A Walk Changed Everything

"Oh," I said, sheepishly. "I didn't realize I was behaving that way, but I couldn't figure out how to tell you that I was so seriously attracted to you.

"I mean, I was attracted to you even before then because … well, you know … hormones and all. But we'd been more like schoolyard pals for what … five or six years? It just seemed so … wrong for some reason. Then, after you visited, I decided you and I had a bit of a connection somehow."

"It wasn't wrong. I felt the same way about you. I loved you before I even knew what the word truly meant. When I saw you in the hospital, I really, really wanted to see if a first kiss would maybe make you feel better, but I talked myself out of it because your dad was in the room, and I was also scared of what you might think," she said, stroking my chin with the back of her forefinger, drawing down my lower lip which she suckled between hers.

"You said no to me over pizza, pudding, and peas in the sixth grade. What would you say now?"

She smiled sweetly. "You're a wonderful, incredible romantic, Rob. I absolutely adore that ab⁠—"

She stopped speaking the instant I opened the palm of my hand.

"Robin?" she whispered, eyes wide, seeing what I held.

"Corrie, I don't want to be apart from you ever, ever again. Will you marry me?"

She began weeping. She sobbed, wrapping both of her arms around my neck, embracing me, and kissing my face all over before placing a rich kiss on my lips.

"Yes, baby!" she whimpered. "What took you so long? I should have said yes years ago!"

I laughed through my own tears of joy. "That would have been kinda weird."

I slipped the ring onto her finger, thanking my lucky stars it fit perfectly.

"Oh, god, Robin! I love you so much! I can't wait to tell everyone! Best Christmas Eve ever !"

July 5, 2015

I stared at the table.

On it were my Browning Buck Mark URX, my Beretta 96A INOX, and my Glock 19.

I internally debated which one would work best without leaving a huge mess.

My magnifying glass was the bottom of a bottle of bourbon I'd polished off.

I picked up the URX, racked its slide, released the safety, and placed its muzzle to the roof of my mouth and pulled the trigger. I heard and even felt the firing pin release.

"Yeah, this'll do," I said to myself, tasting gun oil on my tongue.

I loaded a single .22LR round into the magazine and inserted it into the butt of the grip, then staggered to the master bedroom. I figured I'd do the deed in the shower so any stuff could simply be washed down the drain by whoever I managed to inconvenience.

You need help! were the words rattling in my brain.

June 8, 2015

"You need help!"

"You think?" I groaned after I'd vomited probably four times followed by a few dry heaves.

"You're gonna stop that before I put you in my unit," the officer said, holding the chain of the cuffs behind my back.

"Yeah. I'm done … I think."

"You better be."

She held her hand against the crown of my head as she guided me onto the bench seat in the back of her cruiser.

"You're going to spend the night in the tank. The smell of stale piss might make you wake up."

March 3, 2015, 1:03pm

Corrie's doctor ordered her to a surgical suite when her blood pressure rose dramatically. I knew nothing else at that point, and two agonizing hours elapsed.

"Baby!" I cried as soon as Sienna escorted me to my wife's bedside in the recovery room.

"I feel like absolute shit," she groaned when she recognized me. I knew she meant business because she was seldom one to utter vulgarities.

"It's rare for eclampsia to present without earlier signs, but Doctor Wilkes caught it. He's good that way. The stars lined up in your wife's favor," an unknown nurse said.

"Yeah, they did," Sienna, her earlier nurse said. "I don't want to understate it, but you all should be very thankful."

I offered both women gracious, honest smiles and nods.

"I love you, baby," I said to my wife, kissing her hand cautiously to avoid the IV cannula taped to its back.

"I missed it all. They put me under."

"Yeah, I know. They wouldn't let me be in the room with you."

She pooched out her lower lip in acknowledgment.

"Corrie, our baby is a boy."

My wife choked back a sudden sob. "A boy?"

I nodded. "I was holding him when Sienna came to bring me here to you. She snapped a ton of pictures with my phone. He's gorgeous, Corrie. Just beautiful. He's got your chin."

"The Slater dimple?"

"Yeah. Look," I said, offering her my iPhone.

She smiled and giggled with tears in her eyes as she swiped from photo to photo.

