by KC Kean
None.
It’s bullshit. I know it, and my mom knows it too. I can see it in the strain in her eyes when she has to tell her lie, wringing her hands in front of her as she fumbles to cover up this mess.
They’d already carted my father’s lifeless body away before I arrived, and my mom hadn’t called until the fucking forensics team had come and gone too. In my disheveled state, I was questioned by some random officers about whether I knew of any criminal activity my father could be a part of.
Even in my disoriented condition, I laughed in their face. Never. My dad is…was the most wholesome guy that ever existed. He loved me, my mother, and was the perfect citizen. Yet he wound up dead.
The authorities didn’t seem to care that we were numb with grief, shaken to the core with pain. All they wanted were answers to questions I didn’t understand.
My mom was a shell of her usual self, sleeping beside me the past three nights since our lives crumbled around us. Refusing to let me out of her sight for even a moment. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to break down, but my eyes burn from the constant tears, and I don’t know what else she’s watching for.
And if one more fucking person tells me, “God only takes the good ones,” I won’t be liable for my actions. There is no plausible reason for my dad to have been taken away from me. Not now, not ever. Especially not like this. And definitely not because of an open and closed case with no conviction.
No one will give me a straight answer as to why they can do that, and there’s a thought at the back of my mind telling me there is something bigger at play here, even involving the local sheriff.
The pastor clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts, and I stroke a hand down the front of my black pencil skirt. I’m dressed head to toe in black, and I feel like the color has seeped into my heart and soul, complete numbness coating every inch of my body.
The heat is unbearable, sweat dripping down my back as I focus on the grass beneath my feet. Silent cries echo around me as the pastor mutters his shit.
Standing around my father’s grave, my chest squeezes tight as my mother steps from my side and drops her red rose into the hole. A fucking hole. I watch as she sobs, cupping a hand over her mouth, and blindly walks back to me.
I feel everyone’s eyes trail to me, waiting for me to do the same. Did any of these people even know Carl Grady? Sure, they were our neighbors, but we kept to ourselves, the constant moving from state to state making it inconvenient to make friends.
A part of me appreciates the respect they’re here to offer, but deep down, I want to scream at them all to fuck off.
Squeezing the stem of my white rose tightly in my fist, I take slow, steady steps to where my father now lies. Thankful for the blacked-out glasses covering my eyes, I let the tears track down my face.
My hand hovers over the gaping hole in the ground, but I can’t bring myself to release my hold on the flower. The second I drop it makes his death even more real.
If I release my grip and drop the rose, it will take a piece of my soul with it, and half of my heart already lies with my dad.
Eden Grady, you are my badass, number one girl. We survive through everything. No matter what happens in life, just know I love you with every inch of my heart. Everything happens for a reason. You were meant to be my daughter because we can weather any storm together.
My father’s classic words replay through my mind. Whenever I had a difficult time with life, like having to move again or feeling the harsh reality of bitchy girls as a kid, he would say those words to me. Trying to take strength from them, I watch as my white rose falls beside my mom’s red rose.
I’m done. This is too much.
I smell my mom’s perfume as she pulls me into her side, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I have no idea how long we stand there, consoling each other and finally letting the weight of the whole situation wash over us.
I don’t know how we will ever get past this. I have so many unanswered questions about what happened that night, questions my mom has yet to answer.
But one thing I do know for sure is I’m ready to move on from this town. I’ve never said that before, always wanting to settle down in every town. Just not this one. I don’t want to see my dad leaning against my door as he tells me goodnight, and I don’t want to step anywhere near his man cave. Ever.
It’s time for us to go. I just need to convince my mom. I’m sure it won’t take much. We’re used to it.
I’m so ready for these people to get the fuck out of our house.
I don’t even understand why my mom felt it was necessary for us to hold a reception after the service. Admittedly, I’d never been to a funeral before, so I didn’t know the actual process. Still, my skin was crawling with anxiety the longer we sat here thanking people for attending.
Little old Judith from across the street keeps randomly patting my cheek and reciting the Bible to me, and as sweet as she is, it feels like my cheeks are close to bruising and it’s getting on my fucking nerves.
Squished between her and the arm of the sofa, sitting in front of the window in the living room, my gaze keeps flitting around the room. Watching to see if any of these fuckers act suspiciously because one of these people could have pulled the trigger and murdered my dad.
My mother is perched on the other sofa across from me, tapping her nails on the champagne glass in her hand nervously. It’s no celebration, but I think she needs the alcohol to take the edge off. She looks as lost as I feel, but I’ve never felt so distant from her. My dad was clearly the glue holding us all together.
I want everyone to leave so my underage ass can join her. I need to get lost too. Forget. And I know a little glass of bubbles or two will help me find what I’m looking for. It can be our bonding session.
My phone vibrates in my purse on my lap, but I ignore it. The day after my phone shattered from my hands, my mom replaced it, and I already regret it. I don’t want the outside world to reach me right now.
I’ve had messages from half my damn school offering their condolences, and Lou-Lou has been blowing my phone up ever since she got wind of the news. But it’s better just to cut ties now. Tomorrow, I’m going to work on convincing my mom to leave.
