What She Left Us (2 page)

Alone.

Her
breath caught in her throat when she saw the return address from the autopsy examiner.
She hadn’t realized that autopsy results were simply mailed to the homes of the
bereaved. Such a sad and gruesome thought. Your loved one is dead. Here’s a
letter stating what killed your loved one. But really, what should she have
expected? A phone call? An email? An invitation to dinner to share the grim
details?

With
shaking hands, she slipped her finger through the flap of the envelope and
lifted the papers. Her eyes scanned the pages until she found what she was
looking for.

Official
cause of death:
Congestive heart failure.

Unfamiliar
words and phrases sprang from the page and Jenna's eyes blurred through tears.
Hemochromatosis, genetic iron poisoning,
mutations, C282Y
and H63D, 18 times as much iron as normal in system.

And
then:
Hereditary.

Hereditary?

The
last part of the report is what shocked Jenna the most:

Hemochromatosis
is hereditary and life-threatening. It is strongly recommended that siblings and
children of the deceased be tested immediately.

Courtney
heard a door slam and then, “Well, you’re a fucking bitch!” Then the rough edgy
sounds of some metal band she couldn’t name shook the floor. She expected a
freshman girl to knock on her door in five, four, three, two…

“Courtney!
Bren took my makeup without asking, and she’s also wearing my skinny jeans!”

Courtney
opened her door slowly, after taking three long, deep breaths, a tactic the RAs
learned in training over the summer. Angie, a bright but indignant freshman
stood there, hands on her hips.

“Look
Angie, I’m not here to be your mother.” Courtney ran her fingers through her
chin-length bob, and sighed.

“You
guys have to figure this out for yourselves. I’m here to make sure you stick to
the rules, and that you’re safe, okay? Go in there and work it out. This is
college, not daycare.”

“Fine.”
Angie scowled, flipped her hair and stormed away.

“And
tell Bren that music needs to be turned way down. It’s after nine!”

“Fine!”

Courtney
didn’t want to be the one in charge. Not at this point in her life. Not now
that her mother was gone. Gone. That sounded so dumb. Dead. That sounded even
worse. But that’s what she was. Dead. Courtney, motherless at the age of
nineteen. She had no one. Well, she had her sister, and while they were close now,
growing up in her shadow had not been an easy thing to do. Everything had come
so easy for Jenna and it seemed Courtney had to work so much harder, and even
then, she never got the attention her sister did.

All
Courtney really wanted was her sister, and she couldn’t even have that, because
she was stuck at school. She wished she could have stayed home for the
semester, been there to help Jenna go through their mom’s things, reminisce a
little, forge a new bond together, maybe grow up a little. Courtney realized
she needed to grow up. She needed something. She had no one. At least Jenna had
Darren.

Courtney
had never even had a real boyfriend who had loved her, not really, and had only
dated casually. No one had ever said anything more serious to her than the
basics to get something from her. Two guys had gotten enough, and she had
regretted that, but what was done was done. She wanted to find that someone who
she could connect with, feel what she was sure Jenna and Darren had. At least
Jenna had that. She had something to hold onto now that her mother was gone. Something
to look forward to, a future. Jenna had that future with Darren.

What
Courtney was dealing with now was a bunch of freshmen idiots who griped to her
all day long. Whose biggest issues were whether someone was burning incense in
the communal microwave or if someone had a guest over and it was disrupting a
roommate. She was sure her students’ biggest issues were sneaking beer into
their rooms, getting laid every weekend, and not getting caught breaking the
rules. The job of Resident Assistant was exhausting to Courtney and she
couldn’t get away from it, especially not on the weekends, when most of the
mayhem occurred. These kids didn’t need her, the university did – so she could
make sure they didn’t burn the place down by burning a bong and passing out.

No,
this was not what she had signed up for when she decided she wanted to go to
college. She had planned on getting into the arts and maybe graphic design. She
thought she might take some design classes and see where it took her. She was
really interested in studying post-modernism and had the desire to take some
intro to art courses. She wanted to spend her free time drawing and learning
some paint techniques, but so far the kids were occupying all of her free time.

She
felt like she might need to call a mandatory dorm floor council meeting. She
had to start instilling the rules around Stanton North 6D or those students of
hers were going to take over, and there’d be nothing left of her. She felt they’d
taken advantage of her already, but if they kept up with their sneaking around,
screaming after hours, beer parties, then there’d really be trouble. She had to
step it up in her role. Her tuition was paid, and the school was counting on
her to be a Resident Assistant.

Yes,
it was definitely time for her to put on her big girl panties and call a
meeting. She needed to show those forty-eight kids who was boss around there.

“Will
you talk to me?”

“Jenna,
it’s you who made the decision, not me. I was always willing to talk to you.
You shut me out.”

His
voice took her breath away. She hadn’t talked to him, heard the sound of him
since three days after the funeral. It had been so long. Months. Forever.

“How
are you?” Jenna asked.

“I’m
fine, but I’m at work on call, and really can’t talk,” Darren sounded bitter.
She didn’t want him to sound this way, annoyed with her. She wanted him to say
he missed her, and that he wanted her back in his life. Back to before.

“I
got the autopsy report.”

 “Really?”
She sensed him soften.

“Can
I come over?” she asked.

“Jen,
I don’t think that’s a good idea. Can’t you talk to me over the phone?”

“Darren,
it’s been five months. I think… I don’t… damn it. I don’t know what I think
anymore. I really need to see you. I’m a mess, and well… Mom died of a
hereditary disease and Court and I might have it.”