"When can I hold him? Please? I want to hold my son," Corrie begged her nurse.

Sienna smiled. "As soon as Doctor Wilkes gives the okay. I'll call him. He's sure to be famished by now. Your baby, not Doctor Wilkes," she humorously clarified.

An hour later, Corrie was released from recovery and placed in a standard room within the secure boundaries of the labor, delivery, and neonatal section. Our baby boy greedily nursed from her breast. I delighted in the grunts and coos he made as he suckled and swallowed noisily.

"Robin, can you believe it? I'm a mommy," my love whispered, tousling the fine hair on our son's head.

"I absolutely can, Corrie. Like I said yesterday, you're the toughest woman in the universe."

"You said it this morning."

"I guess I've lost track of time. I'll say it every day. You're my world. I'll give my life for you or our child. I already love him to the center of my soul, but you … you will always be my first and forever love."

"You're so sweet, Robin," she whispered. "Today was wicked, but … I think I could maybe do it again." She quietly giggled.

"Let's give it a couple of years," I said, running my fingers through her beautifully short-cropped silky hair as she nursed our hungry boy.

I found myself beaming in pride. Not of myself, but of my wife as she demonstrated, so naturally and instinctively, the absolute purest beauty and femininity of motherhood.

"He's your son. What do you want to name him?" she asked.

"Cornelius Francois."

"No."

"Remus Romulus?"

She snorted with a quick laugh. "Ugh! Be serious, Rob!"

"How's Robert Ethan sound? My dad's first as his middle, and the name I wish I had as his first. No birds."

I saw her smile happily as she drew our newborn to her other nipple.

"Absolutely perfect . Robert Ethan Grant. Yeah. Just … perfect. I love it. Even though you don't, I love your name, too."

She sighed contentedly, crooking her finger at me, inviting me to kiss her.

March 7, 2015, 2:14pm

"Where am I?" I asked a shadow. I saw flashes of blue and red through a fog so thick my eyes wouldn't focus.

"This is to keep you still."

Whatthe … Corrine? Robert ?

June 9, 2015

"You need help, buddy."

"You've already said that," I said. "I get it."

"No, I don't think you do. I see it in you. You're not an ordinary drunk. You're hurting," the arresting officer said from the opposite side of the bars between us.

She'd already cuffed me, preparing to transport me to the courthouse for my arraignment hearing. I tried, by remaining silent, to end the conversation.

"Based on what you told me last night, I'm going to make you this one-time offer. If you look me in the eyes, right now, and promise me you'll get help, I'll advocate for you with the judge, and maybe he'll ROR you.

"You need help. You need counseling. Or attend group support meetings. It would do you wonders. If you do it, I'll stand by you when your defender begs the ADA for deferred prosecution. You can keep this whole thing from being a blight on your otherwise lily-white record."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why ? I just told you. I can sense it on you. You're trying to get rid of the pain. I know what happened, and I've been close to where you are. Nine years ago. It was before I joined the force. And another cop did me the same favor, probably saving my future."

I stared at her wordlessly for a few moments.

"Well?"

"Agreed. Thank you."

March 7, 2015, 12:48pm

"Your doctor and pediatrician completed their discharge orders," the day-shift nurse said and clapped. "Get your stuff together so we can get you all out of here!" she said with a broad smile.

We'd already packed everything. Robert looked adorable in his overalls. He was wearing a Royals baseball cap and matching blue booties.

"Corrie, you ready to be home?" I asked. The last word resonated in my brain because it'd taken on a fulfilling new meaning.

"You can't imagine, baby," she said with her dimpled cheeks glowing.

Twenty minutes later, we were all in our SUV with Robert strapped into his car seat behind my wife. There was, once again, fresh snow on the ground. It was the wetter sort, perfect for making snowballs, but our vehicle still had no problem navigating the conditions.

July 7, 2015, 7:15pm

"Um, I've never done this kind of thing before, so I apologize if I do it wrong, but … my name is Robin."

"Hi, Robin," came a unison response from the one- or two-dozen men and women in the room.

"Welcome, Robin," said an absolute stranger who was "in charge" of the group. "Please, tell us your story."

