Dropped

Warning: this story deals with death and grieving

The end began at the Fraud Detection Trade Show, in Vegas. I was doing my thing, standing at DetectCo’s booth, showing off Fraud Saavy’s almost limitless capabilities. Our software was intended for banks and online businesses whose assets were constantly being targeted by fraud actors who were attempting to bilk them out of millions of dollars. This was where the fraud detection software came in. It flags unusual activity, both internal and external, and alerts the company’s security departments in order to mitigate potential losses. DetectCo made $150 million in sales last year and, this year, with fraud on the rise, we’re on track to make even more. I was the best salesperson in my department and this Vegas trip was intended to put me in the running for the much-coveted Sales Director position.

I was in the midst of my standard, over-the-top sales spiel to a balding rep from a Midwest credit union, when my phone started to vibrate. I muted the vibration without looking at the phone and without missing a beat from my outlandish pitch. “Imagine the audacity of these bad actors trying to bamboozle your shareholders out of millions—”

The phone started to vibrate again. Annoyed, I looked at the phone and saw that Brooklyn was calling. It must have been important since she knew I was at the trade show. I excused myself and answered the phone. “Hey, Brook, I’m kinda busy right—”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Sweetie,” she said. She sounded like she was in her car.

“Are you driving right now?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m on the 401 and it’s raining buckets but I had to call because I have to get something off my chest. I love you so much and I can’t keep the truth from you anymore…”

“Yeah, sure, baby. What’s up?” I replied but the call dropped before she could say more. “Baby? Baby?” I tried to call and text her, repeatedly, but there was no response. I went back to my sales presentation and finished my first day, all the while worrying about my fiancé who didn’t call back.

By the end of the day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told Theo and Abby, from my sales team, that they’d have to finish off the next few days without me. It sucks that I wouldn’t be directly involved in the next days’ presentations but Theo and Abby were good protégés. They knew their stuff and would be able to sell the heck out Fraud Saavy. As for me, I took a late-night flight back to Toronto.

During the flight, I realized that I didn’t have any of Brooklyn’s friends’ or family’s contact information. In retrospect, it seemed odd that she never introduced me to any of her friends or family. Since I met her, six months ago, Brook’s always been a bit of a loner and a recluse—which is a bit atypical of a good-looking woman like her. She valued her privacy and alone time, so I respected that. For me, what counted was that she gave me 100% of her attention when I was around, she supported my hectic work lifestyle, she liked to do fun activities, and she loved to have a lot of sex.

After landing at Pearson International, I took a cab straight to the apartment. It looked exactly the way I’d left it but there was no sign of Brooklyn. Her car keys, clothes, and most of her stuff were all gone. Where the hell did she go?

I tried calling again but her phone just went to voicemail. Exasperated and exhausted, I dropped myself on the couch to think. Maybe I could reach her at work. I did a Google search on my phone and looked up Techtron Ltd. I found it’s location on Dundas West.

Suddenly, the phone rang. The call display said blocked number. I hesitated at first but then I answered the phone.

“Hello, is this Caleb?”

“Yes, this is Caleb,” I replied. “Who are you?”

“This is Constable Sachdeva of the Toronto police. Do you know Brooklyn Garnett?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Uh, yeah, she’s my fiancé. Where is she? What’s going on?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “Would you be able to come down to St Michael’s Hospital to identify a body?”

From that moment on, everything was a blur. I did not perceive myself running out of the apartment, speeding down the highway, parking my car, sprinting down the cold, white corridors, or arriving at the morgue.

The police constable unzipped the body bag, exposing the corpse’s face and naked body which was lying on a mortuary table. Her nose and cheek bones are shattered and there were scars all over her face but it was definitely Brook. It felt like she was going to open her eyes and tell me that this was a joke—but that didn’t happen. The constable quietly left the room to give me some privacy. As I stared at the empty shell that once encased Brook, I heard someone enter the room.

I turned to see a glasses-wearing, bearded man in his 30s. It was as though he didn’t see me; all he saw was Brook’s lifeless body. He rushed past me and started wailing as he laid his head on her chest. He grabbed onto her, like a baby clutching its mother. Who the hell was this guy? Clearly, he was close to Brook.

I watched this man for a few moments. Once he composed himself, he looked at me; his eyes were red and his body was still trembling. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m her fiancé,” I replied.

He stopped trembling and he stared me down with a stern, don’t-fuck-with-me look. He turned to look at the corpse again. “I’m James, her husband” he said.

