by Nia Arthurs
UNKNOWN: Hey, it’s Anthony. The guy with the incredibly sexy dance moves.
I snort at that lie, but save his number anyway. Anthony’s open pursuit is flattering, if a little strange. I hope I don’t end up hurting him.
The truth is… Harry’s in my heart.
Thanks to Reece, Ben’s on my mind.
And now Anthony’s in the picture.
Who am I kidding? Someone’s definitely getting hurt. And hopefully, it won’t be me.
Chapter Thirteen
Ben
The church is packed. The heat is oppressive, the kind that causes strokes and mass panics. Colorful paper fans flutter amidst the rows of brightly dressed mourners. The buzz of endless chatter rises to the ceiling, an overwhelming sound.
My fingers curl over the funeral program. There’s a picture of Harry on the front page. He looks happy. Healthy. Alive.
A part of me is slightly disconnected from this moment, from where I am and what I’m doing here. My brain rejects the fact that I’m at my brother’s funeral.
It doesn’t help that the congregation is dressed in orange, red and yellow instead of the usual staid black that defines this kind of occasion.
“Ben.” Someone touches my back. A glance over my shoulder reveals Lydia. She’s wearing a yellow sundress and white shoes. Her hair is braided into a bun and her usually watery eyes are drier than I’ve ever seen them.
Am I the only one who’s upset in here?
“Hey.” I adjust my shiny black shoes. This morning, I picked out a black, long-sleeved shirt and black pants to wear to the service. Harry may have wanted everyone to celebrate, but I don’t want to party at his funeral.
This morning, Reece and Logan barged into the guest room and insisted I wear a bright red shirt. We argued. There were some tears—mostly mine and Reece’s.
Finally, we compromised. They convinced me to change into a dark purple shirt that was sober enough to suit my mood but had enough color to sate them.
“Are you okay?” Lydia asks.
“Not really,” I say honestly. “But it could have been worse. Dad could have shipped Harry’s body out of the country.” I offer her a small smile. “Thanks, by the way. I don’t know what you said to the coroner, but I’m glad it worked.”
“Come on now.” Lydia wiggles her eyebrows. “Bribery only goes so far. Besides, I knew the coroner’s mother and she would turn over in her grave if she heard what he was trying to do for a few bucks.”
I smile.
“Is there anything you would want to add to the service?”
“Like?”
She studies my face. “Are you sure you don’t want to read the eulogy?”
I shake my head. “This place, these people… you were Harry’s present. I represent his past. Everything he ran from. Was running from. It’s better this way.”
“Our past shapes our present,” Lydia says. “But it also reminds us of who we are and who we want to be. Don’t discount yourself or your part in Harry’s history.” She squeezes my hand.
I nod. It’s barely been a week, but Lydia’s starting to feel like my grandmother.
“Are you ready to go back out?” Lydia asks, pointing to the door.
“No, I… just need a minute.”
“Understandable. It’s packed out there and everyone is curious about you.”
“Yeah.”
Since this morning, I’ve been receiving condolences. Shaking hands. Accepting hugs. Hearing all the things Harry did for and with the people of Belize.
I never got to see my brother interact with his friends, but it’s easy to imagine what his relationships must have been like by the way people are treating me. Like I’m meaningful. Important. Worth something.
All because I’m related to Harry.
Will my funeral be this packed? Will my friends be affected by my absence the way Harry’s are?
Probably not.
The thought is sobering.
“I’ll go and make sure everything is set before we start.” Lydia softens her voice. “Is your father coming?”
I shrug. After our fight at the restaurant two days ago, I stuffed my pride deep inside and drove Dad and Lauren to their hotel. After we parted at the doors, they made no effort to reach out to me, and I had no intentions of breaking the silence.
They’ll meet Reece someday, but I’m not going out of my way to arrange it. Not if doing so cements their desire to take her back to the States.
“Alright.” Lydia clears her throat. “I’ll see you out there.”
