by Tori Rigby
My attention snapped back to Mr. Anderson. His eyes had filled with tears. “Hon, your mom had been battling the late stages of cancer for months, and nothing was working. With all that was going on, she didn’t want to worry you and instead chose to enjoy the time she had left with the person she loved most.”
My heartbeat raced as Neil leapt out of his seat and stormed from the waiting room with Owen on his heels. Jill took one of my shaking hands in hers. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.
Jill’s dad put a hand on my right knee and pursed his lips. “When she collapsed at school earlier, they rushed her to the ER, and the doctors did everything they could to save her, but . . . she didn’t make it.”
At first, my brain shorted. Every atom in my body froze. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe. But seconds later, I heard myself hyperventilate, as if I were floating above the room. Finally, as Jill’s arms flew around me, it sank in:
Mom was dead.
chapter twenty-five
People say during traumatic events, time moves slowly. In reality, time stands still, and, all of a sudden, weeks have gone by and you can’t remember how you got there.
I remembered Neil returning to the hospital’s waiting room minutes later and holding me in his arms for hours while screams and sobs ripped through me. I remembered falling asleep at the hospital and waking in Neil’s bed the next morning. Mom’s peaceful face as she slept in her casket. Her soft, cold hand beneath my fingertips. Faces I couldn’t place telling me they were sorry. My aunt telling me she’d make sure I was looked after. Neil’s futile attempts to get me to eat. Jill stopping by to check on me and bring me clothes. Owen’s voice from the cabin’s living room. Neil’s embrace as we fell asleep at night. Guitar music.
But I don’t remember crying again, or talking, or thinking. I don’t remember Christmas coming and going. I don’t remember how the rest of my belongings got to the cabin. And I don’t remember my belly growing as big as it was when I felt the baby move for the second time.
The kick awoke me from my sleep as soft piano music played from the living room. I rested my hand on my stomach, waiting for the baby to strike again. When he did, I felt him in my palm, like someone had nudged me from beneath a pile of blankets.
I raced to the living room of the cabin. After everything, Owen’s parents let us stay as long as we needed. Neil sat at his keyboard, surrounded by boxes, a pencil in his mouth. When he caught sight of me, he did a double-take, eyes wide, and jumped up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his face pale.
“Ethan. I think you can feel him now.”
Neil set the pencil on his music stand and took two giant steps toward me. He slid his hand beneath mine. Eyes wide, he looked down at my belly and waited. Then the baby kicked again, and Neil grinned.
“You feel him?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’m thinking we might want to enroll him in Irish high-stepping later. Unless that was a punch. Then maybe karate.”
I shook my head, thankful that Neil hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Then reality knocked the wind straight from my lungs. There wouldn’t be karate lessons or soccer games—because I had no money, no way to support my son.
I was alone.
I wept for the first time since leaving the hospital. Even at Mom’s funeral, I managed to rein in the tears. Mostly because I was so angry with her for not telling me the truth. But now, a cannonball might as well have blown a hole through my chest.
“Hey, come here.” Neil held me in his arms and led me to the couch. Sitting, he pulled me into his lap.
I clung to him, breathing in his scent and listening to his heartbeat.
“I’m all alone,” I said, my voice shaking. “They’re both gone. Mom and Dad. I can’t—oh, God, it hurts.”
Neil rubbed my back with his fingertips, slow and soothing. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re not alone. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But what about Ethan? I haven’t even finished high school yet. How am I supposed to support him by myself?”
“Who says you have to? Contrary to common belief, I am pretty good at these things called jobs. I can get one with Owen’s dad, and I’ll make good money. Between your part-time job and my full-time one, we’ll be fine.”
I shook my head against his chest. “No. Neil, this isn’t your problem. You can’t give up your life for me.”
He lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. “We’ve been over this. You are important to me, which means he is important to me. Blood doesn’t make a family, Andie. I will take care of you—both of you.”
