Until Sage (Until Him 2)

“No, ain’t no one been out here since I got here.”

“All right, why don’t you come with me and we’ll go find someone to help us?” he offers, taking her arm like a gentleman and leading her away.

“Di… did that just happen?” I ask, and Sage gives my hand a squeeze while my mom takes my other hand in hers, holding it tightly.

“This will all be done soon,” Dad mutters, and I pull in a much-needed breath then let it out slowly.

“What do you mean you divided the ashes?” I hear shouted, and I force my mom and Sage to release me so I can take off toward the sound of Ginny yelling. Walking quickly past a row of caskets, I make it to an open door at the end of a long hall, where I find Ginny, Chris, and an older gentleman, who must be the funeral director, arguing.

“You told him to divide her ashes?” Ginny yells, looking at me as I step into the room, and I nod.

“Ma’am, please keep it down,” the director urges quietly, while Chris takes a step back from Ginny when she tries to take a second, much smaller box from him.

“Who gave you the right to do that? Who do you think you are?”

“I….” My hands ball into fists, and my jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised I don’t break any teeth. “I’m no one, and no one gave me the right to do it, but I did it anyway.”

“You have no fucking right to any part of her,” she seethes, and my throat burns as I try to swallow down the tears climbing up the back of it.

“I asked them to put a little of my sister’s ashes in a separate box for me so I could have them blown into two glass balls. One I was keeping for myself and one I planned on giving to you.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she hisses, and my eyes slide closed as I feel Sage get close to my back—offering support, giving me what I need, him not having any idea he’s even doing it or how much I need it.

“Please give her both boxes.” I open my eyes, and Chris, who is holding the smaller box in his hand, shakes his head. “Please,” I plea, and he reluctantly hands it over while the older gentleman gives her the larger box. “Thank you,” I say quietly, and then I turn around, not giving Ginny another glance. I let Sage lead me out of the room and down the hall. Stopping before we reach the door, I turn back around, realizing this isn’t over yet. “I still need to pay for the cremation. I—”

“We’ve got it, honey,” Mom murmurs, reaching out to give my arm a squeeze. “Why don’t you let Sage take you out to his car, we’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, fighting back tears I refuse to let fall. I won’t cry here. I won’t do it where there is a chance Ginny could see me break down. She doesn’t get to know she hurt me.

“Come on,” Sage urges gently, gathering me against his side. As I’m tucked under the protective strength of his arm, he leads me out of the building and back down the sidewalk toward where we parked when we arrived. As soon as we reach his car, he opens the passenger side door, moves us around so that, even though we are still out in the open, we are blocked by the door and tinted window.

Wrapping one arm around my back and his other hand around my skull, he tucks my face against his chest then drops his head until his mouth is near my ear. “You can cry now.”

Clinging to him, the tears I’ve been holding back begin to fall. I wish I could say I was only crying for my sister, but in truth, I’m crying over the woman who gave birth to me. But I promise myself these will be the only tears I ever shed over Ginny Mavis.

“You okay, honey?” Mom asks, and I turn to look at her over my shoulder from where I’m sitting in the front seat. As soon as my parents and Chris came out of the funeral home, Sage told me they were approaching, so I quickly wiped away the tears on my face and got in the car. Once he slammed my door, I expected him to walk around to the driver’s side, but he surprised me by stopping my parents and Chris to talk to them. It gave me some much-needed time to get myself under control before they all got in the car.

I know my parents understand I’m upset, but I don’t want them to worry any more than they have. They already feel guilty they have to leave tomorrow to get back to work, and I don’t want to add to that remorse. “Honey?” Mom prompts, and I come out of my head and nod.