THE FALLOUT: THE CARTERS' CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: Dec 8th - The Knock
Grief did not call first. It showed up at the door. Four siblings, one morgue, and a question that will haunt them for the rest of their lives: why did none of us answer the phone?
Bobby Carter woke up at 11:47 AM with his face stuck to the leather couch and his phone vibrating somewhere near his left kidney. He peeled himself up, grabbed the phone, squinted at the screen through the fog of another hangover, and saw three missed calls from Barbara. Not his mother. Barbara.
His mother hadn't called in three days.
That wasn't right.
Brenda Carter called every goddamn day. Sometimes twice. She'd call at 7:30 in the morning to ask if he'd eaten breakfast. She'd call at 3:00 in the afternoon to tell him about something she saw at the grocery store. She'd call at 8:00 at night just to say goodnight. Even when Bobby didn't answer, which was every single time for the past three weeks, she called. The voicemails piled up like unpaid bills. He never listened to them. But she called.
Except she hadn't called since Friday.
Bobby sat up. His head throbbed. The living room smelled like old beer and something sour he couldn't identify. Brandon's backpack was still by the door from where Barbara had dropped him off Friday night. Barbara had taken Brandon to her mother's house for the weekend. Said she needed space. Said Bobby needed to figure his shit out. She'd be back Monday morning to pick up Brandon for school.
It was Sunday.
Bobby opened his phone. Scrolled through the call log. Barbara. Barbara. Barbara. Work (blocked). Spam. Spam. Nothing from Mom.
He opened the family group chat. The one nobody had used since Thanksgiving. The last message was from November 27th, the day before everything exploded. It was from their mother: Love you all. Can't wait to see everyone tomorrow.
Nobody had responded.
Bobby's thumb hovered over the keyboard. He typed: Has anyone heard from Mom and Dad?
He stared at it for a full minute before hitting send.
Then he waited.
One hour passed. No response.
Two hours. Nothing.
Bobby tried calling his mother's cell. It rang six times and went to voicemail. Her voice, chipper and warm: Hi, you've reached Brenda Carter. Leave me a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can. God bless.
He didn't leave a message. He called his father's phone. Same thing. Voicemail.
Three hours.
Bobby stood in the kitchen, staring at the empty beer bottles lined up on the counter like soldiers. Twelve of them. He'd drank twelve beers yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Time was bleeding together. Everything was bleeding together. He thought about calling Barbara. Thought about asking her to come home. Thought about telling her he was scared and didn't know why.
Instead, he opened another beer.
At 4:17 PM, someone knocked on the door.
Three sharp raps. Official. The kind of knock that doesn't ask permission.
Bobby froze. His first thought was Barbara. His second thought was debt collectors. His third thought was nothing because the knock came again, louder this time, and he crossed the living room in four strides and yanked the door open.
Two police officers stood on his porch. One was older, maybe fifty, with gray at his temples and eyes that had seen too much. The other was younger, mid-thirties, with his hand resting near his belt like he was ready for something Bobby couldn't predict.
"Are you Bobby?" the older one asked.
Bobby's throat closed. "Yeah."
"Bobby Carter?"
"Yeah."
"Is your mother Brenda Carter and your father Willis Carter?"
Bobby's knees went soft. "No. No no no. I mean, yes. Yes they are. Why? What happened? What the fuck happened?"
The older officer's face didn't change. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but there's been an accident. Your parents were involved in a multi-vehicle collision yesterday evening on Interstate 10. We need you to come with us."
"What do you mean an accident? Are they okay? Which hospital?"
The officer looked at his partner. Then back at Bobby. "Son, they didn't make it. We need you to come down to the county morgue to identify the bodies."
Bobby heard the words. He understood the words. But his brain refused to process them. "No. No, that's not right. You have the wrong people. My mom called me Friday. She's fine. They're fine."
"Mr. Carter, I understand this is difficult."
