To Be Loved

Miranda Clarksdale stared at the cold, sterile wall directly in front of her and considered numbly that she was completely alone. That the drunk driver had twisted more than her car, destroyed more with one stupid inconsequential act than he would ever know. 

“Ma’m?”

A woman was crouched in front of her wearing Snoopy scrubs with Charlie Brown flying a red kite with a small yellow bird hanging on as it was tossed wildly. 

That’s me, she thought. 

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” The nurse reached for her knee but pulled back when she flinched away.

“I…,” she choked on the words, “I…”

Loud wailing pierced the hallway and, detached, she wondered why someone didn’t help that person. They needed help. It wasn’t until a doctor with his white jacket flapping around him, ran towards her and a stick of a needle later, that she realized it was her. Within seconds, everything calmed liked the aftermath of a violent storm before she drifted into darkness.

Six Months Later

She stacked the last moving box on top of a tower of boxes marked ‘kitchen’ and took a deep breath, looking around. Her new apartment  was small but had a bay window overlooking a courtyard overflowing with climbing clematis and ivy, fuschias, and crocosmia. With little effort, she pictured herself sitting in that window, reading her favorite book and drinking a hot cup of bergamot tea.

The bay window vied for attention with the turquoise kitchen cabinets. Those two features combined had sealed the deal on renting this particular apartment in New Orleans, or NOLA, as it was called by her real estate agent. The windows throughout the apartment were floor to ceiling, flooding the area with light and life. Off the bedroom was a balcony overlooking a narrow, cobblestoned alley below. 

The apartment had been updated with a modern kitchen and bathroom but some of the native features remained. While the windows were newer for energy saving benefits, the apartment had a front door and french doors leading from the living room to the courtyard with batten shutters that were original to the home, lending it a romantic, old world feel.  

As beautiful as the place was, she tried to keep the emptiness of it from swallowing her. It was just her in this space, and the thought made her cold. She wasn’t going to trip over someone else’s shoes that were lying in the middle of the front entrance or pick up clothes that were tossed haphazardly around the place like a mini tornado had touched down long enough to toss the clothes in every possible direction. 

She let herself feel the ache that ran deep and burrowed into her bones, exhausting her. Light was beginning to fade and shadows lengthen as she laid on her new, smooth gray couch that faced the courtyard. Sleep. Sleep is what she needed right now. It was her only escape because she refused to drink or take pills to kill the pain. She wouldn’t do that to Michael’s memory. Her body sank into the soft cushions, and she imagined it a raft floating in the calmest waters, carrying her away from the world with its sharp edges. She felt herself drifting away and, before she surrendered fully, the melancholy sound of piano music filtered through the ceiling and rested on her weary body, causing the tears to fall and ushering her into a deep sleep.

She was seventeen (almost eighteen she liked to tell anyone who would listen) and her brother, Michael, twelve the day their parents were killed in a botched robbery when they stopped for gas on their way back from ‘date night’. Miranda would roll her eyes and stomp around when she had to stay home one Friday night a month to watch her baby brother while her parents went on a date. It was silly really. She didn’t mind at all and her parents knew that, but she felt she needed to throw in some angry teenager moments for balance. 

“We’ll be back - “

“Before midnight,” she interrupted her mom, rolling her eyes and making a shooing gesture with her hand, “I got it, I got it, just go already so I can sneak my much older boyfriend in. He’s getting cold hiding outside in the bushes.”

Now it was her mom’s turn to roll her eyes before she grabbed Miranda’s face in both hands and squeezed, “Crazy girl. I love you.” She kissed her cheek and squeezed once more before standing tall and running her hands down her black dress. Miranda’s throat felt tight as she realized how beautiful her mom was with her long, auburn hair in an elegant updo and her pale skin gleaming. The pearls around her mother’s neck were warm, a gift from her husband the Christmas Miranda was born. 

Her brother yelled from the kitchen, “Crazy girl, did you order enough pizza for your boyfriend to eat too? Because I’m starving, and I’m not sharing!”

“Shut it, monster!” Miranda yelled back. 

Her mom and dad just laughed, used to their bickering, as they headed out the door to their car parked on the street. Miranda held the door and watched them walk away. She never doubted the love her parents had for one another and knew she would not be able to accept less than that in a boyfriend. Which is probably why she had never dated. What was the point when teenage boys were so immature? 

