Spring #13 — Forgiving
As I walked along the concrete towards Mary Jane’s porch, my soul was heavy with dread and sorrow.
I had to tell Mr. Carter what had happened, everything that had happened, regardless of the consequences. As much as he loved Mary Jane and as much as he’d given for her, he had to know the truth, even if it hurt. He didn’t deserve to be hurt, but he deserved to know what had become of his daughter. Though I knew things had been largely out of my control, I still felt tremendous guilt for letting him down when he’d trusted me to look out for Mary Jane, and I still couldn’t escape the feeling that I could have done something else for Mary Jane, that I could have made a difference somewhere. I’d failed him, I’d failed Mary Jane, and I’d failed myself. It had been too much for me too handle, but what kind of a weak excuse was that? I loved Mary Jane more than I could put into words, and I’d told Mr. Carter I’d do right by her; I should have done more.
But just what that was, I didn’t know, and maybe never would.
When I looked up towards the porch, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Mr. Carter sitting on the steps, in the same spot he’d been when I’d first met him. He looked like he’d been crying.
I stopped in my tracks and stared at him, suddenly terrified. He knew. I didn’t know how, but somehow he knew, and he was waiting here for me because he’d also known I’d come here first, even before going back home.
We gazed at one another across the concrete walkway, which was still in the shadow of the house. The sun was up, but it was still very early in the day, and most of the town was still wrapped in the slowly dying shadows of the previous night. Neither of us said anything for a long time, and though the twittering birds did their best to dispel the silence, even they couldn’t make a dent in it.
At last, Mr. Carter nodded at me. “John.”
“Mr. Carter,” I said raggedly.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, yeah she is.” I almost choked up, but forced it back down. I wasn’t going to blubber like a baby again, not now. When I was alone, I would, but not now. “I’m sorry.”
I was shocked when he gave me a wan smile. “What is there to be sorry about, John?”
The words rushed out of my mouth in one big regretful heap. “I failed, I didn’t keep her safe, even though I promised you, and—“
He held up his hand and I immediately stopped. Taking his glasses off, he rubbed at his eyes for a few moments. “You made her happy. You gave her a reason to laugh and make real friends and really enjoy herself for the first time in years. That’s nothing to be sorry about.” He put his glasses back on, and then patted the spot next to him.
Hesitantly, I crossed the distance to the porch and sat down next to Mr. Carter, and we looked across the street together at something neither of us could really see. “I promised you,” I said. “I told you I’d keep her safe and out of trouble, and I couldn’t. I should have told you about this shit a long time ago, but I …”
He squeezed my shoulder for a moment. “You were a young man in love, and you did what you thought was best, just like I did when it was my turn. We both got in over our heads, and we did our best, but in the end, we were trying to fight something that was beyond us.”
“Did … did you know about all of this?” I tentatively asked, unable to look at him. “Did you know what was happening to her?”
Sighing heavily, Mr. Carter said, “I had my suspicions. I asked Janey about it, but she kept telling me everything was all right, and I tried to believe her, even when I heard the wind whispering in the night. What happened with Janey’s mother … I lost more than I ever let on to either of them, and I … just didn’t have the strength to fight it again.” He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes once more, his movements slow and pained. “It almost killed me when I had to put her in that asylum, and it almost killed her, too. She wasn’t made to be caged and treated like a prisoner, and beyond that, there wasn’t anything I could do to stop her. When it came right down to it, I’d rather lose her to …” he pointed towards the sky, “Out there than I would have her suffering in some sanitarium like an invalid or maniac.”
He took a breath and his voice trembled. “She wasn’t a maniac. She was my little girl, my Janey, and she didn’t … ever deserve that.” He hung his head. “So … heaven help me … I turned my head and pretended it was all right. I let her kiss me on the cheek and think she had me fooled, hoping that she’d come out of it, that there was some way she could fight what it is her mother had done with her blood and lies. But when the wind woke me this morning, I knew it was done. My Janey was gone.”
Mr. Carter sobbed once, and then sat quietly while I struggled to keep my composure.
“If anything,” he said, “I should be apologizing to you.”
“Why?”
“For letting you try to carry that burden yourself, without telling you the truth about Janey,” he murmured. “I was selfish. Damned selfish, and I’m sorry. I’d thought that maybe you could do what I couldn’t.” He turned to me. “You almost did it, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “You did. She still loved you, even at the end, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, remembering the feel of Mary Jane’s lips on my own as that final wind had blown past me.
“You did more than I could with her mother,” he said softly. “Maybe if I’d just followed my heart instead of trying to beat her at her own game, none of this would ever have happened. I’m sorry, John. I truly, truly am.”
I wiped at my nose and blinked back my tears. “It’s okay.”
