Fragile Hearts

30: Two Truths

I hear the door to the hospital room open and turn to see Morgan enter. I'm standing between her and Kaylee so Kaylee can't see Morgan's face, but I know by her expression she heard us. She smiles brightly and steps to the other side of the bed. "Kaylee, girl, I think it's time for Tyce and I to leave. And as much as I know you don't want to hear this, you need to rest."

Kaylee makes a face at her and then says, "Yes, Doctor Weston."

Morgan leans over and kisses Kaylee's cheek. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. She heard us.

Morgan doesn't say anything as we walk through the hospital corridors and then the lobby to the parking lot. I can't bring myself to meet her gaze.

As I lift Morgan into the cab, she places her hands on my shoulders and pushes slightly backwards. I pause and finally look into her eyes. She doesn't say anything, just stares questioningly at me.

We gaze at each other for a long time before I say, "I'll explain shortly."

She nods.

I get her situated and then put her chair in the truck bed. Then I decide to do something I may regret. I drive toward the scene of the accident that put Morgan in a wheelchair. At first, she doesn't know where we're going, but when it hits her, she jerks her head around and gasps, "What are you doing?"

"I'm reliving the past so I can finally live with my guilt."

"I don't want to go there."

"I don't want to either, but..." I don't even know how to finish my sentence.

Morgan places her arms around her middle, like she's trying to protect herself. Nothing will protect either of us now. It's time for brutal honesty.

We're on the country road of the accident. It's a pretty road with a few trees and scattered farms. I pull over and park across the street from the place where Morgan's life and mine intersected seven years ago. There are two crosses planted side by side. I suspect Morgan's mother or father or maybe the boy's parents placed them there. The crosses are old now, and one of them is leaning sideways. Rather than seeing the neglect of the crosses as a negative, I see it as the parents moving on, but not forgetting—never forgetting.

Morgan is now slightly rocking back and forth, holding her sides. I swallow the lump in my throat so I can begin my story. Staring straight ahead, I say, "My father's name was Jeffrey Rowland."

I hear Morgan gasp.

"As you know, he's the drunk whose car hit you head on. He's..." My voice falters, but I inhale and continue, "He's the man who killed your sister, her boyfriend, himself, and put you in that chair."

Morgan's rocking becomes more pronounced.

I continue, "But what you don't know is that I'm as much to blame as my father."

Morgan glances quickly at me and then away, staring at her lap.

I tap the fingers of my right hand nervously on the steering wheel. "My father wasn't an evil man, he was just unhappy. I don't know exactly why, except that he always talked about the football scholarship that got away after a knee injury during his last weeks of high school. I guess it ate at him over the years. Anyway, a couple of years out of high school he met my mom and married her after she got pregnant. I think he loved her but always felt his life was going nowhere. He worked on an assembly line in a factory and hated it. He was a melancholy person. My mom, on the other hand, is just the opposite. She has a zest for life that always looks for the silver lining. I think, in a way, he was jealous of her. Of course, that's just speculation."