"Okay," I cautiously began. "I had a drink last night. Well, I guess two nights ago. But I had another. And then another. Another. Another, then another three or four or maybe five or six more. Just like every night for months.

"I must have passed out, because I woke up yesterday morning with a gun in my bed. I have fuzzy recollections of putting a single round in it and making my way toward the bathroom with it because I had every intention of killing myself. I didn't think I deserved to be and couldn't understand why I was alive.

I reflexively and nervously chuckled on hearing the muttered gasps. "Yeah, that really got my attention.

"A few months ago, my wife and newborn baby boy were killed. We were on the way home from the hospital with him after he was born. My wife almost died during labor, but she pulled through only⁠—"

I couldn't keep the tears inside me.

I felt two strangers' hands on my shoulders, offering reassurance and compassion.

"A K-DOT snowplow lost control coming off the I-35 exit at 75th. Its brakes had gone out or something. It collided into the side of our SUV. My wife and son were killed instantly. I woke up the next day back in the same hospital I thought we'd just left, but I was the one in the bed instead of my wife.

"I knew Corrie forever. I loved her. She was my life. My soul. My everything. I told her the day Robert was born that I'd give my life for them, but I … well. You can see how it turned out.

"I was taken home and I went inside. The nursery was still spic-and-span, with the little organizer thing all stocked up with tiny diapers. All of it was completely perfect. Untouched … and unoccupied.

"I just … I couldn't take it.

"I was only in the house for maybe twenty minutes before I took the … I took my wife's car to the closest liquor store.

"Anyway. They were buried in the same casket. It had to be a closed casket service because … well … yeah.

"I simply can't shake it. I can't get past this …"

I couldn't talk more. I sat back onto my chair and sobbed.

"Robin, thank you," the moderator said. "Everyone, please take a minute of silence to use as you choose."

A few of the people walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder or back. I heard whispers.

Twice per week, I returned to the same room in the public library.

September 14, 2015, 11:30am

I entered a plea of nolo contendere to the charges of public intoxication and indecency, two Class C misdemeanors. The judge threw mercy my way and deferred prosecution because I was getting help. The charges would be dismissed if I continued attending the twice-weekly sessions for six months in total. I owed the officer who spoke up for me a debt of gratitude.

March 12, 2015.

"Theodore Barton Slater!" his wife barked at him, hearing his words.

"Quiet , Marta. This man is responsible for the death of our daughter."

"Do you not give a damn your grandson perished, too?" I hissed at him through clenched teeth.

"Your … offspring ," he grunted, "matters not half as much as ours."

Without even thinking, I sent my fist into his face.

"Robin! Stop !" his wife shrieked.

"I can't believe you are Corrie's father," I spat as my brother and father dragged me away from my father-in⁠—former father-in-law. I was rattling my hand, wondering if my wrist or fingers were broken. I'd never struck a human once in my life, and I was startled at the pain I felt.

I was alone in my house that evening, and, of course, got drunk again. I could've worried the cops were going to knock on my door, but I didn't care.

October 17, 2016, 7:20pm

"Can I help you?" said the lady who observed my approach up her front walkway. She was standing in her front yard with an array of Halloween decorations scattered about.

I noticed a big fluffy dog looking at me through a window with a wagging tail and amazingly bright blue eyes.

"Ma'am, my name is Robin Grant. Please forgive me for sounding crazy, but were you living here last June?"

She nodded slightly with a suspicious expression.

"I'm the guy who acted in a very crude and embarrassing manner over there. On your driveway and fence."

It took her several moments to speak again.

"I hardly recognize you," she said with furrowed brows.

"I can understand that, ma'am. I'm kinda back to my norm now. I probably was quite a mess when you saw me …"

"Relieving yourself, then barfing everywhere," she finished my sentiment after my long, hesitant pause. "Your hair was longer. You had a lot of facial hair, and you were rather … unkempt. To be blunt. Sorry."

I nodded sheepishly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm told an important part of closure for me is to make amends and apologies, and it's taken me far too long to do so. I sincerely want to⁠—"

"I understand. Step nine, right?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Step nine. Making amends?"

I shrugged.

"AA's twelve steps?" she asked.