I remain in the back room until I hear the piano, guitars, and drums start up a chorus. The song is rhythmic, up-tempo, and Caribbean to the max. When I step into the sanctuary, I’m stunned by the audience swaying and dancing to the beat.
Again… this is a funeral.
Am I missing something?
I scurry to the front row where Reece and Logan are sitting. Logan catches my eye and arches an eyebrow in question.
“I’m okay,” I mouth to her.
She nods and claps her hands, mouthing the lyrics of the song. Reece is standing beside her. She’s not singing or clapping, but she’s not crying either. At least not yet.
As the service continues, I hold myself steady and stare straight ahead. Most of what happens flies way over my head. Reece, too, remains strong. I don’t see her cry or react once during the entire length of the funeral.
She even reads a touching poem that has Logan sniffling beside me. Reece’s voice is strong and clear throughout the entire recitation. When she’s done, she woodenly returns to her seat and sits with an expression of indifference.
The act continues until the pastor raises his arms and calls the pallbearers forward. Since that was the only job Lydia insisted I have, I climb to my feet and prepare to take my brother’s body to the car waiting outside.
Before I take a step, someone snags my arm and clings to me. I look down and fall into Reece’s grey eyes. They’re swimming with tears. Her lips tremble. “Uncle Ben…”
I freeze. Did she just call me ‘Uncle’?
“Uncle Ben, please don’t take my father away.”
Logan cries quietly. I look at her and then back at Reece. Her entire body is trembling now. Tears fall freely from her eyes. I swallow and kneel so I’m eye level with her. “I’m sorry, Reece.”
“Please!” Her voice is louder now. People look our way. “Please don’t.”
Logan steps forward and takes Reece’s hand. “Come on, honey.”
“No!” Reece struggles against her. Her braids fling left and right as she squirms to escape Logan’s grip.
I clench my jaw and turn away. One step. Two steps. I’m directly in front of the coffin.
The band starts playing another lively number. I glare at the stage. How dare they? Can’t they see what’s going on here? Can’t they see our hearts are breaking?
I force one leg in front of the other. Grab the handle on the expensive mahogany coffin. Somehow, I manage to walk toward the door without exploding.
On my way out, I spot Dad and Lauren in the pews. My feet grow roots and plant themselves into the ground. I can’t move. Can’t blink. Can’t breathe.
The other pallbearers, friends from Harry’s work and church, try to move forward but realize that they’re load is lopsided. They look back. Send me looks of pity, confusion, and sympathy.
My fingers slide completely off the golden handle. I clutch my chest, stunned by the ache there. It’s like someone shot me. Like a gaping hole is beneath my shirt.
I can’t do this. I can’t go on.
Then someone clasps my hand. Brown fingers. Pink fingernails. Logan. That’s Logan’s hand. Her eyes are swimming with tears, but the way she holds onto me underlines her quiet strength.
“Let’s do it together,” she whispers.
All I can do is nod.
Logan marches beside me. My left hand is in hers. My right has Harry’s coffin. We step into the bright sunshine. No
t even the weather knows it’s a funeral. Birds twitter cheerfully. Fluffy white clouds slip past the blue sky.
Logan lets go of me and steps back as we shove the coffin into the car. I’m supposed to go to the cemetery to watch the burial, but I have no desire to do so. Screw social expectations.
I need a drink.
When I turn around to find Logan and explain where I’m headed, she’s not there. Instead, I spot Lauren and Dad. They look uncomfortable amidst the sea of brown, black and tan faces. They would have stood out anyway, but those disconcerted expressions draw a spotlight over them.
I wait on the sidelines until they slip out of the church. Lauren seems relieved to see me and quickly wraps her arms around my neck in a hug. When she steps back again, she slips her dark shades to the top of her head.
She’d been crying. Her green eyes are red-rimmed. Puffy.