"You don't understand shit!" Bobby's voice cracked. "My mother calls me every day. Every fucking day. If something happened to her, I would know. I would know."
The younger officer stepped forward. "Sir, we're very sorry for your loss. But we need you to come with us now."
Bobby's legs gave out. He caught himself on the doorframe. The older officer reached out to steady him, but Bobby jerked away. "Don't fucking touch me."
"Mr. Carter."
"When did it happen?"
"Yesterday evening. Around 6:45 PM."
Yesterday. While Bobby was sitting in this house drinking beer number eight or nine or ten. While his mother and father were driving somewhere, maybe to see him, maybe to check on him, maybe because Brenda Carter couldn't stand to go one more day without talking to her son. While they were dying in a fog-covered pileup on I-10, Bobby was too drunk to notice his phone ringing.
If it had rung.
Had it rung?
"I need to call my wife," Bobby said.
"You can call from the car. We need to go now."
Bobby didn't remember getting in the police car. Didn't remember the drive to the county morgue. Didn't remember walking through the automatic doors into the sterile white hallway that smelled like disinfectant and something else, something heavier, something that sat in his lungs like wet concrete.
He remembered the room, though.
He'd remember that room for the rest of his life.
Two bodies on metal tables. White sheets pulled up to their chins. The older officer walked him to the first table and pulled back the sheet just enough to show the face.
Brenda Carter.
Her eyes were closed. Her face was wrong. Not crushed or mangled, just wrong. Like someone had taken his mother and replaced her with a wax figure that almost looked like her but missed something essential. The thing that made her Brenda. The thing that made her Mom.
Bobby made a sound he didn't recognize. Something between a scream and a sob and a word that never fully formed.
"Is this your mother?"
"Yes." Barely a whisper.
The officer moved to the second table. Pulled back the sheet.
Willis Carter.
Daddy.
Bobby's knees hit the floor. He didn't feel the impact. Didn't feel anything except the hole opening up in his chest, vast and black and swallowing everything. He pressed his forehead against the cold tile and screamed. Just screamed. No words. No meaning. Just sound ripped from somewhere so deep inside him he didn't know it existed.
The officers let him scream. They'd seen this before. They always let them scream.
When Bobby finally stopped, when his throat was raw and his voice was gone, the older officer helped him to his feet. "Do you need us to call anyone?"
Bobby shook his head. Then nodded. Then shook his head again. "I have to tell my brother and sisters."
"Do you want us to contact them?"
"No. I have to do it."
They took him to a small room with a table and two chairs and a box of tissues that had been used too many times before. Bobby sat down. Pulled out his phone. Opened the group text.
He started typing: Mom and Dad are dead.
Deleted it.
Tried again: Something happened. You need to come to the morgue.
Deleted it.
I'm so sorry.
Deleted it.
He couldn't do it. Couldn't put those words on a screen. Couldn't make it real in black and white text that would sit in their phones forever.
He switched to FaceTime.
Created a group call with all three of them: Bella, Wallace, Wanda.
Hit the button.
And waited.
Bella picked up first. Her face filled the top left square. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wasn't wearing makeup. "Bobby? What's wrong?"
Wallace picked up second. Top right square. He was in his apartment. Bobby could see the kitchen behind him, spotless and gleaming. Wallace's face was guarded. "What do you want?"
Wanda picked up last. Bottom left. She was wearing a tank top and her hair was wet like she'd just gotten out of the shower. "Bobby, if you're calling to start shit about Thanksgiving again, I swear to God."
Bobby tried to speak. Opened his mouth. Nothing came out except a sob.
All three of them went quiet.
"Bobby?" Bella leaned closer to her camera. "What's going on? Are you okay?"
He wasn't okay. He would never be okay again. He tried to say the words but they wouldn't come. The crying started instead, hard and ugly and uncontrollable. He slid down the wall he was leaning against until he was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest.
"Bobby, you're scaring me." Bella's voice was sharp now. "Talk to us. What happened?"
