If Only

By Davis Summerlin

Shattered. Lost. Pregnant.

 

 

Allison's world crumbles when she learns her boyfriend, Jason, is gone. School feels meaningless, food bland, and sleep a distant memory. But amidst the grief, a life-altering secret surfaces: Allison is pregnant.

 

 

One decision. Countless lives.

 

Thrust into a whirlwind of choices, Allison faces trials that push her to the brink. Every path holds unimaginable consequences, not just for her future, but for the lives of those she never knew were connected.

 

If Only is a heart-wrenching exploration of grief, the power of choice, and the profound impact a single decision can have.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dice Book Publishing
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999224816

Davis Summerlin

Davis Summerlin writes for and manages Dice Book Publishing. He lives in Texas with his wife, daughter, and three dogs. 

Book preview

‘This will hurt,’ the nurse had said. You are about to understand the meaning of ‘agony’...that would have been more appropriate.

Chapter 1

Allison

FOUR SMALL STICKS LAY on the bathroom counter. They lay side by side in a line, each one identical to the other. They had the same white plastic coating, the same odd thermometer like shape; they even came from the same box. Yet the similarities that truly troubled Allison were the identical pink plus signs printed in the middle of each stick.

She stared down at them. Her mind went numb. One thought rose to the surface.

I must be dreaming.

Despite her hopefulness, her trembling hands and queasy stomach rooted her to the idea that this was reality.

Several minutes passed. Allison remained silent, stoic, and still. Her eyes transfixed upon her own shadow. Her hands hung loosely at her sides. Minutes continued to tick by in her chest. What had first been near silent breaths gradually became heavy gasps. She tried to remember how to breathe.

Her arms moved to her sides. Her knees buckled. She slipped gradually closer and closer to the floor until she was on her knees. A quiet whine pressed upon the air.

The wind? It began as muffled puffs but soon grew longer...deeper. A thin trail painted clear lines down her cheeks. The sound hung in the air, filling the small bathroom with its sad song. Allison took a breath. The song ended.

As the minutes passed, Allison folded in upon herself. An hour later her thighs pressed tightly against her chest, and her face hid sheltered behind her knees. Her hands followed. Her world fell apart as a flood of thoughts broke through her strained defenses:

What does this mean? Why me? Why him? Why now? Can I keep it? Should I keep it? What will my parents think? Maybe they won’t find out? Of course, they’ll find out when I’m a whale. I’m going to be a whale. Maybe I’ll be one of those small pregnant women. I don’t want to be pregnant. I’m not ready. I’m still in high school!

Allison found herself at school the next day. It was the same as any other Monday. The halls had the same overly clean smell. The people magically weaved between one another without ever causing a jam. Teachers had the same corny sense of humor or lack thereof. Nothing was different, nothing but the clocks.

Every clock, in every room, ticked with rapid heavy gong like strikes. For once, Allison craved the slow, arduous dripping of time that usually saturated her day. Each class was full of machine-gun-like ticks of clocks, wristwatches, even the rhythmic tapping of pencils seemed to have been enhanced.

The clock struck three. The bell rang. Her classmates left before Ms. Field finished her sentence. Time slowed. At least long enough for Allison to realize her teacher was talking to her.

Excuse me Ms. Field? Allison’s dazed gaze finally came into focus. Ms. Field stood in front of her.

The teacher’s hair was up. Sweat lined her brow, and dark circling had begun to form beneath the young teacher’s eyes. These signs of fatigue made the bright glimmering star that hung from her neck shine that much brighter. It was a tiny thing, yet no matter where she stood, the light seemed to cling to its golden silhouette. It was this light that had pulled Allison back from within herself, allowing her to hear her teacher clearly.

I said thank you for taking an interest in the lecture unlike the rest of your classmates, Ms. Field said. She made uncomfortable eye contact. Allison broke it. She realized that in her daze it must have looked as if she had been giving Ms. Field her undivided attention. She generally fell asleep in the class, an activity she didn’t practice alone. Allison scanned the room. The only students remaining had their heads plopped down on their desks...one was lying in an alarmingly large puddle of drool.

Oh yes for sure, Allison remarked after another awkward pause. She got up from her desk; placed her blank notebook and uncapped pen into her backpack. Allison left the room and walked into the now empty hallway. With the emptiness came silence. In the silence, memories began to press against her skull. Soon those memories became ghosts, images of the life she’d known not so long ago.

She saw herself fidgeting with the combination of her locker, hitting it repeatedly when it failed to open.

"Nine, three, fifteen," Allison’s ghost repeated under its breath as it attempted to open her lock once more. At the final number, the ghost lifted the latch in desperate hopes of finally getting it right. The latch remained rooted. She let out a cry of frustration. She raised her hand aiming to give the steel locker a good slap when another ghostly hand intertwined with her own.

"Fifteen, nine, three," Jason whispered as he took the knob of her locker and entered the correct numbers. He lifted the latch, and the locker slid open. You always get them mixed up, Jason said pressing his lips to Allison’s forehead.

Allison paused, struck by the familiar warmth of her heart as she looked upon the memory. Then she was alone once more. She walked forward determined to hold onto the warmth of her heart just a little longer before the sadness came rushing back.

Allison walked out into the parking lot. Her feet moved rhythmically back and forth upon the pavement. She found a small comfort in her metronome like steps. Her left foot scraped some kicked up asphalt. Her right foot swung forward landing on a faded white line. Her left foot fell. Her right foot fell. Left, right, left, right, left...her feet stopped.