"Oh," I said, making the connection. "No. I don't drink like that anymore, and frankly, I don't miss it. I only drank myself into oblivion back then because I couldn't figure out any other way to cope, but⁠—"

"When did your … um … when did the accident happen?"

"How did you know?" I asked in mild surprise.

"I overheard you trying to explain why you were so drunk to the police officer who picked you up."

"Oh. March of last year."

She nodded, then said, "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?"

"Thank you. You're very kind, but no. I only came to apologize for what I did, and to ask if there's anything I can do to … well … maybe make some sort of reparations?"

She was silent for a few moments.

"You know what? There is, actually. I could use a hand putting up Halloween decorations out here."

"Sure. Tell me what to do," I agreed.

She walked me around the side of her house to its garage. She pointed to a ladder which was folded against a wall and asked me to bring it to the front yard. She removed a coil of string lights from a bin in the yard and asked me to hang them along the broad and tall brick archway at the front of her porch.

I surmised the lights, and perhaps Christmas ones to follow later, were a regular feature, because the clips to hold them on the brick were already there and were showing some mild signs of aging. I untangled the strand of lights as she resumed staking the assorted decorations in her lawn. Ghosts, ghouls, tombstones, and a few inflatables were sure to make her house quite the festive spectacle.

"Please feel free to wave me off if I hit a sore spot or a nerve, but, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I answered, suspecting she was going to ask me to give the details of what happened in the accident. It was a tale I'd told dozens upon dozens of times. By that point, I could relate it without breaking down into a simpering wreck.

"How did people treat you after?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. I was a little surprised at the question.

"You know, you're the first person who's ever asked me that," I answered, and resumed looping the LED bulbs through the perfectly spaced hangers.

"Too personal?"

"No. Just kinda caught me off guard," I admitted. "You know, some treated me very compassionately, some treated me like crap, and a lot sort of … ghosted me."

"Yeah."

Once again, I stopped.

"Yeah?" I said.

"I know what you mean. Go on."

"Folks who treated me well? My family. My boss. My coworkers. Even Corrie's coworkers I'd never met. Even though I was in absentia for almost four months after it happened, my manager only placed me on leave of absence instead of terminating me, which, by all rights, he probably should have. Several of my and my wife's coworkers offered to bring over meals and stuff, but I didn't want visitors, so they'd Uber Eats me something instead or send me gift cards.

"The ones who treated me the worst of anyone were my in-laws."

"You're kidding me."

"No. I wish I were. They weren't terribly fond of me to begin with because Corrie and I got engaged right after we graduated from college. It was Christmas Eve seven years ago. They tried to convince her we were too young to be getting married, but we did it anyway. They didn't see what we had. We'd known each other for more than a decade and dated for like six or seven years. She was my high-school sweetheart, you know? We knew what we were doing.

"So they sort of gave me the cold shoulder, but at least treated me civilly. It all changed when they found out we were expecting. Her mother began doting on me as if turning her into a grandmother was the best thing to ever happened to her."

"Yeah? That's sweet."

"It was more weird than sweet, really. Took some getting used to. But her father, on the other hand, went the total opposite direction, accusing me of ruining his daughter's career by putting children in the way. She kept trying to get him to stand down, but he wouldn't believe her when she tried to convince him we both were wanting to start our family and her career wasn't going to suffer.

"He said to me at the funeral, 'My daughter is dead. The marriage is now null and void. You're no longer an in-law. You are nobody to me.'"

"My god. How awful."

"I broke his nose," I said. I didn't think it particularly funny. My chuckle was a nervous one. "The only time I ever heard from her parents again was in regard to the civil suit he tried to file against me."

"For assault?"

I shook my head. "He tried to sue me for wrongful death."

She gasped. "No way."

"Yeah. Her dad was convinced the accident was my fault, even though it was far from it."

"How? I mean, why?"

"Spite? Vindictiveness? I don't really know or care. But every high-dollar attorney he tried to hire told him 'no way' when they read the police reports or because they saw it on the news.

"I certainly wasn't watching the news the days I spent in the hospital, but I heard later how, since Corrie was one of the station's producers, they mentioned her passing on every newscast that aired the day after the incident. It might sound stupid, but I don't watch the station anymore. Everything I'd see would be a reminder."