I wonder what they’ve been up to over the past day and a half. Uneasiness slithers through my stomach. Dad isn’t the type to lay low and let things happen. If he hasn’t made a move thus far, it’s because he’s been planning to.
“What a… charismatic service,” Lauren says with a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t get the memo.” She points to her black dress. “Is that a tradition in Belize?”
“It’s what Harry wanted,” a voice says. “He knew where he was going.”
Lauren whirls around, her mouth forming a small o. “Who is this?”
“Logan Brackett. I was Harry’s friend.” She offers her hand for Lauren to shake.
I watch Logan closely. The proposition to exact revenge on Dad and Lauren was a joke, but her disapproval of them is real. We’re at Harry’s funeral. I’ve already made enough of a scene. I try to edge her away from them.
“Logan, where’s Reece?” I ask.
“She’s with Lydia. They went to the burial sight. Reece wanted to go.”
“Are you hungry?” I take her elbow and steer her down a stair. “Let’s get something to eat before Lydia brings Reece back.”
“We’ll join you,” Dad says.
My eyes bug. I spin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I do!” Lauren raises a hand like we’re in a classroom.
Logan wrenches her arm away from me and faces my father. She stares him right in the eyes. “I’d like that.”
Fifteen minutes later, I find myself seated in a booth across from my father and Lauren. Logan is fuming beside me.
There’s no way this will end well.
Dad sets his fists on the table. “Let me get straight to the point.”
“Kurt…” Lauren flashes him a warning glance. “We can at least eat first.”
“I’m not hungry.” Logan leans forward. “Go ahead, Mr. Duncan.”
Dad fishes a white envelope from inside his coat pocket and tosses it across the table. Logan stares at it but doesn’t make any moves to touch it.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
My father ignores me and juts his chin toward Logan. “Go ahead. Open it.”
For a second, I wonder if she’ll ignore him. At last, Logan reaches out, grasps the envelope and tears it open. She pulls out a slip of paper. It’s a check. My eyebrows hike when I read all the zeroes on the line.
“Dad…”
“That’s the exact amount of debt you owe to the bank for your salon. To the cent.”
Logan shoves the check back into the envelope and sets it back on the table. She says nothing, but I can feel her temper building like a volcano about to erupt.
“Dad…” I warn.
He ignores me. Again.
“My research shows that you and your business partner are doing well with the store, and I’m always looking for businesses to invest in.”
“Are you?” Logan narrows her eyes.
Dad, you need to stop. “How about we order now?”
“I could use a drink,” Lauren says.
Logan folds her arms over her chest. “And what exactly would you get in exchange for your investment?”
“Nothing too substantial.” Dad leans back in his chair. “I would be quite satisfied if you would help Reece to adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” Logan grinds out through clenched teeth.
“Living with me.”
The table falls silent.
I blink rapidly. “Dad, we already spoke about this. You’re not taking Reece back to the US.”
“You expect me to leave the child in your care when I’m the one who still pays for your house and car? I don’t think so.” Dad arches an eyebrow. “Or are you willing to give up my support to tough things out on your own?”
I frown. “What are you saying?”
“Give up your guardianship.” Dad lowers his voice. “Or give up your card, your apartment and your car.” He leans back. “Your choice.”
Chapter Fourteen
Logan
Ben’s face goes white. Kurt Duncan is staring him down as if he’s won. As if he knows all our weaknesses. As if he has us in the palm of his hands.
It’s annoying, that arrogance. Something in me wants to wipe the smirk off his face even if it’s at my own expense.
“Well?” Mr. Duncan hikes one thick brow. “I’m waiting for an answer, Ben.”
“Here’s your answer.” I grab the envelope and tear it in half. The paper makes a satisfying rip. I watch the white pieces flutter to the tabletop.
Lauren scoots to the edge of her seat and scrambles to collect the scraps. “No! What are you doing?”
