Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
There’s an officer waiting for me when I get out of the vehicle that is meant to hide my identity. He shakes my hand and introduces himself as Detective Pete O’Brien with the Los Angeles Police Department, the same man who called to tell me that my ex-wife was dead. I must not say anything because Barbara is instantly talking to him as we walk into the medical examiner’s office. The idea of being in a room with other bodies doesn’t sit well with me, and I have to find the nearest trash can to dry heave into.
“You have to be strong, Levi,” Barb is saying as she rubs my back.
I nod but don’t mean it. No one prepares you for this, but it has to be me. Stormy is far too young to have to do something like this. It’d scar her for life, and as her father, I will do whatever I can to protect her.
Barbara hands me a bottle of water from her bag. I take a swig and swish it around in my mouth before spitting into the garbage can. I wish the water was vodka, but I suppose showing up drunk or with booze on my breath probably wouldn’t sit right.
“Are there other bodies in the room?” I ask as we make our way down the hall.
“You won’t actually go into a room with her, but see from behind a window.”
“So I can’t touch her?”
Barbara looks shocked at my question. She should be because I am. I can’t for the life of me wonder why I asked that question. I don’t want to touch her dead body. Or do I? Do I need to hold her hand and ask her what she was doing when she got into the accident? And ask her who was taking care of our girls? Do I want to yell at her and ask what was so important about this city that she had to leave me for it?
The medical examiner must sense my need for closure because he motions for me to enter the room. Consciously I pull the brim of my hat down a bit farther even though I’m sure he knows who I am. It’s out of habit when I want privacy.
He joins me on the other side of the steel table. Under the white sheet is the body of the woman who was once the love of my life. Deep down, I had hoped she’d come back, that we’d be a family again, but also knew it would never happen. My life wasn’t one she wanted to live. Not that I could fault her. From the day we met, everything was about my music and me. She was there when I signed my first deal. Stayed up late nursing Stormy to help me write the words that I sing.
The examiner grips the end of the white sheet and looks at me as if I’m supposed to give him some sign that I’m ready. I can honestly say that I will never be ready to see Iris as anything other than being alive and a total pain in my ass.
The sheet is pulled back slowly as if this process needs to be a grand reveal when it should be like ripping off a Band-Aid. It should be in one swift motion, so the agony of knowing you’ve lost someone isn’t prolonged.
But once I can see her face, tears cloud my vision, and my hand is covering my mouth, not because I’m about to throw up again but because my heart is ripping in two.
“Can you positively identify this woman as Iris Austin?” the medical examiner asks.
I nod and turn out of the room, falling right into Barb’s arms as she meets me in the doorway. I cry into her shoulder, much like I did when Iris asked for a divorce, and she rubs my back, telling me that everything will be okay. I should believe her, but I don’t. Nothing will ever be okay since the mother of my children is gone from our lives forever.
The detective leads us into a room where he sits down with a folder in front of him. Barb and I sit across from him, and while I stare at the gray table, Barbara grips my hand.
“Mr. Austin, our preliminary report indicates that Ms. Austin was a passenger in the car. The driver died on impact, and Ms. Austin expired on her way to the hospital. The car was traveling at a high rate of speed with drugs and alcohol being involved with both occupants.”
“Whose car?” I ask.
“Hers,” he says.
“Was anyone else hurt?” Barbara asks. I know what she’s doing when she asks. She wants to be prepared for a lawsuit. It doesn’t matter if the car is in my name or not, once the press gets wind, the vultures will be out.