FOUR
Rip
Four Days Later
My life had spun completely out of control.
My best friend was dead.
My sister was dead.
I shuddered as I looked up into another pair of sad eyes. Monica’s next-door neighbor. Sobbing.
I couldn’t do this much longer.
“Mrs. Harris.” I dipped my chin.
She reached down and hugged me, nearly tipping my whisky out of my hand as she patted me hard on the back. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I still remember when they moved in and I brought over cookies. She was just so sweet to invite me in and—”
“Thank you,” I interrupted tersely, “for your kind words, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check on the kids.”
“Oh!” She clapped her hands against her cheeks dramatically. “Those poor kids.” Leaning in, she lowered her voice. “Whatever will they do without their parents? And no grandparents to take care of them? You know, I was watching the news one time and this lovely boy lost his whole family in a fire and he went into the system! Can you imagine?”
I forced a polite smile. “Yes, well, that’s not going to happen to Ben and Viera.”
“Oh, well—”
“Rip?” Colby’s eyes were bloodshot, her pale face stained with tears. “Ben won’t come out of his room. He says he…” Her eyes flickered to Mrs. Harris and back. “He says he wants to see his daddy and, long story short, last year at Christmas his dad gave him a recording of his favorite book and he’s wondering how he can hear his dad but not, but not”—she hiccupped—“see him in heaven.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said quickly, taking her hand and leading her away from Mrs. Harris.
Colby pulled her hand from mine and started to softly cry again as we made our way up the stairs.
“Stop,” I hissed.
Her blurry eyes blinked up at me, mascara yet again making its way down her puffy cheeks. “What? Stop what?”
“This,” I leaned in and whispered. “You’re making a scene.”
She jerked to attention. “I’m. Making. A. Scene.”
“Yes.” I lifted my chin. “The last thing we need is the kids more upset.”
Her nostrils flared. “Their parents just died, Rip! Crying is a natural reaction to devastation and heartbreak, not that I expect you to even understand the concept of emotion. How can you be so cold? Brooks was your best friend. Monica was your sister. They’re dead.”
“I know who they were. And I know what happened to them. I was there at the hospital, remember? When we had to identify the two best people I’ve ever known, and you passed out and made it about you like you always fucking do!”
She gasped.
“Sorry.” Shit. “Sorry, I just, I need you to be different.”
“‘D-different’?” Her pretty blue eyes searched mine. “What do you mean, ‘different’?”
With a curse, I held out my hands at her black peasant dress and ridiculous blue feather earrings. “Honestly? Anything but this…” I waved my hand around in her general direction. “You’re not traveling the globe writing about the best foodie destinations and drinking all the free wine you can get anymore. You’re a parent now, so start acting like one. Otherwise I will file for full custody.”
“You monster!” She gritted her teeth. “How dare you judge the way I grieve? The way I live—?”
“Why not? You do the exact same thing to me, and I’m the one handling this. I’m the one meeting with the lawyers, figuring out the house situation and everything else that you fail to understand matters.”