The Grief Around Us

[Sensitive Content: Grief, Drunk Driving]

The breeze felt nice brushing against Samara's skin.

A shred of warmth was still left in the day as she sat on the pier, the sky decorated with hues of orange and red. Inhaling, she gathered as much of the salty air in her lungs as she could before letting out a long, tired sigh.

Just what she needed after the funeral.

There was a pain in her chest, still. No mistaking it; a gaping hole that even the salty air didn't fill. Her face still stung, hot and flushed from this afternoon's events. For just an instant, her mother's expression flashed across her vision--Samara could feel the heat spread across her face again as a tear escaped down her cheek. Attempting to hide from the open air, she picked her feet up from the edge of the dock and pulled them close to her chest.

What was she going to do now? She didn't have any way to help pay her mom's bills. She didn't have anyone to tell her secrets. She didn't have her mom to ask what to do. God, why did that kid drink? Why was he out that late? What did he do to deserve to live?

A different kind of heat flared in her face, the warmth of the setting sun beginning to aggravate her further. She needed to scream. Badly.

Creaks in the wood behind her signaled someone's presence. She didn't look up. Someone sat down beside her. They were heavier than her, judging by the sound they made on the wood. At the edge of her vision, Samara caught a glimpse of a pair of old red tennis shoes hanging down from the dock. She knew those shoes.

Marcus. Not the worst person in the world, at least.

"I'm fine. You can go back inside." Samara forced out, trying to hide a sniffle.

"Well, I'm not, so let's stay out here for a bit." He replied quietly.

For a little while, they sat together. She managed to pull her head up and watch the sea again, the breeze picking up a little. It did nothing to cool her off.

"He shouldn't be alive." A pit of guilt buried itself in her stomach, but it was easily overlooked by the memory of her mother.

There was a long pause from Marcus. A long sigh. "Yeah."

He took a second to think. "But the only thing that keeps me sane is that I know Kara wouldn't have wanted that."

"You don't know that." Anger flared through Samara. "That asshole shouldn't be able to walk right now. He should have died. Not her. How could you possibly think that's okay?"

He pauses for a moment before responding. "That kid deserves whatever sentence they give him. He should get everything he's signed himself up for. But Samara, we've both known your mom for a while. When did she ever wish death on anyone?"

It felt like a bomb went off in her chest. "You. Can't. Speak. For. Her. You don't even know her like I do." An icy coat of venom seemed to cover each word.

Silence.

Samara started to get louder, "How could you even suggest that some court sentence is enough? How can you sit there and call yourself her husband? He killed her!"

Silence.

She was on her feet now. "You should have been home that night! How can you stay there, all calm!? Do you not even feel anything? Get mad! DO SOMETHING!"

Silence.

"YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE, NOT HER!"

Fury clouded her vision.

She was about to turn and head somewhere else private when she saw the side of Marcus' face. It was wet. His hands were shaking, his form was slouched and trembling. She'd never seen him like this.

Then, Marcus let out a tired, shaky breath.

Damn it. All the anger rushed out, replaced by that cold pit from before. This was the man that picked her up from college to drive her home. Whom she called to prime her mom for bad news. The funny, collected, reasonable force in her and her mom's life. The one who would do anything for the both of them.

Whose calm nature felt like a still ocean of water. A still ocean that she had managed to break for the first time. It was like someone had thrown a cold glass of water at her. This had been her mom's funeral; but for him, it was his wife.

"God, I'm... I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

She sat back down as the breeze picked up, growing colder while the sun began to fall below the horizon. They stared out, Samara trying to figure out what to say. The silence was too loud for her. Giving up, she decided to scoot closer to Marcus, putting her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks for being around, Marcus. She really loved you," She hesitated, then added, "and thank you for everything you've done for us."

Silence.

Samara patted Marcus on the back. "I don't think she'll ever forget it."

First a sniffle, then soft sobs came from her left.

An hour passed by as the pink hues of the sky turned night-blue, the sun having disappeared completely. The breeze, while cold, was gentle around them.

"I know I should have been there." Marcus sniffled and wiped away a few more tears. "I agree with you. It should be me in that casket, not her--I should be dead."

Samara wanted to claw back what she had said. "No... I was just angry. There was no way to know that would happen. No one should have died." Tears had found their way back onto her face.

It took her a moment to continue. "You think she sees us crying like babies?"

Marcus chuckled a bit, "Yeah. Maybe she's picking out who to haunt." He wiped the side of his face, and a small smile starting to form. "I bet you it'll be her cousin Cory--that guy's an ass." They both chuckled.

After a moment, Samara spoke, "I bet she'll hang with you for a little bit to make sure you're okay."

Marcus put an arm around Samara. The breeze continued, with hints of warmth to comfort them both.