I’d be a wreck, just like John.
Dressed in a too-big black shirt of his and too-short borrowed black slacks, my fists clenched as John held up his hands in surrender, shrugged an apology at the gathered crowd, then stumbled off the podium and crashed from the church.
Della flinched as the doors slammed closed, leaving everyone a little shell-shocked and slightly afraid.
The priest stood, saying the final words while Della chipped at the ice between us and touched my hand. Just a flutter, but it made me inhale as if she’d just given me air after a day of suffocating.
She wore a borrowed dress from Cassie—a black one piece that hugged her every curve, making her seem older, wiser, sadder. “You should go to him.”
I bent my head so I could whisper in her ear, “I don’t want to step on Liam’s and Adam’s toes.” They were his true sons, after all. However, looking where they sat next to Cassie, neither of them could console their father; the Wilson children were wrapped up in their own sad world of losing their mother.
John was on his own.
My heart hurt even more.
“You’re right.” Inhaling her scent of vanilla and caramel—recognising a shampoo she used to use as a child that was most likely still in the bathroom, restocked by Cassie or Patricia, I slipped from the pew as a hymn started. “You’ll be okay?”
She smiled softly, her standoffish behaviour gone. “I’ll be fine. You’ll find me after?”
“Of course. We need to talk.”
“I know.”
Holding her blue eyes for as long as I could, I stepped from the church and winced as the heavy doors cut me off from her.
The day was overcast and grey, matching the melancholy mood.
Striding forward in my weathered boots that didn’t match the black dress code, the top of my sock glinted with my well-used knife. Searching the graveyard with stone and cherub headstones, it didn’t take long to find John on a bench beneath a tree with white flowers, his head in his hands and large frame quaking.
Was it right to intrude when he was obviously suffering? Would I make it better or worse?
Before I could make up my mind, John looked up, his red-rimmed eyes heavily lined and wrinkles more pronounced than before. His hair was whiter, his body not as fit, but the quick flash of power and authority he’d always had made him sit up straighter and clear his throat. “Ren.”
We’d seen each other this morning after Della and I had finished getting dressed in borrowed clothes and joined the Wilsons in their kitchen. We’d all shared an awkward reunion over toast and jam with strong coffee. Conversation hadn’t exactly been flowing, and apart from a clasped arm and bear hug, John hadn’t talked to us.
I’d understood his silence.
His grief was a physical thing, throttling his voice and heart.
But now, his face lit up, focusing on me and not on his dead wife—grateful for a reprieve. “Sit with me, my boy.” He snapped his fingers. “Sorry, not boy.” Wiping away the moisture on his cheeks, he chuckled softly. “Della would kill me for calling you that. She was rather adamant your name was Ren.”
I matched his chuckle, hiding a cough. “You’re right. It was a pet peeve of hers. Probably because I told her over and over again that my name was Ren and never to use anything else.”
I didn’t think I’d told him much of my sale to the Mclary’s, but sitting beside him, I offered up a piece of myself. “Her parents didn’t care what my name was. As a baby, she would’ve heard them call me boy. I guess something deep-seated like that can have strange consequences.”
John nodded, his eyes clearer, happy to focus on other things. “Sounds like that might be the case.”
We sat in silence for a bit. Apologises and kind words danced on my tongue, but nothing felt right. I didn’t want to hurt him deeper by saying the wrong thing. So I said nothing at all, hoping he knew how sorry I was in our shared silence.
Finally, he sighed heavily. “You lost, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Glancing at him, I raised an eyebrow. “Lost what?”
“The battle on keeping her as your sister.”
Heat flushed my skin as I dropped my gaze to the ground. “Ah.”
“Yes, ah.” Reclining, he rubbed his mouth with his hairy hand and shook his head gently. “How long have you two, eh…”
“Two years.”
“Are you happy?”
I looked at the sky with an almost wistful exhale. “I was until this morning.” Looking at him, I shared my idiotic fears. “I screwed up a little. I guess being back here has tangled my thoughts somewhat.”
“Understandable.”
“I hate it. I hate this feeling of distance. I-I’m so afraid of losing her. I love her so much, but no matter how much I want to, I can’t protect her from everything. One day I’ll lo—” I cut myself off, horror drowning me. “Fuck, John. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. Shit—”