He sighed again. “No, it’s not. It never will be. But it’s the best I can offer, I’m afraid. You deserve more, a lot more.” Taking my hand in his, he gave it a firm shake, and I returned it as best I could. “You’re one of the finest men I’ve ever known, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my daughter the way you did and for being there for her when she needed you.”
“I failed her,” I protested, but he shushed me.
“You didn’t fail anybody, and don’t ever think that. You were fighting against something you weren’t equipped to handle, which maybe nobody’s equipped to handle, but you did your best and you put your heart and soul into it. Nobody that cares that much is ever a failure,” he said, and he put his arm around me, giving me a quick but tight hug, which I returned with shaking arms. He then clapped me on the back like an old friend. “Now go. Live. Drink. Be merry. And don’t let this bring you down too much. Janey wouldn’t want that, and neither do I. If anyone should have a happy life, it’s you. Thank you for everything, John.”
He guided me to my feet, and I dazedly started down the walk, but stopped after a few steps and looked back at him. “What about Mary Jane? What’s going to happen to her?”
Mr. Carter looked up at the sky. “She’s out there somewhere, and I think she’ll be all right. She was something rare and special, not meant to tread among us, and she doesn’t need us anymore. I wish she did, but that wasn’t to be. At least we had the time with her that we did, and I know she’d want us to carry on without her.”
I looked up at the sky with him as he spoke, and when he was done, I met his eyes one last time. “Yeah. She would,” I said, the ache in my heart easing just a little.
Mr. Carter smiled sadly. “Goodbye, Johnny. And thank you.”
I returned the smile as best I could and gave him a little wave before turning and walking away. When I reached the end of the walk, I looked back, and he was gone. The next day, the house was empty and up for sale, as though it had all been just a dream.
I never saw him again.
* * *
Kristine’s funeral was held on a grey, overcast day much like one right after she’d died, and though it was gloomy, I think Kristine would have preferred it that way. She’d always told me how much she enjoyed days like that, because she thought regular sunny days were just so “pedestrian,” which usually got a chuckle out of me. As for myself, I was glad that it wasn’t a clear, bright day, because it would’ve been even harder burying somebody I cared about on a beautiful spring afternoon, when we should’ve been in school, waiting for classes to end and simply reveling in the fact that school was almost over for good. Graduation was only a few weeks away, and prom was this weekend, but I didn’t want to think about any of that. I just wanted to say good-bye to Kristine as best I could and go out for a long drive in the country by myself.
The service had been a short and simple nondenominational one, the way that everybody who’d been close to Kristine knew she would’ve wanted it, and Randy had presided over it, which would’ve delighted her to no end. Mostly members of Kristine’s family attended the funeral, but all of her friends were there, and though we weren’t a large number, we were all people she’d genuinely been friends with. There were no assholes attending just to get out of class or people offering false condolences here, which is the way it should’ve been. Eddie, Duane, Dusty, Lee, Tomomi, Alicia, and myself were there, as were Shannon, Lynn, Angelene, and of course, Randy, and we all hung pretty close to one another throughout.
Cindy Johnson, who felt absolutely horrible about Kristine’s death, was also there, and she looked terrible. Since it had been her party, she’d been beating herself up over it since the day Kristine had been found, even though nobody was pointing the finger at her, not even the cops, since she hadn’t provided alcohol to anybody. Other people brought in what was at the party, which was a simple fact of life when it came to parties. In reality, it was nobody’s fault Kristine had died. It was just one of those sad, fucked-up situations where the wrong combination of elements had come together to make a mess of everybody’s fun. But poor Cindy didn’t see it that way, and it tore everybody up when she stood and gave a wrenching apology to Kristine and her family, swearing she’d do everything she could to make sure nothing like that happened to another kid in town again. The parties at her house were over forever, and instead of becoming a high-paid lawyer or something of that nature like her family expected, Cindy ended up becoming a counselor for troubled kids in the area, and even started a scholarship fund in Kristine’s name for kids who didn’t have enough money to go to college. I like to think that wherever she is, Kristine’s proud, and I hope that Cindy was able to find some peace. But at the time, peace was something none of us had much of.
I’d stayed home the day that Mary Jane had disappeared, taking up my parents’ offer on missing a day to cope, and when I hadn’t showed at school, Kristine’s friends had feared the worst, and had come looking for me. Though I was annoyed at having to try to innocuously explain their frantic presence to Mom, I was touched by their concern, particularly in the weary, vulnerable state I was in. Friends were what I needed at the moment, and I was glad to have them. We’d all gone for a walk and I’d given them a rough outline of what had happened with Mary Jane, and answered their questions as best I could, but they understood I was hurting, and didn’t push too hard. Mostly they’d just wanted to make sure I was safe, and since I was, they were satisfied. Though I could tell they were relieved that Mary Jane wasn’t a danger any longer, because I could tell just from the way they reacted to some of my answers that they knew she was something they couldn’t have dealt with, they were all saddened by her disappearance.