Wallace's face changed. The guardedness dropped. "Where are you? Are you at home?"
Bobby shook his head. Kept crying. Couldn't stop.
The door opened. The older officer stepped in, saw Bobby on the floor, and understood immediately. He picked up Bobby's phone from where it had fallen beside him. Three faces stared out from the screen, all of them starting to panic.
"Who is this?" Wallace demanded.
The officer spoke calmly. Professionally. Like he'd done this before too. "This is Officer Martinez with the Phoenix Police Department. You need to come down to the Maricopa County Morgue immediately."
"Why?" Wanda's voice went up an octave. "What's going on? Why is Bobby there?"
"It's your parents," Officer Martinez said. "I'm very sorry."
The screen went dark. All three of them had hung up.
Bobby pulled his knees tighter to his chest and kept crying.
Bella was in her car in four minutes.
She didn't grab a jacket. Didn't tell Billy where she was going. Just yelled to the babysitter that she had an emergency and ran out the door in leggings and an old sweatshirt with coffee stains down the front.
Her hands shook so hard she could barely get the key in the ignition.
It's your parents.
No. No no no no no.
She'd ignored seventeen calls from her mother in the past three weeks. Seventeen. She'd counted them yesterday while Billy was at his friend's house and the apartment was quiet and she had nothing to do but sit with her guilt. Seventeen calls. Twenty-three text messages. Four voicemails she hadn't listened to.
Mom had stopped calling Friday.
Bella had noticed. Felt relieved. Thought maybe Mom was finally giving her space.
She pulled out of the driveway too fast and nearly hit a mailbox. Didn't care. Pressed the gas pedal harder. The county morgue was twenty-six minutes away. She could make it in fifteen.
"Please God," she whispered. "Please please please let them be okay. Let this be a mistake. I'll answer every call from now on. I'll answer every call. Just let them be okay."
She ran the first red light at the intersection near the elementary school. Ran the second one at Main Street. A car honked. She didn't hear it. All she heard was her mother's voice from the last voicemail Bella had actually listened to, three weeks ago, before everything fell apart.
Hi sweetheart, it's Mom. Just calling to check on you and Billy. I know things have been hard with Brad's situation. If you need anything, anything at all, you know we're here. I love you so much, Bella. Call me back when you can.
Bella had deleted the voicemail. Didn't call back.
She was crying so hard now she could barely see the road. Didn't matter. She knew the way. Eighteen minutes from her apartment to the morgue. Fifteen if she broke every traffic law.
She made it in twelve.
Wallace was already in his car when Julian came running out of the apartment building.
"Wallace! Wait! What's happening?"
Wallace couldn't look at him. Couldn't speak. He started the engine.
Julian ran around to the passenger side and yanked the door open. "Baby, talk to me. What did that cop say?"
"It's my parents." Wallace's voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Someone hollow. "Something happened to my parents."
"Oh my God. Are they okay?"
Wallace pulled out of the parking spot. Julian barely got the door closed before the car lurched forward. "I don't know. Bobby was at the morgue. I don't know."
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
"Wallace."
"No!" Wallace's voice broke. "You can't come. You can't. This is because of you. This is all because of you."
Julian jerked back like he'd been slapped. "What?"
"Get out of the car."
"Wallace, please."
"GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!"
Julian got out. Wallace drove away before Julian could say another word. In his rearview mirror, he saw Julian standing in the parking lot, hands raised in helpless confusion.
Wallace's phone rang. Barbara. Bobby's wife. He answered.
"Wallace, is it true? Did something happen to Brenda and Willis?"
"I don't know. I'm driving there now."
"Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm calling Bella and Wanda."
"They already know."
Barbara was crying. "Why didn't they call? Why didn't someone call?"
"I don't know, Barbara."
"They always call. Your mother always calls."
