I manage to open it enough to squeeze out of the crack then fall to the muddy ground. The wind is incredibly strong, and it is extremely difficult to get to my feet, but I manage. Then I walk up to the fallen tree and begin climbing over it.
It has to be my adrenaline fueling my ability to move after slamming into the huge limb, because I don’t think I would be moving as quickly as I am, otherwise.
My bare legs scrape against the bark when I straddle the wood and flop over the side. I yank and pull small limbs and leaves out of my way as I drag myself through the fallen tree. After I make it all the way through, I pull myself up to my feet and keep moving forward, holding Nate’s broken, sad eyes in the forefront of my memory.
I make my way closer to the top yet fall several times to my hands and knees, my hair whipping against my face. It, as well as the falling rain, is acting as a veil, preventing me from seeing clearly.
I keep my body moving. I keep ascending closer to him. I am feet from the top when I see the bed of Nate’s truck. I step into a deep mud puddle, losing my sandals in the process, but I keep my feet going toward him. I have to get to him.
When I make it to the top, my heart sinks. I can’t see him. I approach his truck, and when I finally get to it, the engine is running, but the cab is empty. The saddest part of “Bohemian Rhapsody” is looping continuously over and over. The song once represented a happy time for us, but as I listen to the words, it becomes a cry for help, Nate’s cry for help.
The waves sound violent as they roll and slam into the cliff rocks below, and the wind is so strong I can hardly stand upright. It is way too dangerous for me to stand, anyway. One large gust will send me over for sure.
I fall to my hands and knees and crawl around to the front of the truck, desperately trying to find him sitting there. When I come around the wheel, Nate is sitting, leaning against his truck. He is holding on to a small piece of paper and a bottle of whiskey as he looks down at the raging ocean below us. There isn’t much space between the front of his truck and the drop off.
I inch my muddy body over to him, fighting the blustery wind, and sit down beside him. Nate lifts his hand and takes a sip from his whiskey bottle. As I get closer to his body, I wonder if he will be able to hear me. I need him to see, need him to feel that I love him, too. I want to be in his life, but it’s ultimately his choice what role I will play.
The wind is loud, and the motor of his old truck matches the sound as it idles and loops the sad part of the song over and over.
The headlights illuminate the black night, and that is when I get a better look at the piece of paper in his hand. It is hard to make out, but as I focus on the object in his grasp, I notice it’s not paper at all, but a picture. An ultrasound picture.
Nate’s … Nate’s a father?
And here I am again, standing on the brink of my sadness, wondering if it would be better to heave my body into the icy ocean and end it all.
Madison knows how I feel about her. If she is smart, she will escape, just like she did when I asked her to marry me. I have blamed her a lot for my problems since then, something that has been impossible to get passed.
If she would have said yes, I wouldn’t be holding my son’s picture in my hand. I would have never slept with Lisa and got into a relationship I didn’t want. I would have never treated her as badly as I did when I pushed her in a drunken rage. She would have never had a miscarriage. I would have never killed my son.
As I hold his only picture in my hand, I remember how scared I was to be a dad, but I knew the time—the reason—to get myself together was upon me. I would spend so