The Happy Home

Author's Note: The title will likely be changed. It is just temporary. Anyway, I appreciate any reviews I can get!

Chapter One

“…and it never feels ‘right’ or ‘fair’ when the lives of our loved ones are taken so suddenly, especially at such a young age, but we must know and believe that there is something beyond this world that we cannot even imagine on our best and brightest day. It is the Silver Lining at the end of the story; it is the sunshine in the middle of the darkest and harshest rain of the century; it is the love amidst a world that inspires hatred. It is the Kingdom that our Father in Heaven has created for us. He waits for us. He waits for our destiny on Earth to be achieved and when the time is right and our destiny is achieved, He calls us home. Ryan Jacobs was an impressive young man, as his time on this Earth was so short, yet his presence here impacted an innumerable amount of people. To quote the Scripture…”

Silence. The church fell silent. Or perhaps it was just her brain tuning out the rest of the preacher’s spheel. Sure, he was a nice enough guy. He offered to take on the daunting task of leading Ryan’s funeral procession. Ryan, her handsome little blonde haired, blue eyed angel. Ryan, her baby boy who had so much life left to live. Ryan, who knew nothing about the big, bad world and trusted her. He trusted that he was safe under his mommy’s watchful eye. He trusted that he was safe in his mommy’s happy home. These days, it was far from happy and far from a home.

“And as Ryan begins his voyage to his Father in Heaven and we see his ship fading in the distance, we may wave good-bye and pray for His safe arrival; trust and believe that when Ryan’s ship is seen in the distance, headed toward those Pearly Gates, the residents of Heaven are prepared to take him in with open arms and joyous hearts. Should we find ourselves in mourning for this sweet child of God…”

Mourning. Such a small word for a feeling so strong. No words could describe the chaos within her mind. No words could describe the feeling of losing a child. No words could describe the sickness she felt within the pit of her stomach at the thought of how Ryan’s time on this Earth was cut short. It came to a screeching halt, and this was at the hands of someone who Ryan trusted almost as much as he trusted his mommy. In reality, Abagail had not lost only one child on that dreadful November evening, but two.

***

“Arielle, can you get your brother in the bathtub for me, please, while I put dinner away?” she asked. It was not an out of the ordinary request, as Arielle often helped her little brother out of his play clothes and into the bath tub, supervising him until their mother made her way into the bathroom. “I’ll be in there in just a few minutes.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she answered. “Ryan, let’s go, buddy!” she hollered at her younger brother as he slid out of his dinner chair and stomped his way to the bathroom, behind Arielle. Abagail smiled to herself. She couldn’t have asked for a better big sister for Ryan; there was no sibling rivalry, no fights. On occasion, Arielle would lose control of her temper and get into trouble but, for the most part, they were the best of friends.

Raising two young children alone in this world was proving to be the biggest challenge Abagail had ever faced. Her auburn hair was producing more greys by the day, it seemed, and the faint wrinkles around her mouth and eyes were becoming more prominent year after year. But she would not trade places with anyone for all the money in the world.

Her choice of men certainly needed some improvement; Arielle and Ryan’s father had been in and out of the picture for years, and finally stopped coming around all together. Ryan was the “maybe-if-we-have-a-baby-our-relationship-will-change-for-the-better” stipulation. Needless to say, that was not the case; a cheating, unambitious ass of a man would never become the Prince Charming she needed and the Super Dad she wanted for their children.

As she drifted back to reality and washed the last remaining dish in the sink, Abagail picked up the red and white checkered cloth and dried her hands off hastily, determined to get Ryan in and out of the bath quickly. He did not need to be getting sick in this weather. Walking toward the hallway leading to the bathroom, Abagail heard her cell phone ringing and quickly retreated back to the kitchen and snatched it off the shiny granite counter top.

“Hello?” she answered, slightly irritated.

“Hey, doll face. How about giving your old Ma a call sometime?”

“Sorry, Ma, it’s been a stressful week. Arielle had two different therapy appointments, Ryan had his bi-yearly check-up on Wednesday, and my boss is giving me hell about all the time I have been taking off.”

“I know it’s hard, honey. You know how hard it was for me when I was raising you and your brothers. I didn’t have any help from—“

“MOMMY!” Arielle shouted frantically. Without a second thought, she dropped the phone to the counter and dashed down the hallway to the open bathroom door.

