Of course, nothing can go the right way when it comes to me. Howie and I pack after dinner (it was great, by the way) and the rest of the Boys come over for a visit before we leave. It’s storming again. Pounding rain. The kind of rain that stings like knives when it hits you. It’s nearly nine o’clock and we’re all just sitting around, gabbing, having a great time. The phone rings and Howie answers it. "Lore, it’s for you."
I take the phone from him. "Hello?"
"Hi, Delores? This is Chief Martin at the Scranton, Pennsylvania police department. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you." Uh oh. "I’m sorry to have to inform you this way, but your parents were in a horrible car accident a few hours ago. I’m very sorry, miss."
"How are they? I’m coming home tomorrow, what hospital are they at?"
"I’m sorry, miss, but they didn’t survive."
I drop the phone in shock. Howie notices this. Apparently, he never left me. "I... I... need to go..." I turn and leave the house quickly. I don’t know where I’m going, but it won’t be too far; my car is blocked in and it’s pouring rain out.
After a moment, I hear Howie calling for me. There are no cars and I’m walking down the middle of the street in a daze. He runs up to me and holds me in his arms tightly. "I’m so sorry, honey. I am so, so sorry..." he mumbles.
I push him away. Not only am I in complete shock, but anger has taken over. "Sorry? You’re sorry? My parents are dead and you’re sorry?" I scream at him. "Now who do I fall back on? I’m an orphan... I have no one, do you know how that feels?"
"You’re not alone, Delores! You have me! You have the guys!"
"You have no idea! You have a loving family who is ALIVE! They love you because they want to, not because they have to! Not only is my life fucked up enough but now I have no one who will love me like that!"
He grabs my upper arms. "Damn it, Delores, open your eyes! Can’t you see that I love you? I’ve done all of this just for you, so you can get some kind of closure on that part of your life! I love you, Delores!"
Tears. That’s all I feel. My tears slip down my face. "But I’m all alone now..."
He pulls me close and I can’t tell if it’s the rain or what, but I think I feel his warm tears on the top of my head. "I’m here, Delores, and I’m never going to leave you, I promise you that... I love you, Delores..." I sink into his embrace. He turns my face up to his. "I love you so much..." He really is crying... Crying for me, for everything that has happened. He kisses me, so softly, so gently, so... so innocently... This may not be the perfect time, but this feels so right. "I love you so much, Delores," he whispers.
"I love you too, Howie..."
...
Apparently, my parents didn’t want a whole, big funeral. Just a small ceremony at the church and cemetery. No wake. I haven’t even been allowed to go back to the house yet. I’m in some lawyer’s office. "I want to see them before they’re dropped into the ground," I say simply. I haven’t been paying a bit of attention to what he has had to say. Howie jumps at the sound of my voice. The lawyer just glares at me for interrupting him.
"Fine, they’re down in the city morgue. And I think we’re finished here. Thank you both for coming. Oh, here’s the keys to the house, Miss Delacroix," he stands, hands over the keys, shakes our hands, and quickly ushers us from his office.
We walk nervously towards our rented car. Actually, I'm the nervous one. I have this feeling, you know, that feeling like you're being watched? Yeah, that one. I shrug it off and drive us to the morgue. I never liked the smell of morgues. I was in one once before; that was for my grandmother. The smell irritates me. We approach the desk and Howie takes my hand in his. He knows that this is going to be really hard on me, no matter how much I want to deny it. The man behind the desk sees up approaching. "May I help you?" he asks before we’re five feet from the desk.
"I’m Delores Delacroix, I’m here to see my parents."
...
They look the same. Just like I remember them. Of course, Mom has fewer bruises on her face. Dad’s a whole lot thinner and has aged at a fast rate. I guess cancer will do that to a person. I just stare at their bodies for a moment before a tear slips from my eye. "I’m so sorry I didn't come home again," I whisper. Howie wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him.
"They know that now, honey," he whispers and kisses the side of my head.
"I’m so sorry... I loved them but they never knew... I’m so sorry..." I sob.