I spy the door to my dad’s man cave through the open living room door, and my breath falters as beads of sweat gather on my brow. Clenching my hands tightly in my lap, I feel my acrylic nails biting into my skin, but I don’t care.
If anything, the pain seems to calm me.
“Eden, you should eat,” my mom murmurs as she crosses the room to me, but I can’t pretend to have an appetite right now. She looks on edge, paranoid.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’ll eat when everyone has left.”
She sighs as she stands before me, fidgeting with her wedding band as she glances out the window, struggling to know what to say to me. I watch her eyes well with tears, and she rapidly tries to blink them away. We’re becoming masters at it, tamping down our feelings and emotions. Not on purpose. We just don’t know how to fucking handle the vulnerability.
I’m scared I’m going to turn into some cold-hearted ice queen, completely numb to the core, but I can’t control it. It seems my instinctive reaction is to feel every inch of my emotions without showing them to the world, just like my mom.
It’s a trait my dad could never really get us to shake, no matter how much we knew he loved us.
Suddenly, her jaw falls open, and her spine goes stiff as she gapes at something out of the window. Trying to stand to see what exactly has her reacting like that, I’m surprised when she clamps her hand down on my shoulder and forces me to stay exactly where I am.
“No. Oh, hell no. She promised not today,” she growls out, her fists clenching as her face heats with anger, and I frown in confusion.
“Mom, what’s—”
Her eyes fly down to meet my gaze, her lips in a thin line. “Do not move from this spot. I mean it, Eden. Not an inch.” She gives me a pointed look
before flying out of the living room.
My nose crinkles as I try to process what she just said. She promised not today. Who promised? And what exactly was agreed? Fuck this. I’m not a five-year-old. I deserve answers.
Judith says nothing as I rise from the sofa, likely having heard my mom’s order but not stopping me from going against it.
Snooping through the window, I can see my mom standing toe-to-toe with some dark-haired woman. My mom’s blonde hair falls loose from the tight bun she had wrapped it in earlier. She looks like she’s half crying, half growling, while this woman stands there all cool and collected, and I can tell from here she doesn’t want to pay her respects.
No. Fuck this. Nobody pulls such a reaction from my mother while acting unaffected by it. Who is this woman?
Nobody pays me any attention as I rush through the living room and head for the front door. They’re the only people out here, likely because it’s so hot and the air conditioning is on inside. Not that I would care, but whatever is going on right now isn’t for everyone to see.
“What’s going on?” I shout, marching down the stone steps from our porch, and my mom whirls around to give me her solid death glare.
I don’t know why she has to act so surprised. Me not listening to her is nothing new.
“Go back inside, Eden.”
I look past her to the dark-haired woman, who now stands with her hands crossed firmly over her chest and a grin on her face as she takes me in. Running her tongue over her teeth, she turns her gaze back to my mom.
She is stunning, but there is a cruel glint in her eyes. Wealth seeps from her pores as she stands tall in her flared black trousers and black, see-through blouse. I’ve definitely never seen this woman before.
“You have forty-eight hours to get her there of her own free will, or I take matters into my own hands.” Spinning on her heel, the mystery woman climbs into the backseat of a nearby SUV with blacked-out windows.
“Mom?” I ask, moving slowly towards her as she stares at the SUV until it can no longer be seen, turning the corner at the end of the road. “Who was that?”
Standing beside her, I place my hand on her shoulder, and I instantly feel her shaking beneath my touch. A mixture of fear and anger swirls in her eyes before she finally meets my gaze.
“Please, Eden. Let’s just get through today. Take this time together to grieve, and I will explain everything else tomorrow.”
“I don’t understand what there is to explain,” I murmur back, raking my fingers through my hair.
“Tomorrow, Eden. Please give me that,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face as she pulls me in close.
Seeing how much pain this is causing her on top of today, I reluctantly drop the issue. She’s definitely got some explaining to do, but I can’t add any more pressure right now. Nothing can turn our world anymore upside down than it already is, so whatever it is can wait.
3
Eden
My face scrunches in disgust as the sun glares through my bedroom window, letting me know it’s time to wake up, but I’m just not feeling it.
Throwing my arm over my face to block the sun from my eyes, I peek at my alarm clock to see it’s a little after eight a.m., and I groan. It was five in the morning before I actually managed to fall asleep, the weight of yesterday lying heavy on my heart as I stared up at my ceiling. No amount of relaxing music or effort pushed me into a deep sleep.
As much as I want to lie here and wallow in my misery, yesterday, my mom said she would explain what was going on with that woman, and my curiosity outweighs my ability to fall back asleep.
It seems like insomnia has made me its bitch.
I had hoped the half a bottle of champagne I drank last night would have helped, but that was a waste of time too. Now I just have a damn headache.
Redoing my messy bun as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I sigh. My fingers feel raw since I pulled off my acrylic nails last night in my tipsy state. I’m already not feeling the day, but I reluctantly head for a shower.
