Reputation (Mason Family 2)

“When I’m gone,” he says, starting again, “Bellamy will have no one. There will be no one to celebrate her birthdays.” His voice breaks once again. This time, it doesn’t find its rhythm. “There will be no one to make sure she makes it home after she stays out too long with Larissa. Nobody will make sure she goes to the doctor when she gets bronchitis in the fall or makes her chicken noodle soup without carrots. And that …” Tears stream down his cheeks in a quiet river. “That’s what keeps me up at night.”

He reaches for the tissue box and swipes a few pieces from the container.

I fight back a surge of emotion as I watch him struggle with his burden. It’s not something I ever imagined. I suppose it’s a privilege to be born into a large family. I never have to wonder if someone will remember my birthday. I only have to wonder if they’ll wake me up before I’m ready that morning. And even though I knew Bellamy would be alone, I’d never thought about it like this.

I try to picture her sitting in this house by herself on Christmas morning. It shreds my heart to think about her being scared on Halloween like she is every year when she watches too many horror movies. I try to picture her with good news to share or being angry or sad and having no one to call.

Just like she is now.

Coy, you are a motherfucking idiot.

“I know you have a life to live,” Joseph says, sniffling. “And I’m not trying to impose on that. I know she has Larissa and your brother, and I’m thankful for that. I know she’s a smart, strong girl, too, but … she’s my baby.” His face twists into a ball of unshed emotion. “And I need to trust someone to watch over her. To be her friend in a way that only you have ever been. Larissa can help her with some things, and Boone …” He grins. “Well, you know Boone.”

I don’t trust my voice to speak. I just sit quietly and try not to let my emotions play out on my face. I don’t want to make this harder for him.

Joe sighs. “You’re different than the others, Coy. You’ve always been special to Bellamy. And I know this is a lot to ask of you—”

“It’s not,” I say, my voice rough and raw. “You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

Relief settles across his features as he dabs his eyes with that tissue. He lets out a breath and then drops the tissue unceremoniously into a wastepaper basket by the chair. A smile is thrown my way, and then he picks up his remote and turns the TV back up.

I get to my feet, a little unsteadier than I was when I came in, and walk over to his chair. It hits me that this might be the last time I ever see Joseph Davenport. A part of me doesn’t want to leave as if that will somehow delay the inevitable.

I extend my hand toward the man who taught me how to split firewood one summer when I was determined to build muscle for wrestling. He looks up at me and puts his fragile palm in mine.

“I trust that you will remember this conversation,” he says. “And take care of my girl.”

“I will.”

He lets go of my hand. “I’m going back to my show now. Thank you for coming by. It was good to see you, Coy.”

“It was good to see you, Joe. Let me know if you need anything. Please.”

I take a final look at him before I turn around. I head for the front door and step onto the porch as quickly as I can.

The air is cool and nips at my skin as I start back across the lawn. Just before I hit the driveway, a sound from the back of the house snags my attention.

I walk along the driveway, creeping so I’m not seen. I peer around the corner and see Bellamy standing next to the pool with tears streaming down her face.

Take care of my girl.

Fuck.

Eleven

Bellamy

I wipe my face with the back of my hand. Mascara stains my skin with streaks of black.

The longer I cry, the more irritated I get at myself. It won’t solve anything. It’s not going to cure my dad or bring my mom back or help me sort out the rest of my life.

Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere. Fear just sneaks up on me and wallops me from behind. It slithers its way into my brain, swamping me with an overwhelming loneliness that I can’t cope with.

I’ll be fine. I know that. I have Riss and Boone.

I’ll find my footing—I’m not scared of that. I’m afraid of losing a connection with my past. I’m terrified of everyone getting busy and forgetting about me.