Owen’s dad owned one of the most successful home building companies in Colorado. And Neil was like a son to Owen’s father, at least from what I’d gathered. But Neil’s dream was to run his own music studio. There was no way I’d take that from him. I shook my head as breath left my lungs again. “But what about your music? No, I can’t—”
“Hey,” Neil said, putting a finger on my lips. “Who says I’m giving that up? It will always be part of my life.”
“What about your studio? What about Harvard and your business degree?”
He put a finger on my lips. “Screw Harvard. I never ended up applying anyway. Promise me you won’t worry about this anymore. Say the words.”
I took a deep breath. Could we be okay? And after everything, shouldn’t I have learned to trust him? When he raised an eyebrow, I nodded. I was petrified but not yet ready to give up on Ethan. Not yet. Even if I had to take two part-time jobs to make ends meet.
“Sorry, I must be going deaf. Try again,” Neil said.
Rolling my eyes, I whispered, “I promise.”
Neil kissed my forehead, and I leaned against him again. He held me close with his strong arms. A few more minutes we sat there, arms around each other. My thoughts turned away from Ethan to my mom, my parents. The hole Dad had left behind had never truly closed, and with Mom gone too, it was miles wide and beyond repair. How had my life ended up this way? Why did I only get such a short time with them?
“I thought I told you to stop worrying,” Neil said.
I buried my face in his neck, mumbling about how that was impossible. He let out a half-chuckle and kissed the top of my head.
“How’d you do it?” I asked. “Move on, I mean. You know, when your dad died.”
Neil tensed against me, and I swallowed the urge to say never mind. But if there were some trick to how he’d kept himself from falling apart, I needed to know it.
He didn’t speak but relaxed and leaned into me. His chest filled with half-breaths. “You don’t. Not really. Eventually, the pain gets easier to handle, but there’s always a hole. You just have to find the things that make you happy and dwell on those instead.” He paused again. “I know that’s not the answer you wanted.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d finally let me in, spoken with honesty about his dad. And, yes, I would’ve loved for him to say after a couple years, the pain goes away and they become a distant memory, but I knew better. My dad had been gone a couple years, and I still missed him like he’d passed away yesterday. I was glad Neil didn’t sugarcoat it.
I wiped a few tears from my cheeks and sniffled while he rubbed my back. “Is that why you kept up with the music? ‘Cause it reminded you of him?”
He nodded. “Besides the fact that I love it, yeah. It was my way of reaching out to him, letting him know I hadn’t forgotten. For a long time, only that and visiting his grave helped.”
I looked into his eyes, and he touched my cheek, his emotions flowing into me like a supernatural ability—his love, sympathy, understanding, sadness. I tipped my chin up, and he met my lips.
“Will you take me . . . ?” To my mom’s grave, I couldn’t add. I bit my lip. “Today? I don’t really remember saying goodbye to her at the funeral, and I don’t want her to think—”
He put a finger on my lips, silencing me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
With a nod, I kissed him again and t
hen left to shower. If I was going to visit my mom, I wasn’t going to do it smelling like a locker room. Even after Dad’s death, Mom always looked put together when she went out in public. I wanted to at least look like I was, for her.
I took my time, letting the hot water cascade from head to toe. Every joint in my body ached with weeks of sorrow and immobility. After braiding my wet hair, I left the bathroom. Neil still sat on the couch, but he held his guitar and played a song I didn’t know. A beautiful, sorrowful melody, like that Time to Mend song by Barcelona. Neil’s eyes were closed, and he rocked with each beat. His features downturned, I saw the pain on his face, felt it in each note. This was one of his songs.
He played the last note and paused before opening his eyes. They were red, but when he set down his guitar and spoke, I never would’ve guessed that, moments before, he’d laid his soul on his guitar strings.
“You ready?” he asked.
When I nodded, he grabbed my coat from the closet near the door and helped me into it. The jacket barely fit over my twenty-three-week belly. I followed Neil through snow to the truck. The inside was already warm. He must’ve started it while I showered. The corner of my mouth twitched as I tried to smile and failed.
I grabbed his hand as he drove away from the cabin. Neither of us let go the entire way to River Springs’s cemetery.
