celebration. Her whole family and
my parents were there. That was when she gave me this: the first glimpse of my son.”
With shaking hands he handed me a framed photo.
The frame was wracked; the corners loose and bent. Evidence of the glass could still
be seen in the powdery sand in the edges and the scratches on the picture in my hand.
The ultrasound picture was in such bad shape it was difficult to read the printed
words “I’m a boy!” I swallowed hard; he’d been so close to having a child.
“Not even that survived unscathed.”
My eyes looked up at him. “It happened that day,” I said, the answer coming to me,
filling in the gaps. Nathan hated it when I mentioned his birthday.
He nodded in response. A sad smile formed and his arms raised, his hands making a circular form. “She had
a perfectly round stomach. We’d made it to the third trimester after so long.”
Grief was what overtook Nathan. I recounted the stages in my mind: denial, anger,
bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Nathan was still stuck on step four—depression—along
with his up and down visits with two: anger. It was obvious to me now he’d never moved
on from there. Even after four long years, step five, acceptance, remained out of
reach.
He sat there for a moment, and I could almost see the memories flickering behind his
eyes. His jaw clenched a couple times. “It was just after dark when we decided to
head home. It wasn’t too long a drive, about forty-five minutes, from their house
to ours. There was a two-lane road that was almost a straight shot and a nice drive.
We were about halfway home when this car came up behind us fast. We weren’t in any
hurry, so I pulled over to let him pass. But when I pulled over, so did he.”
My chest tightened. I knew what was coming. The end. I knew the outcome.
“That was when it was obvious something was wrong. I told Grace to hold on and gunned
it when I saw the driver’s side door start to open. We were up to seventy in no time…but
so were they.”
He tipped his head back, trying to keep the tears at bay. I squeezed his hand in mine,
my eyes beseeching him to continue.
“My mind was racing with what to do while I tried to stay ahead of them, but soon
we were passing eighty. By then we’d reached the point where the road ran parallel
to the interstate. They were separated by about forty feet of grass and a wire fence.
It was then the fight of our lives started. They caught up, going faster to catch
up in the oncoming traffic lane. I glanced over and the window was lowering. There
were two men; the one in the passenger seat was aiming a gun at us. I reacted on instinct
and steered the car into theirs. The motion caused them to lose some traction and
they ran off the road, but were soon gaining on us again.”
He paused, his gaze on the box, his hand absently moving the objects around. “I remember
telling her I loved her, but that’s where it gets foggy. An eye witness, who was silenced,
said that was when the struggle began. Our car and theirs battled back and forth to
stay on the road. With a powerful hit, they pushed us off the road and we went through
the grassy area and the wire fence into oncoming traffic on the interstate. We were
clipped by a semi, thrown into the median wall, bounced out, and hit a sedan before
a delivery truck mashed us into a bridge support.”
My whole body was frozen in shock, my hand covering my mouth.
“All my fault,” he whispered as he stared blankly into the box. “It was all my fault.”
“Why?”
He blinked up at me. “Because I baited them, flaunted my success in their face, gathered
enough information to begin bringing down their organization. Once I had one, the
others would be easier. People would see even they couldn’t get away with everything.”
He sighed. “In the end, they could. The eye witness’s testimony, the bullets they
found… all
my parents were there. That was when she gave me this: the first glimpse of my son.”
With shaking hands he handed me a framed photo.
The frame was wracked; the corners loose and bent. Evidence of the glass could still
be seen in the powdery sand in the edges and the scratches on the picture in my hand.
The ultrasound picture was in such bad shape it was difficult to read the printed
words “I’m a boy!” I swallowed hard; he’d been so close to having a child.
“Not even that survived unscathed.”
My eyes looked up at him. “It happened that day,” I said, the answer coming to me,
filling in the gaps. Nathan hated it when I mentioned his birthday.
He nodded in response. A sad smile formed and his arms raised, his hands making a circular form. “She had
a perfectly round stomach. We’d made it to the third trimester after so long.”
Grief was what overtook Nathan. I recounted the stages in my mind: denial, anger,
bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Nathan was still stuck on step four—depression—along
with his up and down visits with two: anger. It was obvious to me now he’d never moved
on from there. Even after four long years, step five, acceptance, remained out of
reach.
He sat there for a moment, and I could almost see the memories flickering behind his
eyes. His jaw clenched a couple times. “It was just after dark when we decided to
head home. It wasn’t too long a drive, about forty-five minutes, from their house
to ours. There was a two-lane road that was almost a straight shot and a nice drive.
We were about halfway home when this car came up behind us fast. We weren’t in any
hurry, so I pulled over to let him pass. But when I pulled over, so did he.”
My chest tightened. I knew what was coming. The end. I knew the outcome.
“That was when it was obvious something was wrong. I told Grace to hold on and gunned
it when I saw the driver’s side door start to open. We were up to seventy in no time…but
so were they.”
He tipped his head back, trying to keep the tears at bay. I squeezed his hand in mine,
my eyes beseeching him to continue.
“My mind was racing with what to do while I tried to stay ahead of them, but soon
we were passing eighty. By then we’d reached the point where the road ran parallel
to the interstate. They were separated by about forty feet of grass and a wire fence.
It was then the fight of our lives started. They caught up, going faster to catch
up in the oncoming traffic lane. I glanced over and the window was lowering. There
were two men; the one in the passenger seat was aiming a gun at us. I reacted on instinct
and steered the car into theirs. The motion caused them to lose some traction and
they ran off the road, but were soon gaining on us again.”
He paused, his gaze on the box, his hand absently moving the objects around. “I remember
telling her I loved her, but that’s where it gets foggy. An eye witness, who was silenced,
said that was when the struggle began. Our car and theirs battled back and forth to
stay on the road. With a powerful hit, they pushed us off the road and we went through
the grassy area and the wire fence into oncoming traffic on the interstate. We were
clipped by a semi, thrown into the median wall, bounced out, and hit a sedan before
a delivery truck mashed us into a bridge support.”
My whole body was frozen in shock, my hand covering my mouth.
“All my fault,” he whispered as he stared blankly into the box. “It was all my fault.”
“Why?”
He blinked up at me. “Because I baited them, flaunted my success in their face, gathered
enough information to begin bringing down their organization. Once I had one, the
others would be easier. People would see even they couldn’t get away with everything.”
He sighed. “In the end, they could. The eye witness’s testimony, the bullets they
found… all
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