Page 144 of Tiny Fractures
“Only if you promise not to get mad, Dad,” Steve says, amused. “Because there’s probably going to be some stuff you don’t want to see.” A chuckle escapes Steve’s mouth, and it’s a nice sound amidst all the tension and stress we’ve all been under.
“Yeah? Like what?” Frank asks.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure there’ll be some stuff,” Steve says. “Like, probably a lot of Ran checking out Cat and vice versa, a lot of touchy-smoochy stuff. They’re pretty handsy with each other,” he says with a mischievous grin at me, and I laugh. The sound throws me off, but it feels nice.
“Got it,” Frank laughs. “I’m confident I can handle it.”
We agree to all meet at the Soult house the next evening at seven, and the rest of the afternoon is spent the same as the past few days. I doze off with my cheek touching Ronan’s hand, just like I have so many times now. I want nothing more than to feel his hand move, for his thumb to brush my cheek, for his palm to cup my face as he pulls me toward him and kisses me with those soft lips of his.
Thursday, September 2nd
Cat
Ronan doesn’t move on Thursday, either, and even though he’s breathing on his own, the fact that he’s still not awake is testing my hope. Steve picks me up after school to take me to the hospital, and Frank smiles when he sees us.
“There’s only so much one-sided conversation I can have with Ran before I begin repeating myself,” Frank says. “I can’t even count the number of times I’ve asked him to please wake up. He’s stubborn, though. Must be those Irish genes.” He sighs with a tired chuckle. He looks exhausted and his expression is worn. It appears we all feel the same way. These past few days have been an emotional rollercoaster; we’ve been hanging on to every bit of positivity, only to get crushed by the fact that Ronan is still in a coma.
We spend the afternoon by Ronan’s bedside, and then, reluctantly, leave him to head out. This will be the first time Ronan is all alone in the hospital with no one there, and it feels wrong, like we’re abandoning him when he’s at his most vulnerable. But the nurse promises to call Frank should anything change, and Frank likewise assures me that he intends to return to the hospital in a few hours to spend another night there.
When we arrive at the Soult house, I’m surprised at how neat it looks. I wasn’t sure what I had expected; images of the shattered coffee table, the fractured hockey stick, the blood stains soaked into the rug and drying on the hardwood floor are still prominent in my mind. But today, there’s no sign of a struggle in the living room, not a trace of the violence that took place here. The bloodstained rug has been removed, as have the pieces of the coffee table and any evidence of what happened. A new, larger rug now adorns the hardwood floor, covering any stains that may have been left over.
Saoirse bustles about the house, a laundry basket balanced on her hip. The moment I step into the house, she puts the basket down and pulls me into her arms as though I’m part of her family.
“Can I just say that my grandbaby has excellent taste in girls?” Saoirse says to Frank before looking back at me. “You are stunning,” she adds, giving me a warm smile, which I happily reciprocate.
“How long are you staying in New York?” I ask her.
“Until that grandson of mine decides to wake up,” she says matter-of-factly, and stoops to pick up the laundry basket again.
I notice Perry is in the kitchen doing the dishes, and I wave hello before following Steve and Shane into the living room.
Frank orders a couple of pizzas for us all to share. My appetite has been essentially nonexistent these past few days, but I decide to try and eat something. I get up and walk to the small dining room, grab a piece, and make my way to the living room where I sit cross-legged on the floor.
We all watch Zack’s home movie for the next hour, and I love everything about it. It’s obvious how much time he’s put into it. The cuts between footage are flawless, and he even picked out background music. I can’t take my eyes off Ronan whenever he’s on screen, and my heart aches with how much I miss him.
“It looks like you were everywhere. You have all these incredible shots,” Tori says, expressing exactly what I’m thinking.
It looks as though Zack put extra time into finding these perfect, intimate shots of Ronan and me. There are moments of Ronan and me at the beach this past July when he picked me up and carried me into the water. There are shots of us holding hands, hugging, even kissing. One of my favorites is a scene in which Ronan and I had fallen asleep together on Shane’s couch one afternoon this last summer. I’m lying with Ronan right behind me, his body protecting me from falling off the narrow sofa, and his arm is draped over me, holding on to me.
Most of the scenes depict everyday life over these past few months, but they hold so many warm memories. Zack’s captured so many subtleties, like the way Ronan’s lips would break into a smile when he saw me, or the way I would melt into him whenever he held me—which, admittedly, he did a lot. I never realized how physical we are with each other, seeking each other’s touch—no matter how small—constantly.
“Told you there’s a lot of touchy-smoochy stuff,” Steve says slyly, and I have to laugh through the silent tears that stain my face as I take in and remember each moment, recalling the feel of Ronan, his smell. I miss him so unbearably much. The movie ends all too soon.
“What other footage do you have?” Frank asks when Zack’s movie is over.
“I have a bunch of stuff,” Zack says. “Most of it is pretty boring.”
We watch more raw footage from the summer, and footage that’s older, filmed before Ronan and I stepped into each other’s lives, before I even moved to New York. Ronan looks sexy playing hockey and working out—shirt off, his chest damp with sweat—making Saoirse comment that she feels indecent seeing her grandson this way. It causes everyone to laugh hysterically.
There are scenes from parties, the boys drinking heavily, even smoking weed here and there, and Steve apologizes profusely to his grandmother while the rest of us laugh. I know now what Steve meant when he warned his father. But Frank doesn’t react when he sees his youngest son drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey and flirting with random girls, or his oldest son making out with Vada before noticing the camera in his face and angrily shooing Zack away with a flick of his middle finger. The emotions that fill the room are endless—happy and painful—as we watch our lives over the past year or so played out on the screen.
Zack again sifts through his footage and suddenly pauses. “Cat,” he says giddily, “I have something for you.” I look at Zack, my eyebrows raised.
Zack selects a new recording. The shots must have been filmed before I met Ronan because none of it looks familiar. But then the scene transitions and I see Ronan standing with Shane and Tori, and I can hear Zack’s voice in the background; he’s obviously holding his camera and filming. The four of them are talking and Shane says something to Ronan about hooking up with Cheyenne and how she probably wouldn’t mind. My eyebrows knit at the statement and I’m irritated that Zack felt the need to show me this.
He senses my annoyance. “No, wait,” Zack says, “just give it a second.”
I keep watching and hear Shane saying Ronan’s name. “Ran? Ran! Ronan!”