When the Rain Breaks

No one speaks for a few moments after the minister finishes his prayer. I’m not about to be the one to break silence. The thunder does it for us, lightning flashing through the air a few moments before. Then a low murmuring breaks through the crowd, each family slowly making their way back home.

“Come on, Clary,” mom’s voice breaks through the fog in my head. “We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

Forcing my legs to move, I stand up. Well, at least we don’t have to do this again.

A slow drizzle begins to fall, the drops pattering against the brim of my hat and soaking the ends of my dress. The water streaks down the old gravestones, a bleak reminder of all that happened.

“Such a shame,” one of the ladies, I think Aunt Lucy’s friend, mutters. “He was just getting promoted at work, and his oldest is getting married next week.”

A shiver crawls up my spine, but I tell myself it’s just the chill in the air, not the weight of her words. Very few saw him for who he was.

I trail behind mom, boots sinking slightly into the soft ground. My dress is ruined, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’ve never liked this dress anyways. Reminded me too much of times I’ve already forgotten.

Entering the church’s reception hall, everything seems to assault my sense all at once. It’s too bright. Too warm. Too alive. The air reeks of a mixture of burned pastries and old coffee. A slideshow plays on the wall, photos of his life. When he was a boy. When he proposed and got married. When he held me for the first time as a father.

“He was a drunk, is what he was.” Mark, one of his coworkers whispered, “and everyone knew it too. Almost got arrested last week for…” his eyes meet mine, regret filling his face almost instantaneously.

It takes everything in me not to smirk. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Good to see you, Mark.” I whisper, not wanting Mom to hear. “Wasn’t sure you’d come, with the whole fraud incident last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Clarissa.” He takes my hand. The urge to recoil fills me, but I don’t. I pull my hand away the moment it’s polite to do so.

Turning around, I focus on the slideshow again. Now it’s the picture from my graduation. It took me almost an hour to cover up my black eye. It was a difficult task, but I managed. I always do.

My mind zones out as the pictures flash by.

With my 4.00 GPA and 1575 SAT score, getting into Harvard was easy. Going was a little more difficult. Staying at Harvard proved to be the hardest.

The calls. The guilt trips. It just became too much.

But this time when I came back for spring break, I found…

Emma shakes my shoulders, concern lining her features. “Clary, it’s time for dinner.”

Nodding slightly, I turn to the table, getting my plate. Emma’s eyes fill with understanding, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of us. She got it, more than anyone else possibly could.

I start piling mashed potatoes on my plate, “How’s wedding planning going?” Keeping my eyes down, I sniff at the casserole. To say it looks like someone threw up in the pan is generous.

“We finally found a decent caterer.” Emma smiles slightly. “It took some persuading, but Sean managed to convince them to give us the firefighter’s discount.”

“It’s ridiculous of them to say no. Just because he hasn’t graduated from the academy yet doesn’t mean he isn’t a firefighter. He’s been volunteering at the fire station his whole life.”

“That’s what we finally got through those idiot’s heads.” She chuckles, tucking a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. “Sean said if they didn’t agree then we could just elope.”

I raise a brow. “It doesn’t seem like an entirely bad idea. Then you’d finally have someone to look out for you.”

Emma snorts. “Please. I’m the one who kills all the spiders in our relationship if you know what I mean. Besides, I told him it’s just one more week.”

I smile, real and small. It’s the first time all day it doesn’t feel forced.

“What?” Her voice fills the air. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m just glad you’re not letting all this ruin your happy ending.” The words come out forced. I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t.

Emma doesn’t press. She never will.

Nudging my shoulder, she changes the subject. “The potatoes are over-salted, by the way. Aunt Lucy’s revenge for not letting her bring her weird gluten-free quiche.”

I let out a small laugh, careful not to let those around us hear. “That woman is such a menace.”

We eat in silence for a while. Several people approach us, offering their condolences. Their words are filled with his praises. How much he loved us. How devastated we must be.

They say it like he was a saint.

Then there were the others who just looked at us with that ridiculous pity and walked by. To be honest, I think I prefer them more. Honesty is the best policy. And right now, honesty will only end the day in disaster.

The food slowly turns to sawdust in my mouth. I keep chewing mechanically, watching those around us. People start filing out one by one, the room slowly emptying. The room is oddly louder now.

Glancing around the room, I take note of everyone still here. Mom’s talking to Aunt Lucy. Jamie’s picking at his plate, eyes glued to the slideshow.

He is literally the only reason I would come back.

He started on me after Emma left. He was clever about it too. With her times at the hospital, Mom never noticed. She was always too tired to care. At least, that’s what I always told myself.

Dad need a target. And I was too loyal. Too stupid. Too blasting young. I stayed, enduring day after day. Someone had to protect Jamie.

But then I came home during spring break. And Jamie came down to breakfast with a bruise blooming under one eye and a split lip he swore was “from soccer.”

Mom laughed it off, saying he’s lucky it wasn’t worse.

Jamie doesn’t even play soccer. He was eight. He loved art.

I looked at Dad, and he didn’t even flinch. Didn’t offer an excuse. He glared at me, daring me to do something.

So, I did.

Breathing becomes difficult for me, my lungs screaming for air. I hadn’t even realized I had been holding my breath. Emma left the table, talking to Sean in the corner.

I have to get out. Somewhere quieter.

With no eyes on me, I sneak my way out of the hall and back into the graveyard.

Fresh dirt, or should I say mud, fills the spot where we were not even a few hours ago. A few flowers rest near the stone.

Ironically enough, they’re already wilting.

I crouch, knees sinking into the wet grass. My hands stay in my coat pockets for a moment before my fingers start tracing the words etched into the stone.

Heyward Mitch Grayson

1987-2025

Loving husband, father, and brother.

Until we meet again.

They said it was a heart attack. That no one saw it coming.

Technically, they’re right about both.

No one saw it coming.

Because I was careful. I had done all the research I needed. Spent weeks studying medical journals and old toxicology reports. I had resorted to bribery for that part, but hey, I got what I wanted.

It took me almost six months before I found what I was looking for. Something that metabolized too quickly to trace, that wouldn’t even show up on a tox screen.

So, it was a heart attack.

A few drops in his morning coffee, and it was done.

It wasn’t dramatic or messy.

He was driving to work when it hit him. His heart just stopped.

Mom said it was stress, bad genetics, years of drinking. No one questioned it. Why would they?

People like him don’t die from their mistakes. They die because ‘that’s just life’.

The wind shift, a golden ray of sunlight filling the air. The chill slowly dissipates, clouds shifting out of the way.

Crunching the mud in my hand, I picture him standing right there.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.” I whisper. “And I warned you what would happen…”

A hand touches my shoulder, and I look up.

Mom’s warm eyes meet mine. She holds my gaze. I get on my feet immediately. “Mom, I was just…”

“I know.”

My heart stops. I’m going to jail. Stars know, I deserve it, but still, it doesn’t seem appealing right now.

Training my eyes on the grass, I do all I can to steady my breath. Her fingers reach under my chin, lifting my eyes to hers.

“You did what I never had the courage to even try.” She whispers. “I didn’t know how to stop him without ruining everything we spent years to built. I was stuck, but now, because of you, I’m free.”

I stare at her. Then the ground. Then her once again.

But she doesn’t say anything.

And for some reason, that’s enough.

I take a step forward, and then another.

When the rain finally breaks, I step into the sunlight.

Finally free.