His words skewered me in chest. Brook was very secretive about her past and a bit of a recluse. I’d met some of her work friends, but none of her close family or friends. I was bombarded with an onslaught of emotions—shock, heartbreak, sadness, confusion, embarrassment, jealously, and anger. All of it was focused on Brook, who’d been lying to me since the day that we met. My head started to spin and I was beginning to feel nauseous. I ran out of the room and into the corridor. I saw a janitor supplies cart so I run to it and vomited into the garbage bag.

The next few days were hell. I told my boss that I needed time off. Not only was I dealing with the fact that my fiancé just died in a car accident, I discovered that she was already married to James Cohen, a lawyer no less. She’d been cheating on him for at least six months—for all I knew, it could have been longer.

The day after our surprise meeting at the morgue, James found my phone number and called me to tell me that he was taking care of the funeral arrangements but that I shouldn’t show up—it would be inappropriate. At first, I agreed because, all of a sudden, it felt like I didn’t know the woman that I was supposedly engaged to marry.

I spent the next few hours, browsing through pictures of Brook and me; posing at the Eiffel Tower; or on a camel in the desert; and a video of us parachuting over the Hawaiian Islands. We did everything together but now she was dead. Before long, I was knocking back bottles of Jack’s, Jim Beam, and Captain Morgan’s. I wanted to numb the pain but it only got worse. For the whole six days, before the funeral, I was drinking day and night. I was falling asleep on the couch or the floor but never in my bedroom. I wasn’t ready to be in that bedroom—it just wasn’t the same without her.

           On the morning of Brook’s funeral, I woke up in a drunken stupor. I decided that, whatever had transpired over the past six months, Brook and I had loved each other and had lived a great life together—even though it was short-lived. I had one beer and a cigarette before jumping in the shower and clumsily throwing on my best (and only) black suit. I irresponsibly drove, haphazardly to the funeral home—I almost go into two accidents along the way. I went inside and found the Brooklyn Garnett reception room. I walked inside the reception room and saw that there were around a hundred guests. I recognized a couple of Brook’s work colleagues but everyone else was a stranger. James stood, dutifully next to the coffin, alongside an elderly man and woman—presumably Brooklyn’s parents. There were two women in their twenties and a teenaged boy standing next to them—maybe Brook’s siblings.

As I crept in the back, James saw me. Immediately he strode towards me. “I told you that you’re not welcome here,” he shouted. All the mourners turned to look at us.

           “I need to see her one last time,” I replied. “I think it’s what she would have wanted.”

           It looked like an artery had burst inside James’ head. He was furious. “After what she put me through, you think I give a fuck about what she wanted?”

           A tall, grim-looking man in a suit, presumably the funeral director, approached us. “Gentleman, please,” he said. “Now is not the time for personal squabbles. Let’s not disturb the recently departed.”

           “Why?” James asked. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere.” A few of the guests also attempted to intervene but James simply ignored them. “Everyone expects me to say kind, soothing, and appropriate things about Brooklyn but that’s horseshit! She was cheating on me for months, with this clown!”

           There were several gasps from the mourners. Several of whom shake their heads in disappointment. I was stunned by James’ unrestrained outburst as this was not really what I was expecting at Brooklyn’s funeral. “Can we step outside for a second?” I asked. James took me by the arm and led me out of the reception room and into the corridor.

           “You’re drunk,” he said.

“How can you tell?” I asked while balancing myself on a nearby pillar.

“You smell like you’ve been swimming in Jack’s” he said. “I get it, though. I’d be drinking too but I quit drinking two years ago. I mean, it fucked up. Brook lied to both of us. She even pretended to be engaged with you.”

           I shake my head. “No, she loved me. I think she was trying to tell me the truth about you. Right before she got into the accident.”

           “Come on, man,” James said. “Brook had months to tell you about me but she didn’t.”

           I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Do you have kids?” I asked.

           “No, we tried for years but nothing came of it. That’s probably how we ended up here.”  

           “Oh, finally something that she was honest about,” I admitted. “Right from the beginning, she told me that she couldn’t have children.” I took out my whiskey-filled flash and had swig.

I passed the flask to James. He stared at it for a moment and then he accepted it.

           We were sitting out there for nearly an hour, completely ignoring the funeral that was taking place. After the funeral, James confiscated my keys and made sure that I had an Uber drive me home—alive.

           So, the end, for me, was the end of being lied to and living a fake life. A few weeks later, I went back to work, and I eventually got that Sales Director position. All of Brook’s remaining possessions were either given away to charity or thrown out—I kept the engagement ring, just in case I ever decided to give that a go with someone else.

           Even though we met under the most unpleasant circumstances, James and I became good friends. Apparently, we had more in common than having both been lied to by Brooklyn.