to—”

“Alyssa…” she says sharply. “Please. I will agree to allow you a moment with Josh, but you need to calm down. I’ll take you back to my house afterwards.”

Out of nowhere, the funeral director, a slight man who has spent the evening standing like a butler at the door’s entrance, interrupts them. “This decision is entirely up to you, Ms. Davis. It is not customary to keep the doors open after your guests have visited the deceased, but I’m willing to make an exception in this case.”

The deceased. The phrase burns her tongue. “She’ll just be a few minutes, Sir.” She turns to Alyssa and offers a stern nod. “Go ahead… I’ll wait here for you.”

“Thank you.” Her would-have-been stepdaughter takes a shallow, rattling breath and slowly moves towards the casket, as though one wrong move might awake the sleeper. She kneels down in prayer.

I was the one who coaxed him to do it.

 Serena watches the girl tremble and sob over folded hands, guilty hands.  . It was Josh who had said no that night. It was Josh who had been killed for the lie.

You have to know that I want to hurt the boy who hurt my Alyssa… even if it is Joshua.

It hadn’t been the first time Bari had raised an overprotective hand for his daughter. There was the time at the school dance when he drove to the parking lot to spy on Alyssa as she flirted with her boyfriend.

“You’re acting insane,” she had told him and, afterwards, they had joked about it over sundaes. Yes… She had known from the start of his issues with his daughter, issues stemming from his wife’s death, but she had understood. Parenting and worrying went hand-in-hand, and if this man seemed wrong in that department, so be it. There was enough that he did right and, besides, she was no one to talk.

But this threat—along with what followed—made no sense. Bari… Murder? Watching the Fox 25 news clip (the same one she had refused to comment on) had been surreal. Glenn Baker, a compassionate young reporter who had become somewhat of a Monday night companion, interrupted a baseball game with Breaking News. She had been seated at the edge of her bed.

“A disturbing murder involving the boyfriend of a forty-seven-year old Westboro mother, whom friends and neighbors describe to be genteel and loving, has shattered this suburban community.” Bari’s neighbor was interviewed. “I’ve watched him play ball with his son in this yard for over a decade now,” she had said, pointing out the location. “My husband and I are completely shocked.”

Betty. She had waved to her while pulling into Bari’s driveway last week. Into Bari’s driveway—the driveway of a man who brought his nan, Gjyshe, chocolates at her nursing home, rubbed foot lotion on her tired feet… and shot her child.


She feels dizzy.  Her legs are suddenly heavy. They weigh her down. She feels as though she’s drowning. A sharp pain bites her elbow as she slips away…

“Ms. Davis!” The funeral director, his surprisingly sturdy arms beneath her elbows. “Ms. Davis… it’s been a long day… you need a break. I’m going to lock up now. Let’s go. I’ll walk the two of you to your car.”

“Oh gosh… I’m sorry, I was just thinking about something when a wave of nausea came over me and—”

“Are you okay?” Alyssa.

“I’m okay… and thank you, Sir.”

The director locks up and the three of them walk to her car, the night air cool and slightly humid. Teenage drivers zoom by, car radios turned up too loud. Familiar songs blare then fade away. She thinks of the endless nights spent awake in bed while waiting for Josh to arrive home. She’d answer on the second ring, so as not to appear overly concerned—Hey, Mom… I’m just at The Pizza Palace, running a few minutes late.

She’d thank him for calling and bookmark her novel.

“Thanks for your help tonight, Sir.” She turns on the ignition. “I think we’re all set now.”

“Have a safe trip home, Ms. Davis. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

Gently, he shuts the door and walks away, leaving her alone with the girl responsible for her son’s death.

* * *

Lori Hearns bookmarks her novel and reads the obituary again. Joshua Davis, 17, of Wilder Road, passed away from a gunshot wound on Saturday, August 18th in the UMass Memorial Healthcare, 119 Belmont St. She scans over the names of surviving relatives. Her watery eyes blink and settle on the last section. Joshua will be remembered as a happy child who always saw the good in people. He was an exceptional athlete and well liked by his teachers and peers. He was a member of the National Honor Society and participated in numerous community service efforts. The funeral will be held Wednesday, August 22nd from the HARRISON B. WILSON FUNERAL HOME, 220 Main Street, Westboro.

She grabs a second tissue and wipes the corners of her eyes. Serena and Doug Davis have been wronged again

The first time she had met Joshua, they were seated across from each other in the ambulance, the snowy New Hampshire highway rumbling beneath them. The EMT, a young girl whose face beamed with compassion, checked his vital signs and made small talk while Lori casually probed for answers. The closer she could get to his side of the story—while it was fresh—the easier it would be to move the case along.

“Mr. Roth lied to me because he said he needed my help with some special bandages for my Dad’s wrist but then he tied my mouth up.”

He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

“That must have been very frightening,” she had said, adjusting the volume of her tape recorder.

“Is Mr. Roth going to die?” Josh was lying on his back on a stretcher; his head at a right angle to speak to her, his bangs flopped to one side.

It would certainly make our lives a lot easier, she had thought, “Uh-no… I don’t think so,” she had said. “He’s being flown to the intensive care unit right now.”

“I don’t think he would have hurt me, you know.” He had folded his hands, studied the ambulance ceiling. “He was missing his own son, I think.”

Crying has never been easy for Lori. When her own father died, the endless tears her siblings shed must have made up for her own dry eyes. Once you learn how to shield yourself from hurt, the protective walls you’ve learned to build so well erect automatically. They become a part of you, just another layer.

“I don’t want Mr. Roth to die… I just hope he learned his lesson.”

The walls crumble like a sandcastle swept under the tide. She runs an index finger across his picture and weeps effortlessly, never hearing her bedroom door creak open.

“Mom?” .

She presses her fingers to her eyes to clean up, but it’s too late. She’s been caught. Her son sees his Mom cry for the first time.

“You okay, Mom?” He walks to the edge of the bed.

Taking a deep breath, she reaches out to hug him. “I’m fine, Scottie… something sad happened to a boy I once knew, that’s all.”

“Did he die or something?”

“No, he just got hurt, that’s all.” Your half-brother will feel no more pain.

“Come on downstairs. I have a few projects to finish.”

She will build her son’s sandcastle for him, using cement.