June Still Sucks

"Yes, I understand," Daisy said quietly as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down as the tears fell down her face.

"I don't think we need to go there, Son," Mom said. "Let me get these dishes put away and bring out some dessert."

"I'll help you," I offered, but Mom shot me down.

"That won't be necessary, SON," she shot back tartly. Then she sighed. "Besides, I think the two of you need some private space right now."

Daisy looked back up at me after Mom left. She wiped her face before speaking.

"I started reading your book the other day," she said. "It's a good book, by the way. Was I really that horrible to you?"

"I have video from that night from several different perspectives," I responded. "You didn't know it, but I hired a videographer to record the party so we could show our kids one day. He captured the whole incident. Some other guests also captured it on their phones and gave me their videos after it was over."

"Oh my God," Daisy whined, stricken.

"I watched those videos repeatedly to capture every move and every word spoken that night. It's all there in the book. I still have those videos. Would you like to see them?" I asked. My tone was light, but I am confident my expression could have turned a loaf of bread moldy.

"No, that won't be necessary," Daisy said. "It's no wonder you hate my guts now. After reading that, I don't even like myself very much. I never thought..."

"That's right. You didn't think. Worse yet, you didn't care," I spit. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you and Bruce humiliating me in public, stomping on my heart like a cockroach that needs to be killed. For years, I fantasized a million ways to kill the two of you, each way crueler and bloodier than the last."

Daisy started sobbing at that revelation, looking horrified. But I wasn't finished.

"It's all in the book. I started hating everyone after the shit your family and friends gave me. They all said I should just 'suck it up,' move on and be happy for you. I said fuck that. Of course, it was easy for them to say. They weren't the ones stabbed in the back and shoved down the stairs into the septic tank by the one person they loved more than anything else.

"It got to the point that I hated everyone around me. My principal, Mr. Smith, got me to see a counselor. Good thing, too. I was right on the verge of doing something idiotic. She suggested I write my feelings down, so that's what I did. That book is the result."

"Yolanda also suggested you start working out, remember?" Mom asked after returning with an apple pie. She had probably been listening and thought the 'private space' was getting out of control.

"Is that why you look so good now?" Daisy asked, wiping her eyes hurriedly with her napkin and rushing to change the subject. "I've never seen you so fit before."

"Thank you. Yes, it is. I took some martial arts and signed up at a fitness center. It helped me a lot."

"But you're still angry," Daisy observed. "Even after all this time."

"He's a lot better now than he used to be, believe me," Mom assured her. "Two years ago, you wouldn't have even gotten through the door. At least not on your feet. Head first, maybe."

"I'm sorry, Mike. Really. I knew it would hurt, but I had no idea it would destroy you like that. That's why I gave you everything in the divorce. I thought it would help you move on. When you didn't fight it, I thought you would be okay," Daisy said.

"The truth is, my lawyer was shocked when he read your petition. He told me I should sign it quickly before you changed your mind," I admitted.

"Have you dated anyone since then?" Daisy asked hesitantly.

"Not really," I replied curtly. "A couple of drunken one-night stands, but that's it. I don't even remember their names." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother's eyebrows leap for the ceiling and an expression of extreme distaste flash across her face. She bit her tongue to keep from giving me a piece of her mind. I knew I would hear about it later, but I couldn't care less at that instant.

"Oh my God," Daisy gasped. "I don't know what to say. I guess 'sorry' just won't ever be good enough, will it?"

"No, it won't," I agreed acidly.

We ate our pie silently, but I could see the hurt on Daisy's face, and I didn't want to look at Mom's. After finishing, we said our goodbyes, and Mom walked me to the door. I made sure Daisy couldn't hear what I was about to say.

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Mom?" I asked. "What about her family? Can't they help?"

"I called her parents. They've moved to a retirement community in Florida, and they refused to talk to her. I got the same response from her sister."

"Will they do anything to help her?" I asked.

"No. Nothing," Mom said quietly. "She's got no one, Mike. Nothing."

"That's one screwed-up family," I said, shaking my head. Then I looked at her. "Even when I turned into a bitter old reprobate you didn't desert me. You were there when I needed to be scraped up off the sidewalk. You and Dad always said that family takes care of family."