Wallace hung up. He couldn't do this. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His apartment was clean. The kitchen was spotless. The bathroom gleamed. He'd mopped the floors this morning. Vacuumed yesterday. Organized the closet the day before that. He'd been cleaning for three weeks straight because if he stopped cleaning, he'd have to think about the fact that he'd destroyed his marriage and disappointed his parents and ruined Thanksgiving and maybe, maybe, if he just kept the apartment clean enough, none of it would be real.
But it was real. All of it. And now something had happened to his parents and Wallace couldn't remember the last time he'd actually talked to them. Not just ignored their calls, but actually talked. Actually said, "I love you." Actually said, "I'm sorry."
When was the last time?
He couldn't remember.
"Please don't be dead," Wallace said to the empty car. "Please don't be dead. I'll fix everything. I'll leave Julian. I'll go back to Wynona. I'll do whatever you want. Just please don't be dead."
He ran three red lights. Got pulled over on the fourth.
The cop walked up to his window. Wallace rolled it down. "Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?"
"My parents are dead," Wallace said flatly. "I'm going to the county morgue. You can give me the ticket there."
The cop looked at him for a long moment. Looked at Wallace's face, streaked with tears and snot and grief. "Follow me. I'll escort you."
Wallace followed the police car with lights flashing the rest of the way to the morgue. Made it in nine minutes.
Wanda was the last to leave.
She stood in Chloe's bathroom with her phone in her hand, staring at her reflection. Her hair was still wet. She was wearing Chloe's tank top because she'd thrown most of her own clothes in the wash and hadn't gotten around to folding them. Her wedding ring was in a small dish by the sink. She'd taken it off two weeks ago and hadn't put it back on.
Chloe appeared in the doorway. "Baby, what's wrong?"
"My parents." Wanda's voice shook. "Something happened to my parents."
"What do you mean? What happened?"
"I don't know. Bobby was at the morgue." Wanda turned to look at Chloe. "A cop answered his phone. Said we needed to come down there. Said it was about our parents."
Chloe went pale. "Oh no. Oh Wanda, no."
Wanda grabbed her jeans from the bedroom floor. Pulled them on. Found her sneakers under the bed. "I have to go."
"I'm coming with you."
"No." Wanda grabbed her keys. "I need to do this alone."
"You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I need to go."
She was out the door before Chloe could stop her. Got in her car. Started the engine. And then just sat there, gripping the steering wheel, unable to move.
Her mother hadn't called since Friday.
Wanda had noticed. Felt grateful. Thought maybe Mom was finally accepting that Wanda was gay and happy and not coming home to William.
But Mom hadn't been accepting it. Mom had just stopped calling.
Why had she stopped calling?
"Oh fuck," Wanda whispered. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
She peeled out of the parking lot and drove like she was trying to outrun the truth. Thirty-one minutes from Chloe's apartment to the morgue. She made it in twenty-two.
When she got there, she saw Bella's car in the parking lot. Wallace's car. A police cruiser. She parked crooked across two spaces and ran for the entrance.
Bobby was sitting in the lobby when they arrived.
All three of them came through the automatic doors within ninety seconds of each other. Bella first, wild-eyed and breathless. Wallace second, still crying. Wanda last, looking like she might throw up.
They saw Bobby and stopped.
Bobby looked up at them. His face was destroyed. Eyes swollen. Cheeks wet. Hands shaking.
Bella took a step forward. "Bobby?"
Bobby tried to stand. Couldn't. Stayed sitting. "They're dead."
"What?"
"Mom and Dad. They're dead. Car accident. Yesterday. I already identified them."
The words hit all three of them like physical blows.
Wallace made a sound like he'd been punched in the stomach.
Wanda said, "No. No, that's not right."
Bella's knees buckled. She caught herself on a chair. "When? How?"
"Yesterday. Interstate 10. Fog. Multi-car pileup." Bobby's voice was mechanical. He'd said these words to the police. To Barbara on the phone. To himself in the mirror in the bathroom where he'd thrown up twice. He'd said them so many times they didn't mean anything anymore. "They died on impact. That's what the cops said. They didn't suffer."