She fell asleep on the couch around ten that night and was startled awake by a knock at the door. She got up slowly and glanced at the clock, noting it was three in the morning. She was startled and fear made her hands go cold and her body to shake as she looked out the side window and spotted two police officers with grim faces waiting outside.

That was the worst day of her life but the days following weren’t much better as she fought for her and her brother not to go into foster care. Her parents were both only children and Miranda’s grandparents were all deceased by the time she was fifteen. There were no aunts, uncles or cousins to take them in and Miranda fought, and won, to keep Michael given her eighteenth birthday was only three months away. 

And in the span of mere days, her life revolved around him. They fought to be sure, with Miranda stepping in as pseudo-parent, but mostly they clung to each other. They were all they had left in the world and they both realized it. Arguments happened but tearful apologies were quick and heartfelt. Michael had nightmares and would end up crawling into bed with Miranda until they just decided to move into their parents' room with the king bed and slept side-by-side until Michael was fifteen. 

They were inseparable and Miranda willingly put her life on hold, only occasionally feeling a pang when she thought of her dreams of college and romance. She was mature enough to know what was really important. 

He was her life and a drunk driver had taken him away from her on his eighteenth birthday. Michael was driving because he knew she hated driving on snow covered roads. They were stopped at a stoplight on their way to his birthday dinner celebration. He was regaling her with a story of how his best friend, Percy, had accidentally spilled his coffee on a girl at Starbucks but had managed to charm her into a date. The light changed as he was chuckling, eyes shining, and he let off the brake and pulled forward. Miranda was thankful to have that last image of him. 

In seconds they were flipping over and over. Miranda still felt like she was stuck in that loop. Every time she woke up. She had come to first and everything was roaring. She could hear faint sounds of people yelling and the sound of sirens but there was blood everywhere and Michael…

When emergency workers arrived, she refused to be touched until they took care of him. She must have looked a sight because they kept reaching for her, but she kept smacking their hands away. They allowed her to get into the ambulance with him only because she refused anything else and gave them no other choice. She continued to resist treatment even after they got to the hospital refusing to allow any focus to be on her instead of Michael. But even then, she had known. There was a deep emptiness in her that told her he was gone. 

She had broken and bruised bones, but Michael had taken the brunt of the impact. 

The drunk driver had lived, of course, with very little damage to his body. He was convicted of vehicular manslaughter, and his insurance would pay out enough to where Miranda didn’t have to work for awhile...if ever.  She didn’t want it. They had more than enough money from their parents’ life insurance. She just wanted them all back. 

It had taken two months of wandering through their large, empty home to decide she had to leave. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was lost in a sea of memories and heartache, a ghost of herself, barely living. She didn’t have any family or close friends. No ties to keep her in Indiana. Decision made, she began to think of where she wanted to go as she began packing up the house, sorting through memories and items that belonged to those she loved. 

She chose New Orleans with very little reason other than she had always wanted to go. She found a real estate agent who wanted her to buy a house but was still accommodating her on the request for an apartment, who sent her property details and photos for her to choose from. Once she had narrowed it down to three places, she had flown down to see make a final decision. This place had called to her like a lost friend and that was enough for her. It was what she needed right now. And now she was here. A fresh place, a new beginning. 

Miranda slammed the skillet on the stove. It was the fifth night in a row her upstairs neighbor was playing that heart-rending piano music. Each note unpacked her sorrow and laid it bare in front of her to pick through along with the bittersweet memories of each person lost. The first couple of nights it was very therapeutic, allowing her to cry herself to sleep after wading through memories, consisting mostly of Michael because those were still so fresh. The third and fourth nights of crying herself to sleep weren’t as peaceful, and she woke up cranky and emotionally hungover. Now, like clockwork, it was seven at night and those minor chords were pecking at her heart and making her bleed again. 

That’s it, she thought. Throwing down the dish towel, she was outside and going up the stairs to the second floor before she realized it. She didn’t know what apartment they were in, but she didn’t need to. She followed the music, and she stopped in front of a door similar to hers. Tears were running down her face as she banged loudly on the door and waited as the music stopped abruptly, giving her a moment of relief. 

She heard the lock on the door turn before the door opened. Not knowing what to expect, she was startled to discover a man close to her own age with hair of dark black silk and eyes of moss green. His face was broad and angular, with shadows under his eyes and on his chin. He was wearing athletic shorts and no shirt, his body like a work of art, but it was his eyes that captivated her. She could see the pain in them, felt the instant kinship, but that didn’t stop her from begging.