A look of terror shone through Arielle’s face as she screamed hysterically, cheeks streaked with tears, “MOM, I TURNED AROUND! HE WAS PLAYING! HE WAS SINGING ABC’S! HE PUT HIS FACE IN THE WATER TO BLOW BUBBLES AND I THOUGHT HE WAS STILL PLAYING BUT HE STOPPED MOVING! MOM, HE STOPPED MOVING! AND I…”

Tuned out. Abagail tuned her daughter’s frantic shouts out of her head as she dropped to her knees beside the half-full bathtub and lifted Ryan’s limp body the rest of the way out of the cold, porcelain tub. It seemed Arielle had done her best to get him out, but he was dead weight, so to speak.

Laying him on the floor, she checked her son’s pulse on his wrist. No luck. Skipping the formalities of checking for a pulse everywhere else, Abagail plugged her baby’s nose and began CPR, praying for a miracle to happen on that bathroom floor. She paused for a moment, turned to Arielle and instructed, “Run and grab my cell phone off the kitchen counter and call 911 now.” She was trying to keep cool, calm, and collected for her children’s sake, unaware of the entire truth of the matter.

***

“…and so we ask all of this in the glorious name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And God’s people said…”

“Amen,” a church full of those impacted by the life of young Ryan stated in unison.

***

“Arielle, what were you doing in the bathroom with your brother?” the lady with the bright red lips and pointy, clicky shoes asked her again.

She thought for a moment before answering. “Welllll… Mommy asked me to take him in the bathroom and get him ready for a bath like I always do, so I did it.”

“And then what happened, sweetie?” This lady was obviously very forgetful. Arielle had answered these questions at least half a dozen times.

Arielle released a sigh. “I got him in the bathtub and turned on the water for him. Only I had to put it kinda cool instead of warm ‘cause he had a sun burn from when Mommy took us to the beach last weekend. We made the biggest sandcastle ever and Mommy took pictures.”

Frustrated, but maintaining her patience, Detective Andrea Jones sat down in the chair across from Arielle, looking directly into her dark brown eyes. “That sounds like fun, honey,” she stated monotonously, trying to come up with a better tactic.

She looked up at the auburn-haired, brown-eyed girl. Her head was down, staring at the surface of the wooden table they sat at, tracing markings with her fingers that other suspects must have carved into the table at one time. Strands of hair fell in her face and she gracefully tucked them back behind her ear. She was wise beyond her years, that was for sure. Andrea suspected she knew how to manipulate, causing people to assume she was just a typical eight-year-old girl.

Arielle spoke softly, but just loud enough to be heard: “Ryan was singing his ABC’s and splashing water. I was brushing my hair in the mirror, trying to make it longer and prettier like Mommy’s. I turned around and he was blowing bubbles in the bath water, so I kept brushing my hair. When I was done, I went over to the bathtub to see what he was doing and he just wasn’t moving. He was just laying there on his tummy with his face still in the water but he wasn’t blowing bubbles anymore.” She stopped for a moment, still staring down at the carvings in the table. She slowly looked up at the detective and continued: “I tried to shake him awake, but he wouldn’t wake up. So I tried to get him out of the bathtub but he was way too heavy and I had him on the edge.” Abruptly, she stopped mid-story and put her head back down, tracing the carvings with her fingers once more.

Detective Jones, piecing the puzzle together in her head, asked one final time: “And then what happened, Arielle?”

Arielle looked up again, staring at the bright red lipstick Detective Jones wore, wondering if she’d ever get to wear pretty lipstick like that. “I’m not supposed to tell you that,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh?” Detective Jones asked, curiously. “And who told you that?”

“My friend.”

“Who’s your friend? Was your friend with you?” Andrea asked.

“Yes, she was with me. She hurt my brother. She told me not to tell. She said friends don’t tell on friends. But now I’m telling you, so I guess I’m not her friend.” Arielle thought about this to herself, a look of confusion on her face.

Trying to stay composed, the detective asked, “Did your mommy see your friend? Was she in the bathroom with you when you called for your mommy?”

“No, Mommy couldn’t see her. Well, I can’t really see her either. I can only hear her.”

***

Abagail stared at the newest addition to the cemetery, long after everyone had said their good-bye’s and gave their condolences. The tombstone read:

Ryan Patrick Jacobs

A loving son, brother, and child of God

May 15, 1990 – November 13, 1994

Her next stop was the Children’s Mental Health Facility of Memphis, a 12-hour drive and one in which she wasn’t sure she was prepared to make.