"Yesterday?" Wallace's voice cracked. "Yesterday? Why didn't anyone call us?"
"They couldn't identify them right away. Took them until this morning. Then they came to my house."
Wanda was still standing by the door. "I don't understand. They were fine. Mom was fine. She called me last week."
"She called all of us last week." Bella's voice was hollow. "And none of us answered."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Bobby stood up. His legs were weak but he managed it. "You need to see them. Come on."
"Bobby, I don't think I can." Wanda's voice was small.
"You have to. You have to see them."
Officer Martinez appeared from a side hallway. "Mr. Carter, are these your siblings?"
"Yeah."
"Follow me, please."
They followed. Single file. Bobby first. Then Bella. Then Wallace. Wanda last, moving like she was walking to her own execution.
The hallway was long and white and cold. Their footsteps echoed. Nobody spoke.
Officer Martinez stopped at a door. Turned to face them. "I need to prepare you. They're going to look different than you remember. The accident caused some trauma. We've done our best to clean them up, but it's still difficult to see."
"Just open the door," Bobby said.
Officer Martinez opened the door.
The room was small. Two metal tables. Two bodies. White sheets.
Brenda Carter on the left. Willis Carter on the right.
All four Carter siblings stepped inside. Stood in a line at the foot of the tables. Stared at the sheets.
Nobody moved.
Officer Martinez pulled back the first sheet. Revealed Brenda's face.
Bella screamed. A short, sharp sound that cut through the silence like glass breaking. She clamped her hand over her mouth but it was too late. The sound was out. The truth was real.
Wallace turned away. Pressed his fist against his mouth. Started sobbing so hard his whole body shook.
Wanda just stared. Her face went blank. Empty. "Mom?"
Bella stumbled forward. Reached out. Touched her mother's hand. It was cold. So cold. "Mom. Mommy. Please wake up. Please."
Officer Martinez pulled back the second sheet.
Willis Carter's face. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. The beginnings of gray in his beard. Laugh lines around his eyes that had nothing to laugh about anymore.
Bobby walked to his father. Stood there. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so fucking sorry."
Wallace collapsed against the wall. Slid down until he was sitting on the floor. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
"It's real." Wanda's voice was dead. "They're dead and we killed them."
"What?" Bella spun around. "We didn't kill them. It was an accident."
"We might as well have." Wanda was still staring at their mother. "Mom called me thirteen times. Thirteen. I counted. I saw her name on my phone and I hit decline every single time. She stopped calling Friday. You know why? Because she was getting ready to drive somewhere. Getting ready to come see us. Getting ready to fix this fucked up family. And where was she going? Where do you think she was going?"
"Stop it," Bella said.
"She was coming to check on us. On Bobby. On me. On all of us. Because we wouldn't answer the fucking phone. And now she's dead."
"Shut up, Wanda." Wallace's voice was thick with tears. "Just shut up."
"Why should I shut up? It's true. If we'd answered the phone, they wouldn't have been on that road. They wouldn't have been in that fog. They wouldn't be lying here dead."
Bobby turned around. His face was twisted with rage and grief and something uglier. "You want to talk about who's responsible? Fine. Let's talk about it."
"Bobby, don't." Bella stepped between them.
"No. Fuck that. We're doing this." Bobby pointed at Wallace. "This all started because of you. Because you couldn't keep your boyfriend off the fucking FaceTime call. Because you had to shove your new life in our faces at Thanksgiving. You started this."
Wallace's head snapped up. "Are you seriously blaming me right now?"
"Who else should I blame? We were fine before Thanksgiving. The family was fine. And then you parade Julian around like some kind of trophy and everything explodes. Mom and Dad were trying to fix what YOU broke."
"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Wallace screamed. "I fell in love! I'm gay! I'm sorry if that's inconvenient for you!"
"Inconvenient? Our parents are dead, Wallace! They're dead because you couldn't wait five fucking seconds to show off your boyfriend!"