Allison looked up. Her car was parked in front of her. She had parked uncomfortably close to a white Honda on her left and embarrassingly far from the Chevy on her right. Allison shuffled into the driver's seat taking care not to ding the neighboring car. She turned the key. Her engine purred to life. She made her way home. Before long she came to the intersection of Baker Street and Main. She settled into the left-hand turn lane getting ready to make the final turn before she was home.

Time slowed down to a halt for the first time that day. A strange numbness started in her heart and spread to the rest of her body. The light turned red. Allison pressed on the gas. Oncoming cars honked but she managed to avoid them. She forced herself into the right lane. Within minutes she was out of her car. She almost sleepily walked up the paved path to her house. She struggled with her keys, trying to force them into the keyhole of her front door. Allison shook, wiggled and nearly sprained her wrist in her efforts to enter, yet was met with the same result each time...failure.

She looked in her palm and counted the keys on her chain. She assigned each a door for which they went. It was a short list as there were only two keys. She inspected each, attempting to find an alteration of some kind. She found nothing. Looking from her keys back to her front door, something new caught her eye. It wasn’t Allison’s door.

A sharp crack rumbled within her chest. Whatever residual numbness Allison still felt dissipated. She had driven to Jason’s house. She turned to leave. A rough pop sounded as the door was pried open.

Allison? Mrs. Sprice, Jason’s mother, questioned from the doorway. Allison turned around.

I’m sorry Mrs. Sprice, I didn’t mean to come. Allison shuffled her feet. It was accident. I thought I was going home when... Allison began her rant when Jason’s mother stopped her.

It’s ok, she said. Allison met Mrs. Sprice’s eyes. Jason’s mother was always...put together. Allison had never seen her without make up. She always dressed to the nines. Jason used to joke that she was the female version of James bond: cool, collected, and perfect. This wasn’t that Mrs. Sprice.

The woman’s hair was frazzled and frayed, lacking its usual sleek shine. Allison noted circles beneath Mrs. Sprice’s eyes and the pale pallor of her cheeks.

When’s the last time she went outside? Allison wondered. She then cringed. This could have been me.

Would you like to come inside? Mrs. Sprice squinted. She stepped to the side inviting Allison in. Allison peered inside. The last time she’d been in that house was the last time she’d seen Jason...alive anyway.

I’m sorry, I don’t think I can, Allison said as she began to walk back towards her car.

Please, Mrs. Sprice’s voice was a whisper, but her emotion rang loud and clear.

I...I could use your help, Mrs. Sprice breathed. Allison paused, looked from her car to the mother of the boy she loved. Her hand brushed slightly against her stomach.

Grandmother...

She turned away from her car and followed Mrs. Sprice into the house.

At first, nothing seemed different. The goofy bear rug still lay around the corner. The walls were still lined with bookshelves. The bookshelves still filled with books of no particular genre and in no particular order. Then Allison noticed a change. It was dark. 

Allison couldn’t remember a time in the Sprice home when more lights were off than not. It was dim, almost as if it was lit by a fire place. All the blinds and curtains had been shut. A few sparse lamps gave what little light there was. She looked up to see the overhead lights off with the fan running. Finally, she noticed the boxes.

A small collection of five or six large cardboard boxes waited at the base of the stairs. For the most part, they were identical. One or two had slight bulges at the bottom. Mrs. Sprice had obviously attempted to fit more than the box’s capacity. They all had the same light brown hue, and clear masking tape pulled tight over the top. They all had the name JASON painted on each one of them in large thick permanent marker.

I’ve been trying to consolidate, Mrs. Sprice said, pressing one box closer to another as she said it. 

Consolidate, Allison repeated inwardly as she surveyed the storage.  

The boy was a hoarder, Mrs. Sprice said shaking her head. Signs of a smile crept across her lips but were quickly distorted, and suddenly were gone as she took a deep breath.

I’ve been packing little by little every day, she sighed. That’s all I’ve been able to get through. Some days I can’t touch a single thing. There’s enough left up there to triple the size of that pile. Mrs. Sprice looked up the stairs, took a breath and began to march up them. She said nothing but it was clear Allison was expected to follow. So she did.

A rock formed in Allison’s stomach.

I’ve never seen Jason’s room, Allison thought. She never let me, Allison looked at Mrs. Sprice as she climbed. A series of images flashed through Allison’s head as she imagined what Jason’s room looked like.

Jason...he liked baseball, hot dogs, real dogs, big dogs not small. His favorite color was green, forest green deep and dark. Sharks, he liked sharks. Sharks live in deep oceans; he always liked the ocean...By the end of her thought storm, Allison saw Jason’s room clearly in her mind’s eye.

It was decorated to resemble an underwater forest. Sharks swam across the wall with pictures of great Danes riding on their backs. A pair of baseball bats would hang crossed above his bed, while beneath it would be trays of half-eaten hot dogs and other various foods. It was both intriguing and disgusting. Allison continued inventing and imagining as she followed Mrs. Sprice up the stairs, yet before she could further her design of Jason’s room she was forced to come to a stop to avoid colliding with Jason’s mom.

The woman had stopped walking halfway up the stairs. Allison peeked around to see what had caught the woman’s attention. She followed her shifting gaze from one empty spot to another. Allison knew those spaces weren’t empty in Mrs. Sprice’s eyes. Allison knew she was looking at Jason, at the ghosts his memory left behind. She saw that stare...the stare that gazed beyond reality. It was a look Allison become to fall into herself.

I see him too, Allison said breaking the silence.