"No argument there," Mom replied with a tear in her own eye.

"What are Daisy's chances? Really?" I asked earnestly. Mom glanced back at Daisy before replying.

"I honestly don't know, Mike. They've made a lot of advances since I retired. And while I was a nurse, I spent the last few years in billing and admin. Still, I've seen people in better shape than her die, and I've seen people in worse shape make it. There's just no telling. We'll just have to wait and see." She looked at me, neither hopeful nor angry. "A lot of it comes down to the will to live. To have something to live FOR."

I ignored that. "I'm worried about you, Mom. What if she does something behind your back?"

"I know you don't trust her, and I understand. Thank you for your concern, but I don't think it's warranted. She's literally got nothing and no one right now."

"And people with nothing have nothing to lose," I said. "Be careful. If you need anything, let me know."

"I will," Mom promised. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"I hope not," I said. "Anyway, thank you for dinner. I'll be in touch. Love you."

"I love you too, Son," she replied, kissing me on the cheek. "And please... I know you hate her right now, and I understand, but she's close to the end of her rope. Please try to hold your emotions in check. Don't cut what rope she has left to cling to for her sake."

"I'll try, Mom." I sighed heavily, consumed by a dull, general ache.

"That's all I ask. And I promise not to play matchmaker."

"Thank you," I replied, giving her a sideways smile before leaving.

The following two months went by quickly. I got caught up on the projects I wanted done around the house when I wasn't preparing for the incoming class at school. School was scheduled to start at the end of August, and I had promised myself at least a week-long break before classes.

I ate dinner at Mom's place on Fridays. I saw Daisy's chemotherapy's effects, which made her progressively weaker and sicker. I had thought cures were supposed to make you better, but evidently, it wasn't that way with all cancer treatments. By mid-August, she had lost all her hair and wore a stylish bamboo chemo cap.

My feelings for her hadn't changed, but I had learned to be civil around her, which seemed to make her feel better. That was more for Mom's peace of mind than anything else.

Daisy had also begun receiving money that had been garnished from Bruce's paychecks. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Daisy had opened a checking account at a local bank, and Mom ensured the money was deposited. Daisy insisted that Mom keep some of it to help offset the cost of food and electricity. Mom finally relented and held ten percent, which she put into a small box. I felt it was to defray funeral expenses if and when.

On the Friday before the start of school, I drove to Mom's as usual and saw an older, beat-up Toyota sitting by the curb in front of her house. I saw the Wisconsin plates and suddenly had an awful feeling. I parked in the driveway and walked into the house as usual.

Mom was sitting on the couch, and Daisy was in a recliner, covered with a blanket. I heard noises from the kitchen, then saw Mom's phone in her hand and hoped she called 911. Both of them looked frightened, and I realized why when Bruce walked in from the kitchen holding a can of soda and a partially eaten sandwich. Part of my mind, which I had learned to keep on a very short leash, was like a wolfhound with a growl starting deep in the gut.

He was still over six feet tall, but his once commanding presence was gone. He now looked unkempt, his hair uncombed, and his face covered with at least two days' growth of stubble. He was still trim but not as fit as ten years ago. Instead of an expensive suit, he wore dirty jeans and an equally dirty, untucked denim shirt.

"Well, if it isn't the cuck teacher man," Bruce snarled haughtily. My hatred for this man was now reaching critical mass. I had never been in a real fight in my entire life, but I had learned a lot while sparring in my martial arts classes. One of the first things I learned was to avoid a fight if possible; even if you won, the aftermath could haunt you for life.

"What do you want, Bruce?" I asked coldly.

"I want the money this bitch stole from me," he growled.

"Stole? I was under the impression you were under a court order to provide a percentage of your net income for support," I said. My tone was level, but my eyes probably were serpent-like.

"Same difference. They took my money and I'm about to be evicted because I can't pay my fucking rent," Bruce hissed. "Thanks to her."

"You had enough money to drive here from Milwaukee," I reasoned. "You could've used that for your rent."

"Don't give me none of your shit, little teacher man. Maybe I ought to just kick your ass the way I should've done ten years ago. The bitch was the only reason I didn't. She insisted I treat you with respect for taking care of her for me all those years."

