"What happened?" I asked quietly, not even positive I wanted to know the answer, but a large part of me needed to hear the words.
"Honey, we can talk about it later." My mom took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and then shifted her eyes to Mrs. Wallace, raising her eyebrows. It occurred to me she didn't want to talk about it in front of her.
"Lucia, she deserves to know," Mrs. Wallace said through sobs. "I'm okay." She was definitely not okay, but I figured she was as okay as she was going to get that night.
"McKenzie," my father started, his deep voice always soothing, "this is a pretty terrible story, and I don't want you getting upset again. If you need me to stop, let me know."
I nodded, having no other response. There were no appropriate words for this situation.
"Mark and Cory stopped at a convenience store on their way home from the bakery. They were at the counter, trying to buy lottery tickets, when a man entered wearing a hoodie and ski mask."
Just listening to his words made my heart rate speed, thundering through my body, rioting through my veins like stampeding stallions. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on his words and not the way the room felt as though it was getting hotter.
"The man had a gun and demanded the employee behind the counter give him the money from the register. Instead of opening the register and just doing as the man asked, the employee pulled out a shotgun, but before he could shoot him, the robber fired first." My father let out a shaky breath, his voice warbling like I'd never heard in my life. He was a tough guy; only a soft spot for his girls. My mom and I were spoiled by him: loved on, supported, protected. But other than that, he was tough as nails. "The man then turned his gun on Mark, shot him first, then immediately shot Cory after."
Mrs. Wallace broke down, burying her face in her hands. Hayes walked over, knelt next to his mother, and wrapped his arms around her. She melted into him, crying into the space between his shoulder and his neck, her hands grasping at the back of his shirt.
My parents were both crying. My mother cried softly, wiping tears away every few seconds as they rolled down her cheeks. But my father cried silently, holding a tight fist to his mouth. Both were looking at me, watching and waiting for me to crumble.
"So, he just shot them? For nothing?" I asked, confused about every single part of what I'd been told. Confused about why any of this had to happen. Confused about why someone would just randomly shoot a father and son who hadn't done anything to him at all. Confused about why it had to be Cory and his father. And although the confusion was so palpable, so real, it could have had its own seat at the table, it was slowly turning into anger. "Why would someone do that?"
"Sweetheart, we'll probably never really know why," my mother said, reaching out for my hand. I let her take it, but I didn't want to be touched. Anger and fear were coursing through me, making my skin feel as if it were electric. I was practically shaking with energy. "Mark and Cory both died, as well as the employee. The robber took the money from the register and ran. The police are looking for him, but odds are, when they find him, he's not going to tell us why he killed them. I'm sorry." She wiped her cheeks again, then took a breath to continue. "He's probably a man down on his luck, and didn't intend to shoot anyone."
"Don't make excuses for a murderer, Lucia." Another first. I'd heard my parents fight before, get into arguments, but I'd never heard my father talk to my mother as though he thought she were stupid. As though he thought her words were careless and insulting.
"I'm not making excuses, Edward," my mother replied, obviously trying to remain calm. "I'm trying to make sense of a senseless act. I'm trying to come to terms with something that has no rhyme or reason. I simply can't believe that someone woke up today and decided to kill three innocent people who have nothing whatsoever to do with him. I can't live in a world like that." The more words she spoke, the harder she cried. My father pushed away from the table and stood, walking into the living room with such purpose it was as if he thought walking away would make the situation less tense.
"If I'd have just picked up the cake from the bakery on the way home, both of them would still be alive."
Her words silenced everyone, made the room stand still like a painting.
"Mom, you can't think that way." Hayes's deep voice finally cut through all of us. He was still kneeling next to his mother, still rubbing his hand on her back, but she was sitting in her chair and looking at nothing in particular.
"It's all I can think. Mark and Cory left the house and I know nothing after that. I don't know if Mark knew what was happening until it was too late. I don't know if either one of them died instantly, or if they lay on the floor in pain until they bled to death. I don't know if my baby boy cried out for me. Was he scared? Was he hurting? Did he watch his father die before he slipped away?" She was becoming frantic and yet, she was the only one making any sense. "Did Mark see his son die? Did he try to protect him? Did he die panicking because he couldn't save his son? I'll never know the answer to all these questions. But one thing I know for sure is that it never would have happened if I'd just remembered to pick up my son's birthday cake."
The saddest part, the part that I knew would more than likely eat away at Mrs. Wallace for the rest of her life?
She was right.
It wasn't her fault, and no one in their right mind would blame her, but I knew none of that mattered. Mrs. Wallace would blame herself and that was enough punishment-more, in fact.
"I think I'm going to go to bed. I don't want this day to be over, but maybe if I go to sleep, I'll wake up to find it's all been a dream."
Mrs. Wallace stood, didn't say anything to anyone, and walked down the hall. We all watched her go, and when we heard her bedroom door close, we looked to each other again.
"She's going to need a lot of support for the next couple days. Weeks even." Mom wasn't talking to anyone in particular. She might have even been talking to herself; thinking out loud.
"Hayes, is there anything you need from us right now?" Dad's voice had calmed down, and I could tell he was trying to help Hayes in any way he could, trying to do anything to make his loss not seem so huge.
"I don't think there's anything else to do right now." His eyes darted to me for just an instant and the sadness was almost painful to see. He looked back at my father, pulling his shoulders back as if he were trying to appear less broken than I imagined he was. "Nothing to do now until the coroner releases the bodies."
"Right," my father said. There was nothing he could say in response. It was a sentence a twenty-two-year-old man should never have to say about his brother, or his father, and certainly not both of them together. "We'll be back tomorrow, late morning, to see how we can help."
Hayes nodded, but said nothing more.
My mom and I stood to leave. We silently walked toward the door, but I couldn't just leave. I couldn't just walk away from Hayes like that. His mom in the other room, the only person left in his family alive losing her mind. I couldn't just leave him there thinking he was alone. So I turned, walked up to him, lifted onto my toes, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He didn't move at first. I wondered, with my arms slung over his shoulders and my cheek pressed into his chest, if I'd made a mistake and misjudged what he needed from me in that moment. But then, slowly, his arms lifted, closed around my waist, and his cheek came to rest upon the crown of my head.
It was a strange moment. Strange because having his arms around me was comforting, but also confusing because having his arms around me felt like I'd gotten back something I thought I'd lost. I chalked it up to emotions, but let the embrace linger longer than it should have, not caring that my parents were probably watching.
"I don't know how, Hayes," I whispered, "but everything is going to be all right. Eventually." When I pulled away, his eyes found mine, but he looked even sadder than before I'd touched him.
I walked away and left with my parents.
When I made it to my bed, I lay down watching the predawn sky through my window lighten with every minute that passed and I listened to my mother sob and my father soothe her from their bedroom. Only once the house was eerily quiet did my mind finally wander to Cory. I thought about Cory at five, slinging mud at me from across the yard after one particularly heavy summer rain. I thought of Cory at ten, letting me sit on the handlebars of his bike as we rode to the grocery store to buy popsicles to sell to all our friends at the park. I thought of Cory at fifteen, just learning how to drive, his mother practically having a heart attack as he pulled into my driveway, nearly hitting my father's SUV.
There were very few memorable events in my life that didn't involve Cory. He'd been there since day one. And had I known our days were numbered, the last two years would have been very different. I would have made sure of that.
Chapter Five
McKenzie
The next two weeks passed in a blur. My parents didn't make me go back to school immediately; they said I could wait until after the funeral. Because of the nature of their deaths, a very detailed and thorough autopsy was performed on both Cory and his father, which delayed everything.