Ginger Fox

“You look so beautiful, my love.” I try to smile at the soft and calm voice of my father. I lift my gaze to his reflection behind me in the large mirror in the event hall. “But still, it seems like something is bothering you.”
“I’m just a little tired, Dad.” My fingers glide over the long white dress, pausing on my stomach. Even through the thick fabric, it feels like I can still feel the scar from the bullet. “Is Mom still tormenting the poor event planner?”
I make him laugh, drawing his attention away from me as he waves his hands in the air.
“God! The poor woman is hiding from her in the parking lot.” I turn around, caught by his gentle eyes as he studies me in silence.
“Mom is just a little overzealous.” I pick up the bouquet of peach-colored roses from the marble table, lifting it in my fingers and looking at the petals.
“A little is an understatement, Gim. Your mother is out of control.” The sound of his footsteps makes me lift my head just in time to see him pull his hands from his pockets, holding my shoulders and smoothing them gently. “Do you really want this, Gim?”
I close my eyes to hide the tears that are building up inside me, giving him a broken smile. I tried, I really did, with all my heart, but nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will return to how it was. There is no more of the old Gim. I know I’m deceiving myself, thinking I can move on from where I left off with Tom in Columbia. Even though they do everything to avoid asking, pressing, or talking about Jon, my apartment has never felt so cramped and suffocating. The trivial conversations about flower choices, the event hall, and everything else that could be useless, I used only as a way to keep my mind disconnected, but it’s treacherous. A smell, a color, any simple reference and it transports me back to that island. And still, I push away the memories, lock them up to avoid reliving them. But now, so close, just minutes away from the wedding, I realize it will be the biggest mistake of my life. There is no way to erase the past or continue my story with Tom before the most defining summer of my life.
When I open my eyes, after what feels like a long nightmare, I find myself staring at an empty chair to my left in a white room. My face turns to the other side, seeing the tall figure walking into the room.
“Gim! Oh, God! You’re awake, my love.” I want to speak, but I can’t; nothing comes out of my mouth.
Tom’s warm fingers hold my face in his hands, kissing my forehead. I feel my heart racing and the sounds of the machines increasing. It’s not him I want here, not his eyes I want to see.
“It’s going to be okay, love, we’re going to take you home. We’ll take care of you.”
My eyelids are too heavy to stay open. I let them close, losing myself again in the darkness. And in the other times that follow, between waking and feeling anguished, he’s not here either. The only Roy I see, ten days after waking up in this hospital, is the sad, fatal blonde.
“Oh, God! We thought we were going to lose you!” I hold Baby’s cold fingers in my hand, squeezing as hard as I can. She moves closer to the bed, stroking my hair. I see her worn face, with dark circles around her eyes. “Jonathan almost died with you when he didn’t know you were out of danger. I thought he was going to destroy this hospital.”
“Roy?” My dry mouth opens a few times, trying to breathe, feeling pain in my body. “Jonathan was here? He left the island?” Baby looks away toward the door to see if Tom is coming and then turns back to me sadly.
“He didn’t leave your side. Jonathan carried you to the paramedics' helicopter, came along to the hospital.” I’m confused, my mind slow from so many medications. Jonathan left the island? He’s here? Why didn’t he wait for me? “I couldn’t believe it when the detective told me, after I was already conscious.”
“But why... Why didn’t he stay?” I turn my face, looking at the empty chair still beside my bed, near the wall.
“I think Roy thought it would be better to leave once Tom arrived.” Baby gently strokes my hand, looking at me with pain. “I’m so sorry, Gim. Oh, how I hurt for what happened!”
“It wasn’t your fault, Baby,” I whisper, raising my hand connected to the IV, trying to touch her face. “What happened with Jon?”
Her eyes fill with tears, warm droplets forming in her gray irises.

“ Jon will be convicted for his grandmother’s and Bob’s deaths.” My eyes turn to the ceiling, feeling so much pain inside me. “Bob passed away last week.” Her tears fall onto my arm, and I hear her sobs of grief. “Lira confessed to dismembering her own aunt after Jon killed her. He’ll go to a forensic psychiatric facility until he’s old enough to be tried as an adult.”
I still hear the voice of the shy, lanky boy. His bright eyes amidst laughter as we ran to the beach in the late afternoon. His body sprawled on the library sofa, smiling at me while I read. The casual conversations we had in the bedroom until he fell asleep. All of this comes to my mind as I stare at the empty ceiling of the hospital room. I feel so much pain when his cold, sinister face stands out among the memories. I look at Baby, gripping her trembling fingers in mine.
“How’s Aunt Charlote?”
“She’s inconsolable, blaming herself just as she did for not seeing it in Sonja. She thinks she’s to blame for what Jon did.”
“No one is to blame for what Jon did, Baby, not her and certainly not you.” I see her sigh softly, trying to wipe the tears from her face.
I see the guilt Baby is carrying within her. She tries to mask it, looking at the door and attempting a weak smile.
“God, he’s even more of a fool in person than I imagined.” My laugh is cut off by a coughing fit, causing me to clutch my stomach in pain.
Baby’s worried gaze focuses on my abdomen.
“You could have died. It would have killed Jonathan, knowing you sacrificed yourself for him.”
I hadn’t thought. In fact, nothing was on my mind when I saw Jon raise his arm. I only felt fear for Roy, and my body acted before I even felt the impact of the bullet, throwing me off the table and in front of him. The bullet struck my stomach. A few more centimeters, and it would have hit my intestines. The projectile lodged itself inside me, tearing through all the muscles and veins in its path, but I would do it all over again. I look at the empty chair, feeling it as if it were an open wound in my heart, curling up in bed.