Feeling a little fresher but still groggy, I moisturize my skin with my favorite coconut body butter before a knock sounds at my door.
“It’s open,” I call out as I open my closet to find it empty.
What the fuck?
“Morning,” my mom murmurs from the door, and I turn quickly to see guilt written all over her face before she tips her head down. She looks small in her yoga pants and loose-fitted tee. Swiping a hand through her hair, she has no makeup on, and the bags under her eyes makes it look like she hasn’t slept.
“Mom, where are all my clothes?” I ask, gripping my towel tighter around my chest.
Clearing her throat, she points to the cushioned bench at my vanity, where my favorite black oversized lounge set is folded up neatly with underwear to go with it.
“Where are the rest of my clothes?” I ask again, my heart pounding in my chest as I scramble to understand what the hell is going on. My mom hasn’t pulled an outfit out for me since I was ten years old.
“Get dressed, Eden. We don’t have much time, and I’ll explain what I can, okay?” Her voice is barely a croak as she forces herself to meet my gaze. The pain in her eyes causes me to hold my tongue.
I want to bitch her out and demand answers right now, but I simply nod. “I’ll be two minutes.”
Clicking the door shut behind her, I rush to put my outfit on, but I can’t unsee my empty closet. Does this mean we’re leaving? I fucking hope so.
Glancing around the room, I notice all my photos have been taken down, and my memory board has gone. All that really remains is the bare bones of the room with the bulky furniture.
Stepping into my white sneakers, which my mom also placed by my clothes, I make my way downstairs. My heart jolts as I expect to hear my father singing in the kitchen, but all I’m met with is silence. Not a hint of his morning rendition of indie rock music as he cooks breakfast.
The house is a perfect frame for a home, with a cozy lounge, open kitchen, three bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a pool out in the backyard. But I learned never to get attached to the homes we live in. I just miss the memories we make in each place. Here will only be the same. Except it’s the last place I’ll have ever seen my dad alive.
My chest aches with the fresh wave of loss. Clearing my throat, I blink back the tears. Finding the front door wide open, I step outside to see my mom sitting in my dad’s favorite spot on the wrap-around porch, looking up at the clear sky.
“What’s going on, Mom? Are we leaving?” I ask, sitting on the cushioned wicker chair beside her, looking around for all the luggage, or at least some sign that things are packed, but I don’t see anything.
“Yes and no,” she mumbles, and as much as I love the woman, her cryptic and short answers are starting to get on my nerves.
“Mom—”
“There is a lot you do not know, Eden.” She almost snickers to herself, her eyes squeezing shut before she meets my gaze. “More than I can say if I want us to live.”
What?
Before I can ask what she means, she cuts me off with a shake of her head. “I need you to do as I say, Eden. You will have questions, I’m sure, but ultimately, you will have to do it anyway. We both will.”
Rubbing my arms, I continue to stare at her nervously, already feeling this heading in a bad direction.
“That depends on what it is you expect me to do,” I answer honestly, releasing a shaky breath. I watch her eyes get more and more bloodshot as she holds back tears.
She looks even worse than I do, which makes sense if she managed to invade my room and clear all my clothes while I was sleeping, resulting in little to no sleep for herself.
Rubbing her hands down her yoga pants, she looks at me with a new sense of resolution in her eyes.
“You are going to go to Knight’s Creek. Today.” My head tilts as I stare at her and take in her words.
“Wait, we’re going to Knight’s Creek, as in
where you and Dad grew up?” I ask, remembering the town pop up a few times when they decided to take a trip down memory lane.
“Yes, but, uhh, not we…you.” Guilt is scrawled across her face, in the tightness of her eyes and her lips thinning.
My back stiffens as I sit upright in my chair, my fingers digging into the armrests as I glare at her. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Eden,” she snaps, used to me swearing, but not actually at her, but I don’t apologize.
“What is with all this mysterious shit? You need to explain why you think I’m going to go to your childhood town without you. Why aren’t you coming with me? Where am I supposed to stay? And why? Just why?” I ramble, throwing every question at her as it comes to mind, my brain overloading.
Is she purposely trying to scar my heart and soul?
Swiping the tears from her cheek, she looks at me with pleading eyes. “I can’t tell you much because that’ll only make things worse or put you at risk,” she whimpers.
Unable to contain the anger building inside of me, I slam my fist down on the armrest, but before I can shout any protest, she continues.
“You were right, Eden. Your father’s death wasn’t an accident, but people in high places with a lot of power can have a case closed in an instant if they see fit,” she offers, still just as cryptic. My palms begin to sweat, and my ears ring with white noise as I let her words settle in.
“Carry on,” I whisper, trying to control my breathing as pain sears through my body, scrambling to understand who would want to hurt my dad.
“We left Knight’s Creek on an understanding, but we should have known it would never have been that easy. So when we later learned the bigger picture, we knew there was no turning back, and that’s why we continued to move around the country.”
My eyes widen as I listen to another truth fall from her lips so casually, and it hurts to know I’ve been kept in the dark. Unable to form any kind of response, I just continue to watch her, waiting for her to drip feed me more vital information.