“Please. Please stop.”

He stared at her without speaking, eyes taking in her tears and the lines on her face, and nodded once before shutting the door softly.

Miranda turned and moved like a ghost through the hallway and down the stairs to her apartment where she closed the door, laid on the couch and fell into a dream filled sleep.

It was going on two weeks without hearing the piano music when she decided she missed it. Of course it wasn’t rational, she thought, but after it had pushed her into the deepest part of her grief, she felt like she was able to move forward now. It was like it had soaked into her, saturated her, wrung her from the inside out, then left her to dry out.  She was able to function now, and spent most of her time getting her new place unpacked and arranged the way she liked it. It was the end of her second week there before she took a break, grabbed her worn copy of Little Women and a steaming cup of tea and settled in the bay window overlooking the courtyard to read. 

She was well into Jo’s world before she noticed someone moving in the courtyard out of the corner of her eye. Her breath caught when she recognized her upstairs neighbor watering the flowers near a beautiful stone bench. He worked his way meticulously around it, making sure to saturate the soil. She didn’t know how long she had watched him work before she realized he was staring at her. She startled, having been lulled by watching him work, and stared back for a minute before waving tentatively. He nodded back and then motioned for her to come outside. 

She hesitated. She didn’t know this man but couldn’t deny she felt a kinship with him after listening to his music for days. She set aside her book and tea and made her way out the french doors into the courtyard. She had been out there only once when the realtor had showed her the place but had instantly loved it. She brushed her hand over the ocean blue clematis before making her way over to stand in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out as soon as he opened his mouth to speak.

His blank look turned amused at her outburst.

 “Sorry?” he asked, “For what?”

His voice was deep and smooth and held a lazy drawl that she loved instantly.

“For staring,” she said, “but also for the other day. Asking you to stop playing.”

He was quiet for a moment before he nodded and said, “Okay.”

“I loved it,” she blurted again, startling a bark of laughter out of him, causing her to blush and stammer, “not, not the staring! I mean you’re very attractive, but that’s not what I...I meant. The music! You play piano.”

She smacked her forehead and could feel her face burning in embarrassment.  He laughed again, and she rolled her eyes before dropping the hand that covered her face. 

“I’m Lucian,” he said, smiling wide as he held his hand out.

She put her small hand into his much larger one and smiled back before saying simply, “Miranda.”

It took a minute before she realized she was still holding his hand long after they had finished shaking. She dropped it quickly and stepped back. 

“I wanted to apologize to you as well,” he said, “I’m not used to someone living below me and the other neighbors are older and harder of hearing. You seemed really upset, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It wasn’t because of you,” she rushed to assure him. “I lost someone recently...such a stupid thing to say,” she said, “I didn’t lose him. He was taken from me.” 

She rubbed her fist over her heart and tried to stop the tears clouding her vision from falling. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop them once they started. 

“Tell me about it,” he asked quietly before motioning to the bench. 

She hesitated for only a moment before sitting down on the sun-warmed bench and pouring everything out to this stranger. A stranger who didn’t really seem like a stranger at all. He pulled out a white handkerchief when she gave up the fight against the tears and let them fall. This was her first time talking to anyone about Michael, and the thought made her ache because no one else would know him in person ever again.  When she was finished, he pulled her close and hugged her. She was stiff and resistant at first but soon melted against him. She couldn’t remember the last time she was held. 

She learned that he played because he too had lost someone. Five months ago, his eight year old nephew, Carson, lost his fight against leukemia. It had turned him inside out and playing the piano helped him grieve. She told him how his music did the same for her, how it helped her heal a little after pulling out all the despair. 

From that moment on, they gravitated towards each other. She would meet him in the courtyard to talk as he watered the flowers in the balmy afternoons, something she learned he and his nephew used to do together, and then they would end up in one of their apartments for more conversation, dinner and wine. And slowly, Miranda realized she was no longer alone. It seemed natural when her lease was up a year later to move in with Lucian. They were a perfect fit and loved each other very much. It wasn’t a surprise when, a year later, Michael Carson Fontaine was born. As she held him close, she felt the last stitch pull taut, closing the hole in her heart. She realized she would always grieve her family, but this is what they would want for her. To be happy. To be loved.