I glare at her, hating her even more for being so beautiful. Her red hair billows around her pale, oval-shaped face. Green eyes are fringed with thick black lashes. Plump pink lips flatten in horror. She could easily be a movie star or a model.
No wonder Harry couldn’t get over her, and Kurt Duncan screwed his own son over to have her. She’s a freaking goddess.
I nudge Ben in the side until he scoots out of the booth. He stumbles to his feet and stares at the floor, deep in thought.
I raise my chin. “You can do what you will. Ben and I don’t need your money.”
Ben’s blue eyes collide with mine. There’s a slight panic in their depths. I shake my head slightly, an instruction to keep his mouth shut. He purses his lips together. I can tell he wants to argue but he, miraculously, remains silent.
I follow him out of the booth, savoring the distressed expression on Lauren’s face. It’s clear she’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’. Someone so beautiful probably expects unlimited, unquestioned favor.
I’m glad I’m the first to put her in her place. For Harry’s sake.
Kurt Duncan rises slowly. He slips one hand into his pocket, his languorous movement revealing how unconcerned he is by our reaction. “You’re being emotional, Logan. Living with us is the best thing for Reece.”
“How do you know that?” I sling my purse onto my shoulder. “You haven’t even met her.”
“That’s no fault of ours.”
I inhale deeply. “You know what I think?”
“Please, enlighten us.”
My fingers curve into fists. “I think you don’t want Reece. You want control.”
“Then can I use your own words against you?” Kurt Duncan licks his lips. “How do you know if our intentions are pure or not? You don’t even know us.”
My gaze slides to Lauren. “I don’t need to. Someone who cheats.” I glance at Kurt. “Someone who steals his own son’s girlfriend. Those aren’t the types of people Harry would want around Reece.”
“Excuse me?” Lauren hisses.
“You’re making a mistake. Think about the child. Not your own feelings.” Kurt Duncan’s voice is a low, warning growl. “Sooner or later, Ben is going to screw up the way he always does. Wrecking a house and a few cars is one thing. Wrecking a child… is another.”
I feel Ben stiffen beside me. My chest squeezes painfully. How can a man talk about his own kid like that? And right in front of his face?
“Ben’s done
a wonderful job so far. Reece likes him. Trusts him.” I run my fingers down my dress and admit softly, “So do I.”
Ben looks over at me. I avoid his gaze.
“Of course Reece trusts him,” Kurt says. “He acts like he’s only a couple years older than her. Whatever you think about me and my wife, we are in the right place financially, emotionally, and mentally to take care of a child.”
“I appreciate the advice, Mr. Duncan. I truly believe that you are all those things.”
Kurt sighs. “But?”
“But I don’t trust you. And given the way Harry didn’t assign you guardianship of his precious daughter, I doubt that he trusted you either.”
“Who do you think you are?” Lauren narrows her green eyes. “You hung around Harry like a needy puppy, pretending to be a family for five years. Did you think he would actually marry you? Is that what you were hoping for?”
Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. How did she know? How could she tell I was in love with Harry? My heart bleeds, but I steel myself against the pain.
“Lauren, that’s enough.” Ben comes to my defense. “Logan was there for Reece all these years. She deserves our thanks. Not a scolding.”
“Why are you sticking up for her? Can’t you see she’s just using you to get Reece?”
I step in front of Ben. “Given the way things stand, I think it would be best if you returned to the States and gave Reece some time to adjust before you met her.”
“You can’t keep my granddaughter from me!” Kurt bellows.
“I can’t.” I glance at Ben. “But he can.” I arch both eyebrows in challenge. “It’s up to you. Will you send Reece with them? Or not?”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. I dig my fingers into my purse strap. Ben said he’s never been able to go against his father, but now’s as good a time as any to start. Reece’s future and happiness is at stake.
Kurt sits down and tugs on Lauren’s arm so she joins him. “Tell me the truth, Ben. Do you honestly think you can provide a better home for Reece than we can?”
Ben licks his lips. “Maybe not.”