After a few moments, the mortician approaches us. "I’m sorry, folks, but we’re closing for the night. Your lawyer called me earlier with your parents’ final wishes, Miss."
I wipe my eyes. "What were they?"
"Your parents are set to be cremated first thing tomorrow morning, Miss. Do you know when the funeral will be?"
I shake my head. "Tuesday? Wednesday? Whenever I can get the church to agree to."
"Please let me know as soon as you find out. Until then, we’ll keep their ashes here."
...
It seems like such a long drive back to my old house. We finally arrive. I unlock the door and enter. Time warp. Nothing has changed in twenty years. The wallpaper is the same, the carpet the same, the furniture the same. Howie brings in his bags. "Where should I leave this?" I don’t answer and he just drops it on the floor in the front hall. It (the house, not his bag, you silly reader, you) is one of those bi-level houses that were so popular back in the seventies. I always hated this house. I wander from him. Moments later, he finds me in my old bedroom, clutching onto a stuffed doll I had forgotten about. "Is this your old room?"
"It hasn’t changed at all," I murmur.
It’s getting late and we both need rest. The flight was long and turbulent and there was a problem with my luggage. You know how Howie’s known for losing his luggage? Well, his arrived just fine. Mine’s still over in Pittsburgh. They "forgot" to load it. My old bed is much too small to hold the both of us, and I refuse to sleep in my parents’ bed. We sleep on the couch in the living room. It’s one of those that pull out into a bed; I forget what they’re called right now (hide-a-bed?). I grab some bed linens from the hall closet. Mom always kept them there. We make the bed and change into sleepwear. Howie gives me his purple satin shirt once again, and he takes the pants. We lay down, and he just holds me tight. I have my head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat, hoping this will lull me to sleep. No such luck. Howie is fast asleep after a few moments, and a few hours later, I’m wide awake. I can’t sleep in this house. All I can remember is the last time I visited.
Mom and Dad were broken up and have just gotten back together. Gramma sends me to visit them. I go off to bed around ten the one night I am visiting. I stay in my old room. I hear arguing from the kitchen. I remember these sounds from when I was little. If I ever want closure on this whole thing, I have to do something about it. Either way, I’m retuning to Florida tomorrow with my own money for the bus. I slip out of my room and pad down to the kitchen. Dad’s yelling at Mom. They’re arguing about me, about whose fault it was that I was sent to live with Gramma. They don’t notice me standing in the doorway. I remember thinking that night that one good thing about growing up in Florida in not the greatest neighborhood was that I grew a spine and I’m not afraid to show it. I’m Dad’s height now and pretty damn strong, emotionally and physically, if I do say so myself. Dad just lifted his hand and he’s ready to smack Mom hard. They don’t hear me. Mom’s covering her face and Dad’s got his back to me. I grab onto his wrist and swing him around. Oh, he doesn’t like this... Not only is he mad at her, but he’s mad and surprised at me.
"What are you doing up?"
"If you’re going to hit someone, Old Man, hit me," I hiss. "You’re not going to hurt her anymore." I never let go of his wrist.
"I’m not going to hit you."
"I’m a hell of a lot stronger than she is. If you’re going to hit someone, you’ll hit me," I repeat. "That way I’ll have a reason not to come back here." This makes him furious. I let him go and coax him. At this point I don’t care about his abuse on my mother; I want a reason never to have to be back in this house. "You think you’re such a big man, you gotta hit girls to make you feel better. You want to hit me, I know you do. I dare you." And he took my dare. He hit me. He hit me hard. And repeatedly. I can’t see out of my right eye because it’s swollen shut. I won’t be able to for another week or so. Mom’s crying and begging him to stop. Finally, when I’m a bleeding, bruised mass of flesh on the cheap linoleum floor, he lets me be. He leaves to go to the bar. Mom takes care of me for a while and sends me off to bed. When she’s asleep, I grab my packed bag and slip out of the house. A half-hour walk later, I’m in the bus station, waiting for the next bus to Tampa, waiting for the next bus home.
