The Death of Baby Duck

(Trigger Warning: This story discusses mental heath, physical violence, and death.)

Peering into the cardboard box jammed with jeans and shirts, Justin added the brown envelope containing his separation papers and Isabella’s pink, stuffed bunny.

He surveyed the bedroom he shared with his wife, Duval. Twisting his silver wedding ring inscribed with “always loved,” he vowed to wear it and stay faithful to her until the divorce was finalized.

Duval Emerson Carlisle’s monogram was plastered on the pillowcases, the towels, and her slippers. Her BMW, a wedding gift from her parents, sported a vanity plate with her monogram. His brow wrinkled. “She marked her territory without me in it.”At the last minute, he picked up their wedding photo and placed it beside the pink bunny.

The familiar hallway felt cramped as he struggled to leave his home for the last time. Weighty, gray clouds crowded the sky casting the house in a haze of gloom. He leaned his forehead against a closed door midway down the hall; then stumbled and dropped to his knees in a heap of torment and grief. The box hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle.” He repeated his dead daughter’s name over and over as he leaned both hands against the door. “I'm sorry, baby. So sorry.” His body shivered with sobs. After a time, only whimpers and whispers were audible as he pulled himself up. His eyes bleary and swollen with tears, he stepped into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The mirror reflected the ducky shower curtain behind him. All for Isabelle. All for his Baby Duck.

More time passed than he realized as his plans were to leave early that morning. Glancing skyward quickened his efforts to finish loading the truck. He had two guitar cases and seven cardboard boxes containing what was left of his life with Duval and little Isabelle.

Leaving Raleigh for Nashville, Tennessee for country music fame was always their plan, so it seemed only natural to Justin to continue pursuing the dream even if it meant going without his wife. He swallowed hard. His soon-to-be ex-wife.

Their last argument was the breaking point. The event horizon of a black hole. A knock down, drag out scream fest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she fumed, whenever he pressed her to go to marriage counseling. Her face and tone were menacing as she continued. “It kills me to even see you. All I can see is Isabelle’s face that morning.” Her jaw line protruded and she was grinding her teeth as she spit out her vile hatred.

Throwing up his hands, Justin yelled, “You stink of Hayes Harrison.” It was an acrid accusation and one he wished he could take back, but they both knew it was true.

“We’re just friends now and I hadn’t seen him until a few months ago. How many times do I have to tell you that.” Her voice shrilled, “After we decided to divorce.” She slapped her hands together to close that fact.

He pointed his finger. “You..YOU...decided to divorce and you never stopped seeing him, Duval,” he growled at her. “It’s like he lives in this house. There’s been three people in our marriage for so long.” He sighed and placed his hand on his chest. “He’s always been in your head and I know it.”

Justin turned away to collect his thoughts for just a few seconds and then faced her with a defeated tone. “Admit it. You loved us both. You kept seeing him the whole time we were dating. I’m the one who got you pregnant with Isabelle. So, I’m the one you married.”

He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest as her face turned red. His words poured salt into a raw, festering wound and she exploded. “And you killed Izzy,” she screamed. “You killed her. You killed my Isabelle!”

Duval eyes were crazed and drool was dripping from her mouth as she continued to scream incoherently. She was in a full blown maniacal meltdown, stomping her feet and pointing at him like she was aiming a gun.

He began to shout over her screaming. “It was an accident. I loved her.” She jumped from the sofa and began to beat him with her fists. He cried in anguish. “She was my baby too,” as he curled into a ball. And then quietly, almost in a whisper, he added, “she was my baby. She was my baby too. It was SIDS. Not me.”

“Who put the blanket over her chest, you piece of crap.” She slapped him and screamed again. “I hate you!”

“I didn’t wrap her up, Duval! I don’t know…I don’t know what happened.”

That argument was a couple of months ago yet it felt like a year to him. Now, he was leaving North Carolina behind. Although he told himself not to look back, he glanced in the rear view mirror at the plaque given to the “happy couple” at one of their wedding showers. It hung beside the front door of the house, also a wedding gift from her parents.

Carlisle House

Established 2014

Unbridled fury shot through him as he bolted from the truck and yanked the plaque off the wall. Before he reached the tailgate, he turned and hurled it at the glass door, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. Lightning lit up the sky followed by a crack of thunder. Minutes passed as he stared at the door. Rain drizzled down his face, making his tears indistinguishable in the storm.

After climbing into the truck cab, he put on a dry shirt, ran his hands through his hair, and pulled out of the driveway. By the time he reached Black Mountain, his mood was somewhat lighter. Perhaps leaving his wrecked life behind him would be therapeutic. The Blue Ridge mountains were mesmerizing and he spent the night at Lake Junaluska. With the cool breeze drifting through the open window, he slept soundly for the first time in months.

Crossing the state line into Tennessee the next day, he touched Isabelle’s picture taped to the dashboard. “I love you,” he whispered.