"Why don't you just leave now, and we'll forget this ever happened," I said, holding up my hands slowly, hoping to stop a potentially deadly confrontation. It also set me up for a half dozen blocks and a few neat counterpunches, but he probably didn't realize that. "Daisy is sick. She's got cancer and needs all the help she can get."

"Cancer, huh? Is that her latest lie?" Bruce asked. He set the coke and the sandwich down, then reached behind his back. When he brought his hand back, he held a snub-nosed revolver. "Just so happens I have just the cure for that right here," he added, pointing the gun in Daisy's direction.

"Don't do it, Bruce," Mom begged, pointing to where she had set her phone on the side table. The 911 operator had probably been listening to the entire exchange. "Please. I've already called the police, and they're on their way here now. Mike is right. Leave now, and nothing more will be said."

I started moving to get between Bruce and Daisy, but he saw me and quickly turned the gun on me. I could see the desperation in his eyes as he spoke. I forced myself to mentally back down. I hadn't come this far and survived this much to be accidentally shot by a police officer.

"Stay right there, teach. Don't move a fucking muscle," Bruce hissed as his hands began to shake. Just then, we saw flashing red and blue lights through the windows in the front room and heard a voice over a PA system.

"Mr. Williams, this is the police. The house is surrounded. We know you have a gun. Put the gun down and step outside with your hands in the air," the officer ordered.

"You'd better do as they say," I told a wide-eyed Bruce.

"How do they know I have a gun?" Bruce asked.

"I told them. I could see it crammed in the back of your pants," Mom said. "And Mike is right. You'd better do as they say."

"This is your last chance, Mr. Williams. Drop the gun and step out of the house," the officer commanded over the PA system.

Bruce looked around at the three of us, and I could tell he was getting nervous. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I saw his resolve disappear.

"If you were smart, you'd do as they say," I told him. "You won't get a third warning."

I heard the back door open, and suddenly, two officers were in the room, their guns drawn and pointed at Bruce.

"Drop the weapon!" one of the officers ordered.

Bruce turned around, and his eyes widened when he realized he was looking down the business end of two semi-automatic pistols. Foolishly, he lifted his pistol as if to fire at them, but the officers fired first, hitting him in the chest. He spun and fell to the floor but, in the process, jerked the trigger of his revolver, firing a round.

I heard Daisy scream through the ringing in my ears and was horrified at what I saw. The bullet Bruce fired had struck her in the upper chest, close to her right shoulder. By then, two more officers entered the room through the front door, reacting to the gunfire.

Mom threw herself on top of Daisy and pressed the pride-and-joy antimacassar she inherited from her grandmother onto the bullet wound, which seemed to be spouting blood. I had never been in a situation like this, and I froze, not knowing what to do.

One of the officers saw Daisy and called for an ambulance over his radio. The other checked on Mom and took over, applying pressure to the wound as the first two officers knelt by Bruce. I saw one of them shake his head and knew Bruce was dead.

I was shaking. Part of me wanted to shout, "The BASTARD is DEAD," while another part was outraged that it had been too quick and I hadn't been the one to kill him.

Mom tottered over to me, and I grabbed her. She clung to me and was shaking even more than I was. The other two officers were occupied giving first aid to Daisy. I gave my statement to the officer when an ambulance pulled into the driveway. A detective also arrived with a team of crime scene investigators.

As the detective took statements from Mom and me, one paramedic quickly determined that Bruce was dead. As he and an officer placed him in a body bag, two others checked Daisy, put her on a gurney, and wheeled her to the ambulance.

"I'm going with her," Mom insisted. Still, the paramedics informed her there was no room in the ambulance and suggested she follow them.

"You can ride with me," I told her. The detective informed us the house was now a crime scene, so we would have to leave while they did their work. He promised to lock the house before he left and said they may need to talk to us later.

"Here's the name and number of a good cleaning service," the detective said, handing Mom a business card. She accepted it absently, and we got in my car.

My mind was reeling as we headed for the hospital. I wanted to deal with Bruce myself and was glad the asshole was dead, even if it wasn't at my hand. Strangely, though, I felt terrible that Daisy had been injured and hoped she would be all right. My emotions were jumbled, to say the least.