She
didn’t want to play that card. But she knew that he would show some compassion
if she did. Jenna knew Darren well enough that if she told him that she might
have the same disease that killed her mother, everything that happened before
would become null and void, and things might change. Even a little bit. Even
though she really wasn’t sure what she was looking for, what she wanted, if she
even wanted him back in her life, if she even deserved to have a sliver of his
compassion.

It
was quiet on his end, so she asked again, "Can I come over?"

She
heard him exhale, and it sounded like frustration, or possibly annoyance.

She
wasn't sure if he was reacting from the news she shared or because of her
request. Then he said, “I can come by tomorrow.”

She
gave him credit. That he didn’t hang up on her – she gave him credit for that.
It also made her incredibly sad that he didn’t come to her immediately with the
news that she could very well have a life-threatening hereditary disease. A
disease she couldn’t even pronounce.

Hemochromatosis.

Jenna
clicked her phone to off and held her left wrist in her right hand. Her ring
finger had been bare for almost five months now, yet it still stunned her every
time she looked at her naked finger. She had considered putting on one of her
mother’s old rings but thought that would seem odd, to wear a cocktail ring on the
finger where her engagement ring should be.

She
rubbed at the place Darren had slipped the diamond on her hand more than a year
ago, and swore it felt numb, like her heart had been since the day she gave it
back. Then she moved her right thumb to her wrist and ran soft circles around the
outlines of her tattoo.

The
tattoo.

It
had actually been her idea. Just like the breakup. Another dumb idea. She was
full of them.

The
two of them had been out to dinner in New Hope, one of the more eclectic
neighborhoods in Philly. It was their one year anniversary, and previously,
they both had agreed to no presents, but of course, Darren arrived at her door
with a rainbow of wildflowers.

During
dinner, and their second bottle of wine, they talked of their future, which was
not uncommon, for it seemed early in their relationship that Jenna’s and
Darren’s connection was something like no other.

“You
know I’m going to marry you,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Jenna
took a sip of chardonnay, looked at him from over the lip of her glass. “What
makes you so sure of yourself?”

“I
just am. I’m sure of it. You’re meant to be mine.”

She
smirked, “Oh, like you’re going to
own
me or something?”

“Or
something,” he grinned at her, and then caught her foot under the table
playfully. She slipped her wedge heel off her foot and rubbed at his ankle with
her toes.

After
dinner, they walked down to the dock by the river, and threw stones past the
boats until their fingers went numb and their noses turned chilled. Darren
shielded her from the cool wind with his six-foot-four frame and his strong
arms. She felt safe with him, no matter where they were, no matter what they
were doing. She knew he would protect her. She wanted him, all of him, always. Just
like he had said he had wanted her.

“So,
you want to own me, right?” she asked, muzzling her face into his warm sweater,
his arms encircling her. Despite being tall herself, Jenna always felt small
when she was with Darren.

“I
want to own you. All of you.”

“You
want to prove it to me?” she looked up into his charcoal gray eyes.

“What
do you have in mind, Ms. Jenna Haddonfield.”

“Tattoos.”

“Tattoos?”

“Yep.
You man enough?”

“You
know it.”

And
just like that, they walked from the river up to the street, past the restaurant,
and along the walkway. They passed an Indian dress shop, antique stores, some
hippie shops where Jenna would have loved to stop in and browse but she knew if
she did Darren might change his mind on the tattoo.

People
cluttered the sidewalk – it was a busy Saturday night – young parents with baby
Bjorns strapped to their chests, granola-types walking their trendy pups, and
all kinds of lovers –young, old, hetero and homosexual – crowded past them.
Still, Jenna focused on the task at hand. She didn’t know why this had popped
into her head, but once she got an idea, she didn’t let go of it easily. She
wasn’t going to let go of this one. She knew exactly what she wanted too.

As
they passed a psychic store front, Darren pulled Jenna away from the crowds,
near a lamp post.

“What?”
she asked, impatiently, pulling her hair away from her face.

He
touched her cheek and kissed her full on the lips. She had to stand on the tips
of her toes to reach, but the soft creamy taste of wine on his lips from
dinner, made her woozy.

“What?”
she asked, softer this time.

“Why
don’t we go see the psychic instead of getting tattoos?” he asked.

“Oh
no you don’t!” Jenna laughed.

He
grinned at her. She knew him too well, already. She knew him so well, and it
had only been a year. She could read him inside and out.

“We
don’t need a psychic. She’s going to tell us that we’re going to get tattoos.
Let’s save the money.” And she kissed him again, longer this time, and the
light from the lamp post caught in her eye and made him look shadowed, surreal,
and she felt she might go blind from looking at him for too long. She closed
her eyes.

“Let’s
go.”

She
chose the tattoos. He let her. They were identical except for the color of
them. A small heart for each of them. Each to match the other, on the insides
of their wrists. Hers on the inside of her left wrist, a warm green color, no
bigger than the size of a nickel. His, on the inside of his right wrist, was
deep blue, also the same size. When they lay together at night, looked into
each other’s eyes, bent their arms at their elbows and put their hands up to
their faces, intertwined their fingers, talked long into the dark about their
future, their tattoo hearts touched.

Blue
sky and grass green. Earth and ocean. The world. He was the world to her. They
were the world together. Connected.

They
were the world to each other.

Courtney
was back in her room, trying to write her soc paper, thinking about how
horribly wrong her ‘mandatory’ dorm floor meeting had gone – only fifteen
students had shown up. Still, she went over the dorm rules, tried to be upbeat
about the events coming up – there was a festival, parent’s weekend (Courtney
was dreading that), and then Battle of the Dorm Floors. No one seemed too
enthused about the information she was sharing. This RA stint wasn’t turning
out to be what she had hoped it would be. Still, she was trying to be positive,
thankful she didn’t have a ton of bills piling up like most college students
her own age.