"STOP IT!" Bella was crying now too. "Stop it, both of you! This isn't Wallace's fault!"
"Then whose fault is it?" Bobby's voice was vicious. "Because somebody needs to be responsible for this."
"It's all of our faults," Bella said. "Every single one of us. We all ignored Mom's calls. We all let three weeks go by without talking to them. We all chose our own bullshit over our family."
"I didn't choose anything," Wanda said quietly. "Mom chose to get in the car."
"Don't you dare." Bella turned on her. "Don't you dare make this about Mom's choices. She was trying to save her family. What were you doing? Living with your girlfriend and pretending William doesn't exist?"
"Fuck you, Bella. At least I'm not waiting for my husband to get out of jail for embezzling."
"At least my son doesn't belong to another man."
The room went silent.
Wanda's face went white. "What did you just say?"
Bella realized what she'd said. "I didn't mean..."
"Yes you did. You meant it. You've been holding onto that for six years, waiting for the right moment to throw it in my face."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't..."
"Billy is MY son," Wanda said, voice shaking with rage. "And Brad is my husband, even if he's a criminal. And you don't get to use that against me. Not today. Not ever."
Wallace stood up. "Can we please stop fighting? Our parents are RIGHT HERE."
"I know they're here!" Bobby shouted. "I'm the one who had to identify them! I'm the one who saw their faces! I'm the one who had to call you!"
"Nobody asked you to be the hero, Bobby!"
"SOMEBODY HAD TO DO IT!"
Officer Martinez stepped into the room. "I'm going to have to ask you all to step outside."
"No." Bobby's voice dropped. "No. I'm not leaving them."
"Sir."
"I'm not leaving my parents."
Bella walked back to her mother. Put her hand on Brenda's cold forehead. Leaned down. Whispered, "I'm so sorry, Mommy. I'm so sorry I didn't answer. I love you. I love you so much."
Wallace approached his father. Touched Willis's hand. Broke down completely. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to be good enough. I'm sorry I disappointed you."
Wanda stayed where she was. Stared at both parents. "I can't do this. I can't."
She turned and walked out.
They all ended up in the lobby again. Sitting in different chairs. Not talking. Not looking at each other.
Officer Martinez came out with paperwork. Death certificates. Release forms. Information about funeral homes. He explained everything in a calm, professional voice that Bobby wanted to punch.
"Do you have arrangements made?" Officer Martinez asked.
"What?" Bobby looked up.
"Have your parents made any arrangements? A funeral home? A burial plot?"
"I don't know. I don't fucking know."
Bella spoke up. Her voice was hoarse. "They have a plot. At Riverside Cemetery. They bought it years ago. Mom told me once when we were driving past the cemetery. She said, 'That's where your daddy and I will be someday.' I thought she was joking."
Nobody laughed.
Officer Martinez handed Bobby a stack of papers. "These are the funeral homes in the area. You'll need to choose one. They'll help you with the arrangements. I'm very sorry for your loss."
He walked away.
The four of them sat in silence.
Finally, Wallace spoke. "What do we do now?"
"I don't know," Bobby said.
"We have to plan a funeral," Bella said. "We have to figure out what Mom and Dad would want."
"Mom would want us to stop fighting," Wanda said quietly. "That's what she'd want."
"Well she's not here to tell us that, is she?" Bobby's voice was bitter. "Because we didn't answer the fucking phone."
More silence.
Bella looked at the papers in Bobby's lap. "We should meet tomorrow. Figure out the arrangements. We can't do this tonight. We're all too..."
"Fucked up?" Wanda finished.
"Yeah."
Bobby stood up. "I'm going home."
"Bobby, wait." Bella stood too. "We should stick together."
"Why? So we can keep screaming at each other? So we can keep blaming each other for killing our parents? No thanks. I'm going home. I'm going to drink until I can't remember their faces on those tables. And tomorrow, we'll figure out how to bury them."
He walked out.
Wallace was next. Didn't say goodbye. Just left.