Later on that night, before I went over to Duane’s to goof around and try to forget everything, Shannon appeared at the back door and asked to see me. We ended up out by my car, talking for a little while, and then she tearfully gave me Kristine’s journal, which she thought that I should have. I started to protest, not feeling right about accepting it, but Shannon wouldn’t hear of it, giving me a quick hug and hurrying off into the warm spring night.
I’d put Kristine’s journal in one of my drawers, leaving it alone for a couple of days, until last night, when I’d woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Whenever that had happened over the past several months, I’d always called Kristine and talked with her for an hour or so, just babbling on about nothing and talking for the hell of it, until I’d started feeling sleepy again. With Kristine gone, the middle of the night had seemed so lonely, and I’d started to read her journal, trying to get a little comfort out of it after everything that had happened.
Mary Jane had been right. Kristine had been in love with me, and it hadn’t gone away when I’d started dating Mary Jane. If anything, Kristine only wanted me more. It should have flattered me, I guess, but as I read the words she’d written on the pages, I felt only sadness. But Mary Jane, or Blue Eyes, had also been wrong. Kristine hadn’t resented her, not in the least. Her admiration for Mary Jane had been boundless, and she’d struggled a great deal with her unrequited love for me and her affection for Mary Jane, trying to take the high road and be happy for us, but at the same time desperately wishing for something she couldn’t have. Remaining friends with me while I was with Mary Jane had been more difficult on Kristine that I’d ever imagined, or even considered, but she’d always hidden it deeply, because she cared for the both of us and didn’t want to make trouble. Blue Eyes had also been wrong about Kristine brushing my hair just to get material for a love spell, because I didn’t find any reference to one in the journal at all. It had been simple innocence and affection that night down by the lake, nothing more, nothing less.
When Kristine had come to suspect Mary Jane of being a reincarnation of the old witch, it had been reluctantly, with a great deal of soul-searching, and she’d come to convince herself that it was the universe’s way of bringing the two of us together. She feared for Mary Jane’s safety, and often questioned her conclusions and suspicions, always trying to give Mary Jane the benefit of the doubt. In the last entry before the party, she’d decided that if it would keep me safe and happy, she was willing to risk anything.
I’d sat up the rest of the night, staring out my window and clutching the journal to my chest, wondering how everything could have gone so horribly wrong for all of us.
I shook myself out of my thoughts as I looked down at the array of flowers lying on Kristine’s coffin, which was in position to be lowered once everybody had left. She was being buried in Whitewood, not far from where her father was, and just a short distance away from Drake, where everything had all come to an end. Randy had concluded the graveside service several minutes ago, and we’d all gone up to the coffin to pay our final respects. Duane had surprised me when he’d tenderly patted the coffin, laid down a daffodil, and had murmured, “You were a hell of a girl. I’m gonna miss you,” before turning away and quickly walking off, wiping at his eyes. Alicia had hurried after him, putting an arm around his shoulders as they walked off through the grass.
“Wow,” Dusty had said, shaking his head with a faint grin. Nothing else had needed to be said.
One by one, everybody had said their goodbyes, until only I remained. I stared silently down at the coffin, which contained somebody that had gone from a passing acquaintance to a good friend during the course of the school year, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should have apologized to her for everything, or if I should have thanked her for caring as much as she had, or if I should have told her I wished things had turned out differently between us. I felt all of those things, and so many others that I couldn’t put into words, and I didn’t know which one was the right thing, if any of them. It was all too much to deal with, and I was still reeling. After some time had passed, I’d be able to develop a perspective on it all, but at the moment, it was just one big painful wound that I didn’t know how to heal.
I put my hand on the coffin and whispered the only thing I knew for sure, “I miss you. A lot.”
A mild wind picked up, softly rustling through the trees, and gently played over the flowers we’d left for Kristine. As I stared down at the coffin and searched for more words to express what I was feeling, I caught something out of the corner of my eye.
A small piece of paper was spiraling through the air nearby, steered by the currents of the wind, and I watched it twist and turn until it reached the coffin. With a final twirl, the paper lodged itself amongst the flowers, and the wind stopped. There was writing on the paper, which was plain white and nondescript. It could have come from anywhere.
My heart starting to pound, I leaned forward to read what was on the paper, and I saw that it was only two words, written in clear, elegant cursive.
I’m sorry.
The handwriting was Mary Jane’s.
