Past Heaven
Authors: Laura Ward
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Inspirational, #Past Heaven
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Past Heaven
Copyright © 2014 by Laura Ward
Cover Design by: Sarah Hansen of
Okay Creations
Formatting and interior design by
JT Formatting
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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To anyone who has had their heart break from the loss of a loved one,
and then allowed that heart to love again.
A LOUD SHRILL sound broke through the silence of the night. What was that noise? Dear Lord, was that the phone ringing? I buried my head under my pillow. If my mother-in-law was calling for help with her Words with Friends app, I was going to lose my ever-loving mind. That woman would stay up all night, trying to find complex wordage to outplay her sixty-year old besties.
The phone rang again.
We had begged that crazy, old bat to stop calling us so late. I opened one eye and squinted in the darkness
. Shit
. My alarm clock read one o’clock in the damn morning.
My body went rigid, and I took a hyper inventory of my family. My husband snored loudly beside me, and my daughters were tucked in bed safely. Seconds passed before dread hit my stomach, and I jumped to answer the call. When the phone rang in the middle of the night in suburbia, it could only be the worst kind of news.
With sleep in my voice and my mind half-comatose, I answered, “Hello?”
The sound of shock was louder than I had realized. It thundered through my ears, until I wanted to cover them with my hands to block out the noise. Entering Liz’s home at one thirty in the morning was like walking into every nightmare I had never let myself envision. My stomach rolled, and my palms were sweaty. I rubbed my chest, right over my heart. It was broken for Liz, but I had to be strong for her. I steeled myself, clenched my jaw, and wiped away my tears.
Liz’s parents sat on either side of her on the couch, holding her, while they cried. Police officers stood off to the side, conversing quietly. Why were they still here? What did they think we needed from them? It was over.
They were too late.
Anger coursed through my veins, heating my face. My mouth hung open. I wanted to scream as loud as I could. This wasn’t real. This
couldn’t
be real. I slapped my hand over my lips, holding the noise inside. The boys were asleep upstairs, and I would not yell.
Holy shit
, the boys didn’t know.
Liz wasn’t crying. She sat white as a ghost, wrapped in a blanket, shaking from head to toe. My God,
why
? Why her? Why him?
“Liz?” My whisper roared through the room.
Liz’s head whipped up at me. My stomach dropped, and I forced myself to not turn away. Tears filled my eyes, and I took a deep breath. I was never more scared in all of my life. She was my best friend, and I was terrified to look at her. I knew what I would see, and I didn’t want to go there, but I did.
One single tear rolled down Liz’s cheek. And her eyes? The ones that had sparkled with laughter, winked with mischief, and beamed with pride…they were dead. Flat. Empty.
She was broken.
Kneeling at her feet, I clasped her cold, clammy hands in mine and turned to her parents. “Pat? Jim? Why don’t you both head to the guest room downstairs and get some sleep? In the morning, we can talk to the boys and make the arrangements.”
“I… I don’t want Liz to be alone.” Her mother’s whispered sob was conflicted. She wrung her hands and glanced over at Jim as if she didn’t know what to do. Who really did? What could any of us do now to make this better for Liz and the boys?
“I’ll stay with her.” I looked into Liz’s broken eyes and squeezed her hands in reassurance. “I won’t leave her. You both need your strength for tomorrow.” Tomorrow would be worse. Unimaginable as the idea was, tomorrow would be even harder. Liz would still be in shock, and she would have to break the news to her boys.
Her parents stood up, looking at one another before nodding in agreement. Jim closed his eyes and turned away from us. Pat looked over Liz to me. Her blue eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away. Her eyes softened as we stared at one another, and I accepted her silent gratitude with a slight nod, though it was completely unnecessary.
Liz’s parents kissed the top of her head and then headed to the basement. I released Liz’s hands and rose to stand in front of her. “Hey, I’m going to ask the officers to leave now. I’ll be right back.” Liz nodded, clutching her blanket tighter around herself.
After a few words, the police left and I clicked the dead bolt on the front door. Resting my forehead against the cold surface, I closed my eyes. My head throbbed, and my chest constricted.
I was afraid to be alone with my best friend.
Liz was the one friend who had sat by my side and had held my hand while I waited to hear if my biopsy was malignant, and the one who had celebrated with me when it was benign. We knew each other inside and out. I knew she added feta cheese to every food possible, and she knew to always bring me chocolate éclairs—just because. I got this. I got her.
Forcing my eyes open, I pushed the fear away and turned back around. Liz sat frozen on the same spot on the couch. “C’mon, sweetie. Let me help you upstairs.” Liz took my hands, and I guided her, one-step-at-a-time up the stairs to their bedroom.
Their bedroom.
From now on, it would only be her bedroom.
Not theirs.
Not anymore.
Once in her room, I peeled the blanket from her shoulders and looked down at Liz’s body. My eyes widened, and I held my breath. The blanket hadn’t been given to her solely for warmth. It hid the blood.
Liz gagged and pressed her hand to her mouth as she ran to the toilet and vomited. I followed quickly behind her, and then gathered her hair in one hand while I rubbed her back with my other.
Exhausted and depleted, Liz sat back on the floor and grabbed a tissue to wipe her mouth. She looked up at me, tears spilling out of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cindy. This is gross. You can go. Don’t stay in here with me.” Her protest was weak.
Liz had held my hair back on more than one occasion in college after I had over-served myself at a fraternity party. She had mopped the sweat off my forehead and hadn’t judged me for telling my husband I would never have sex with him again, during the birth of each of our children. The circumstances were dire, and I owed her this and more.