Then Wanda.
Bella was alone in the lobby. She looked at the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes who'd probably seen this scene a thousand times.
"It gets easier," the receptionist said softly.
Bella didn't believe her.
She walked out into the parking lot. Got in her car. And screamed until her throat was raw.
When she got home, Billy ran to her. "Mommy, where did you go?"
Bella knelt down. Pulled him close. Held him so tight he squirmed.
"Mommy, you're hurting me."
She loosened her grip. Looked at his face. Mateo's eyes. Brad's last name. Her son. Her beautiful, complicated son.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Mommy. Are you okay?"
"No, baby. I'm not okay. Grandma and Grandpa are gone."
Billy's face crumpled. "What? Where did they go?"
"To heaven, baby. They went to heaven."
Billy started crying. Bella held him. They cried together on the floor of the entryway while the babysitter stood awkwardly in the kitchen, not knowing what to do.
When Billy finally stopped crying, he looked up at Bella with red, puffy eyes. "Did you say goodbye?"
"No," Bella whispered. "I didn't say goodbye."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm an idiot. Because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. Because I didn't answer the phone when Grandma called."
Billy didn't understand. He was eight. How could he understand?
Bella carried him to his room. Tucked him into bed. Sat with him until he fell asleep.
Then she went to her own room. Pulled up her voicemail. Found the messages from her mother.
Seventeen of them.
She listened to every single one.
Hi sweetheart, it's Mom. Just calling to check on you...
Bella, honey, please call me back. I'm worried about you...
Baby girl, I know you're going through a lot right now, but I need to hear your voice...
Bella, please. Just talk to me. Let me help...
Each voicemail was shorter than the last. Her mother's voice growing more tired. More resigned. More hurt.
The last one was from Friday. Two days before she died.
Hi Bella. It's Mom. I won't keep calling if you don't want me to. I just... I just want you to know that I love you. No matter what's happening, no matter what you're going through, I love you. And so does your daddy. We're here whenever you're ready. I love you, baby girl. I love you so much.
Bella played it again. And again. And again.
Listened to her mother's voice. Memorized every word. Every pause. Every breath.
Then she deleted them all.
She couldn't keep them. Couldn't listen to them again. The guilt would kill her.
She curled up on her bed and cried until she fell asleep.
Wallace got back to the apartment at 9:47 PM. Julian was sitting on the couch, waiting.
"Wallace," Julian stood up. "What happened?"
"They're dead. My parents are dead. Car accident yesterday."
"Oh my God. Wallace, I'm so sorry."
Wallace walked past him. Went to the kitchen. Started cleaning the counter that was already clean. Picked up the sponge. Scrubbed in circles.
"Wallace, stop. Come sit down."
"I can't sit down. I have to clean."
"The apartment is already clean."
"It's not clean enough."
Julian walked over. Tried to take the sponge from Wallace's hand. Wallace yanked it back.
"Don't touch me."
"Baby, please."
"Don't call me that." Wallace scrubbed harder. "This is your fault."
"What?"
"This is your fault. If you hadn't walked into that FaceTime call. If you hadn't ruined Thanksgiving. If I hadn't left Wynona. None of this would have happened."
Julian's voice went cold. "You don't mean that."
"I do mean it. My parents were trying to fix the family. Trying to bring us back together. Because of what happened at Thanksgiving. Because of YOU."
"I didn't do anything wrong. I'm your partner. I have a right to exist in your life."
"And now my parents don't exist at all." Wallace threw the sponge across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. "Get out."
"Wallace."
"GET OUT!" Wallace was screaming now. "Get out of my apartment! Get out of my life! I never want to see you again!"
"You don't mean that."
"I mean every word. You destroyed my marriage. You destroyed my family. And now my parents are dead and I never got to tell them I'm sorry. So get the fuck out."
Julian's eyes filled with tears. "Fine. I'll go. But when you're done grieving and blaming me for things I didn't do, don't come looking for me. I won't be there."
