Free Song of Renewal by Emily Sue Harvey

suffering. I’m...so… sorry.”
    Then she cast her arms outward and raised her face to the ceiling, tears coursing down her face. “What have I done? Please, God. Forgive me.”
    Garrison heard her heartrending cry, knew she needed his forgiveness, his comfort. He tried to open his mouth and say it, but he could not. God help him. He could not. That place inside him, where mercy dwells, was as empty as an ancient, deserted cave. He had nothing left to give.
    While birds sang outside their window, the two of them pulled themselves to their feet, and together, yet far, far apart, they did the right thing. They honored Troy’s memory.

    After the memorial service Garrison drove them straight to the hospital. They’d exchanged a few comments along the way, though to Liza, it was like gouging out molars to engage Garrison in conversation. She still gave it her best attempt.
    The only exception was when he pulled his cell phone from his suit coat pocket. “I forgot to turn it off vibrate. Looks like I missed a call from the office.” He snapped it shut and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll call Gwen from the hospital. Traffic’s heavy.”

    Encouraged by that small concession, Liza said, “ Troy’s mother asked about Angel. Know what she said?” Not even expecting a response, she went on. “She said, ‘he loved her, you know.’” The divulgence had touched Liza’s soul. “I know how hollow she and Rocky feel inside, but they are so brave.” Liza had merely wept with the grieving mother, whose pain matched – no, surpassed her own. June had no hope.
    Liza still clung to it.
    Garrison was silent for long moments as their black Jag swung into the ICU parking lot. He cut the motor and looked at Liza and her heart leaped from her belly’s cold floor to her throat. Lightness flooded her, hope fluttered.
    Then he said quietly, “It hasn’t hit them yet.” He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him, echoing her heart’s thud. Liza felt the weak, warm stinging of tears in her nose and throat but with great effort pushed them back.
    He came around and opened her door, a courtesy from which his Southern gentleman upbringing wouldn’t release him. Even now, when Liza knew it was the last thing he would choose to do, he practiced civility. Walking through the hot, humid, ninety-three degree July day and through the entrance doors, she noted that he dodged even the tiniest brush with her.
    She sighed and murmured, “At least they don’t have any regrets.”
    “What?” Garrison asked with a ring of annoyance, walking briskly, forcing her to hasten her pace.
    She shrugged. “Troy’s folks. At least they won’t wrestle with regrets.”
    He gave a tiny huff of exasperation. “Regrets? They buried their son today. Yeah. I’d say they regret having to do that.” His sarcasm cut her deeply, as did his implications.
    Regrets. She carried enough of them for Troy’s parents, Garrison, and the whole danged world. Humor had always
gotten her past dark times. Had enabled her to wheedle and tease Garrison out of his sporadic artistic melancholy, occasions that culminated with them rolling on the carpet, laughing like doofuses.
    Garrison had once told her, “I love your sense of humor. It’s one of the things that drew me to you from the first. There’s something so pure in it. So spontaneous. I love that, like you, it’s so real and uncontrollable, even in the most serious of times.”
    This time was different. A hovering Death specter obliterated humor, disarming her of the one weapon to which Garrison might respond.
    Inside the ICU waiting area chatting with Penny was Garrison’s redheaded assistant, Gwen. She embraced them both, murmuring, “I’m so sorry about all this. Is there anything I can do? That is,” she apologetically pulled an envelope from under her arm, “besides getting your signature on these forms?”
    Penny said, “I’m going to get a snack in the cafeteria. Want me to bring you