We got to the hospital and went into the Emergency Room, where we were informed that Daisy was being taken for surgery. After an argument over the definition of 'next of kin' and Mom producing Daisy's Medicaid paperwork and the form naming Mom as Daisy's medical proxy, the nurse at the desk took us to the waiting area, where we sat for hours.

Finally, the doors opened, and a doctor approached us.

"Mrs. Carpenter?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me," Mom said. "How is Daisy?"

"Ms. Williams is stable and recovering. I think she'll survive the gunshot wound. The bullet went through her, and it didn't hit anything vital. She got lucky," the doctor said. "Another inch or two to the left, and she wouldn't have made it."

"Oh, thank God," Mom sighed.

"She did lose a lot of blood, and her weakened state from the cancer and the chemo is not in her favor. We did find something else, however, and we contacted her oncologist," the doctor added.

"Oh? What?" Mom asked.

"I know she's undergoing chemotherapy, but we found what looks like traces of infection in her system. I've ordered a battery of tests just in case."

"Oh no," Mom gasped. "Will she be okay?"

"It's a little early to say. We've got her under sedation at the moment. We'll keep her here for at least three days."

"Can we see her?" Mom asked.

"I don't think so. Not until tomorrow morning at the earliest. Let me give you a card. You can call this number any time to check on her progress and find out what room she'll be in," he said, handing Mom a card.

We left the hospital and drove back to Mom's place. We were both silent the whole trip, but Mom cried most of the way. I was lost in my own thoughts. I remembered telling Daisy how I had fantasized about killing her and Bruce. Now, she was in the hospital, fighting for her life.

Surprisingly, I felt marginally conflicted about that and did my best to avoid thinking about it.

When we returned to her place, I saw the 'Crime Scene' tape torn down and trailing out of the garbage can at the side of the house. There was a note on the door from the detective that the crime scene had been released and that he had locked it and given the key to the neighbor. Mom immediately began cleaning up.

I saw the remains of the chair Daisy was in when she was shot and carried it to the car so I could take it to the dump. Mom was on her hands and knees, cleaning the blood off the floor when I returned. Her tears dripping on the floor watered it almost as much as her scrub bucket.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked after standing silently for a while.

"Thanks for asking, but no," she said, not looking up. "I've cleaned up a lot worse than this before."

"Would you like to stay at my place tonight?" I asked. I knew Mom was tough, but everyone has their limits.

"That won't be necessary," Mom replied, wiping her forehead with her forearm. "I'll be okay. Besides, I'll need to be here in case the hospital calls."

I thought about it and shook my head. "In that case, I'll stay here."

She looked up at me. Her words were, "You don't have to, Mike," but her expression was gratitude.

"I know. But I'm doing it anyway. And if you are determined to clean that yourself, I will make myself useful and rustle up something to eat before we head to bed." I summoned up a small, crooked smile. "I hope wine goes with bacon and eggs. I think we both could use a glass before trying to sleep after a day like today."

She looked at me, shook her head, and chuckled. "We'll have to see." But I noticed she scrubbed more heartily when she returned to her cleaning.

I had been worried about nightmares, but that glass of wine, or emotional exhaustion, made us sleep like hibernating bears. We puttered around the house in the morning, saying little until the phone rang around 10:00. I went into the kitchen to avoid eavesdropping. After five minutes she joined me and said, "Daisy is still in serious condition but stable. She is getting a lot of tests but should be back in her room by mid-afternoon."

I nodded my head absently, trying to figure out if I was feeling anything, but other than numb and confused, I couldn't pick up on anything.

"Would you mind driving me over?" she asked, breaking me out of my introspection.

"No problem," I told her. "What time?"

"Could we be there at 2:30?"

"Sure. I'll get you there," I told her. I left a little early to drop the old recliner at the dump, ran some errands, and then went back to pick Mom up at her house. From there, we went to the hospital and got directions to Daisy's room.

We stopped at the hospital gift shop and bought a card, a vase of white carnations, which I knew were Daisy's favorites, and an Agatha Christie novel - the same one she was reading before she left me to be with Bruce. Mom looked at me funny as I paid for everything.