He walked to the bedroom. Grabbed a duffel bag. Started throwing his clothes into it.
Wallace stood in the kitchen and watched. Didn't stop him. Didn't apologize.
When Julian was done packing, he walked to the door. Turned back. "I loved you, Wallace. I really did."
"Don't use past tense. You still love me."
"No. I don't think I do anymore. Not after this."
Julian left.
Wallace locked the door behind him. Picked up the sponge. Started cleaning again.
He cleaned all night.
Wanda drove around for two hours before going back to Chloe's apartment.
She didn't want to go home. Didn't want to face Chloe's questions. Didn't want to explain that her parents were dead and it was partially her fault.
She drove past William's house. Saw the lights on. Saw his car in the driveway.
She almost stopped. Almost knocked on the door. Almost told him that she'd made a mistake. That she wanted to come home. That everything with Chloe was just a phase and she was sorry and she missed him and maybe if she came back, her parents would somehow not be dead.
But they were dead. And coming home to William wouldn't change that.
She kept driving.
At 10:30 PM, she finally pulled into Chloe's parking lot. Went upstairs. Opened the door.
Chloe was on the couch. "Oh thank God. I've been so worried. What happened?"
Wanda stood in the doorway. "My parents are dead."
Chloe's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no. Oh Wanda. Oh baby, come here."
She opened her arms.
Wanda didn't move. "I need to be alone."
"You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I NEED TO BE ALONE!"
Chloe flinched. "Okay. Okay. I'll give you space."
She went to the bedroom. Closed the door.
Wanda stood in the living room. Looked around at Chloe's apartment. At the life she'd been building here for the past three weeks. At the tank top still hanging on the bathroom door. At her wedding ring still sitting in the dish by the sink.
She walked to the sink. Picked up the ring. Stared at it.
Put it back on.
Then she sat on the couch and cried until there was nothing left.
Bobby got home and found Barbara in the kitchen with Brandon.
"Bobby." Barbara stood up. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. "I'm so sorry."
Brandon looked confused. "Dad? What's wrong?"
Bobby couldn't look at his son. Couldn't tell him. Couldn't make those words come out of his mouth for the fourth time today.
Barbara knelt down. "Brandon, sweetheart. Grandma and Grandpa were in a car accident. They... they didn't make it."
Brandon's face went white. "What do you mean?"
"They're gone, baby."
"Gone where?"
"They died, Brandon."
Brandon looked at Bobby. "Dad? Is that true?"
Bobby nodded.
Brandon ran to his room. Slammed the door.
Bobby and Barbara stood in the kitchen. Not touching. Not talking.
Finally, Barbara spoke. "What do you need?"
"I need to drink."
"Bobby."
"I need to drink, Barbara. I need to stop thinking. I need to stop remembering their faces on those tables. I need to stop hearing my mother's voice in my head telling me that she loves me and I never said it back. So I need to drink."
Barbara's voice was soft. "Drinking won't help."
"Nothing will help. They're dead. My parents are dead and I killed them."
"You didn't kill them."
"I might as well have. She called me seventeen times. Seventeen. And I didn't answer once."
"Bobby."
"I'm going to bed."
He walked past her. Went to the bedroom. Closed the door. Didn't turn on the light. Just lay down on the bed fully clothed and stared at the ceiling.
His phone buzzed. Group text from Bella.
We need to meet tomorrow at 10 AM to plan the arrangements. Mom and Dad's house. Don't be late.
Wallace responded. I'll be there.
Wanda. Me too.
Bobby typed: Fine.
Then he turned off his phone. Rolled onto his side. And stared at the wall until morning.
December 8th ended the way it began. With four siblings lying in different beds in different houses with different partners or alone, all thinking the same thing.
Why didn't I answer the phone?
And knowing they'd be asking that question for the rest of their lives.
END OF PART 4: THE KNOCK
Next: Part 5 - Arrangements Part 1 (December 11)