I climb out of bed, pull on the pants I wore today, scribble a note, and leave the house.
...
A knock on the rear passenger side window of the rental car wakes me the next morning. I slept in the car. I’m used to it. I unlock the doors and climb out. "Couldn’t sleep in there?" he asks. I just shake my head. He takes my hand. "Come on, I’ll make you some breakfast."
...
The airport calls. My luggage has arrived and they will deliver it to the house. Fine by me, but either way I don’t have anything to wear to the funeral tomorrow. We head out to The Mall at Steamtown and I find a simple black dress that falls to my ankles. As I am paying, Howie gets attacked, and I mean attacked, by fans. They "never in a thousand years expected a Backstreet Boy" to be in their town. His explains it’s for a family funeral. He signs some autographs, takes some pictures, and we leave. Back at the house, there’s a message on the machine from Nick. He is coming up today. After everything we’ve been through, together and apart, he’ll always be my best friend. I love him so much for the simple things he does for me. He’s arriving in a few hours and will take a cab to the house.
...
Back at the house, a swarm of people is mulling about on my front lawn. Damn reporters. They always swarm at the word "celebrity." They don’t even care who it is. Well, that’s a lie. They heard "Backstreet Boy" and went into a near panic. And that’s for only one. Okay, that explains why we were followed from the lawyer’s, at the morgue, and in the mall, but why are they on my front lawn? Because in a little while, it will no longer be just one Backstreet Boy, but two or three or five. I exit the car with Howie. The trouble begins. "Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore..."
...
The only way we know Nick has arrived is that the swarm has traveled as a group to the street and then followed the car into the driveway. I watch from the front window. Nick exits the car with bag in hand and runs for the door. He must have paid the driver before he left the car. I run down the stairs. open the door quickly, and let Nick slip by me. I shut the door again and turn to face him. He hugs me tightly. "Thanks for coming," I whisper.
"It was the least I could do."
We order pizza and have it delivered. Before it arrives, Nick makes an attempt to rid the lawn of reporters. He stands on the front porch and speaks. (Don’t worry, this has probably been filmed, so you’ll hear what he said in a little while, no doubt.) While eating, Howie flips on the news.
"And in other news, the victims in yesterday's fatal car crash have been identified as Thomas and Ann Marie Delacroix of Scranton. Their daughter," (cut to clip of me leaving the lawyer‘s office), "seen here is twenty-four year old Delores who has been living in Florida for the past eighteen years. Joining her on this trip are Backstreet Boys," (cut to clip of me and Howie at the lawyer’s), "Howie Dorough and," (cut to clip of Nick coming towards the house), "Nick Carter, both of Florida. Mr. Carter had this to say to our news crew." (Cut to clip of Nick. I told ya they filmed it.)
"I would like to thank you all for coming but I cannot. Delores is my best friend and we would both like you all to leave. This is a difficult time for all of us and would prefer is we could keep our privacy in tact. Thank you."
I smile at Nick. "Thanks for saying that; it worked for some of them," I gesture towards the window.
"Anything for my babe," he smiles in return and takes another bite of his fifth slice.
...
We wake bright and early for the funeral. The church has us scheduled for nine in the AM. It’s only a small service; me, Howie, Nick, a few family members that I never met, and some of Mom and Dad’s friends that keep coming up to me and saying "I’m so sorry, Delores" or "Wow, look how you’ve grown!"
So, we have the nice service and truck on up to the cemetery. The priest says a few words, blah blah blah, and I explain to the small crowd that basically no one’s getting fed because I have to start clearing out the house and head back to Florida by nightfall. They basically collectively shrug and leave.
...
Back at the house, I take what I want to keep; some of Mom’s jewelry, some pictures, an old photo album, a few select pieces of furniture (I seem to collect lamps). Everything else is for sale. I call the lawyer and explain things to him. "I want an estimate on everything and expect nothing less than the estimate. Sell the house, property, cars, furniture, everything, and send me the checks as you receive them. Here’s my current address..."
We’re back in Florida by midnight.
* "I Try" by Macy Gray.