And I clung to Neil as soon as we hopped out of the truck. Each step we took across the snowy ground was heavy-footed and slow. My chin trembled, and, soon, each gravestone blurred. I shouldn’t be taking this walk. Not again. Neil tugged me closer to him when my steps faltered.
We stopped underneath a large oak tree. The dirt over Mom’s casket still hadn’t settled. She was buried right next to Dad, like I expected, but I couldn’t remember what dress they’d put her in or whether her lips were in a smile or a line. All I could remember was a glimpse of her peaceful face, like a reflection in a rippling lake.
Neil let go, and I knelt in front of the stone. Snow seeped through the knees of my pants. I ran my fingers across Mom’s name. The marker was ice cold. Kind of how I imagined she felt right now. How my heart—my body—felt.
I sat back on my feet and crossed my arms, holding my breath, swallowing the ache in my joints, my throat, my stomach—fighting the tears. She was gone. She was really gone. Unable to hold in the pain any longer, I slumped forward and cried.
Who was I going to go to now with baby questions, with mother questions? She was supposed to watch me graduate, to see her grandson, to give me away at my wedding some day.
I bit my trembling lip, the world around me spinning. The winter chill penetrated my bones as I rocked, holding in the scream that wanted to rip free. But I didn’t care. I wanted to lie on the ground and be as close to her as I could. Let the ice take me.
Oh, God, why did you take her, too?
I gripped the locket Mom and Dad had given me on my eighth birthday, and my resolve broke. I covered my face, weeping, each cry tearing the hole in my chest wider. I unclasped the chain from around my neck and placed it in front of her grave marker. Then, leaning so I could reach my father’s gravestone too, I placed my hands on their names.
I wish you were still here. I wish we were a family again. All you ever did was love me, and I miss you both so, so much. I never should’ve gotten so wrapped up in my identity. Neil was right: Blood doesn’t make a family.
My palms slid down the stones until my hands hit the ground, and I fell forward. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t move on without my parents.
My sobs came out in rasps. I clawed at my cheeks, whimpering in pain. Fill it with happiness. I let my mind wander to all the moments I’d had with them, the memories I carried of them—the smiles, the laughter, the love. I breathed deep, counted to five, and willed myself to stop crying, though every cell wanted to turn to stone. I had to live, even if I didn’t want to. For them. For me. For my baby.
When my blubbering calmed, I pushed out a few shaky breaths and opened my eyes. Get up, Andie. I forced myself to my feet and flung my hands out to balance when my legs shook. Now, turn around. I spun slowly, like I was stuck in quicksand. I reached out for Neil. But he was gone.
Wiping my wet cheeks, I wandered the small graveyard. Just when I was about to call out to him, I caught a glimpse of his dark hair. He was crouched in front of a grave, his head drooped. I didn’t have to look to know whose name would be written on the stone. Still, as I neared Neil, my gaze drifted to the marker.
MARK DONAGHUE. BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, AND SON.
My heart pinched.
I ran my fingertips through the hair above his ear and knelt next to him, my knees already frozen. The circles around his eyes were darker than before, and the muscles in his jaw were taut. I slipped my arm through his.
“It was my fault, you know,” he said finally.
“Neil . . . . ”
“I called him to come pick me up in the middle of the night, and all because I was scared. He told me to be brave, to tough it out, but I cried into the phone and told him I needed him. And like the dad he was, he drove across River Springs in a damn blizzard.”
Acid burned my throat. “You were eight.”
He shook his head. “That’s not good enough. If I’d listened to him and grown some balls, he’d still be here. My mom wouldn’t be one arrest away from time in prison, and Beth wouldn’t be the way she is. He was different. Always had a joke. Would’ve fought dragons for Beth and me. And, God, he loved my mom.” Neil’s voice broke, and the icy dagger in my chest dug deeper.
A tear escaped.
I could see now where he got it from—his sense of humor. His unfailing love for me. His devotion to his mother, even though she beat him. I laid my head on his shoulder and squeezed his arm.
“I’m still paying for it. For killing him,” Neil said.
I snapped my head up. Though he wasn’t crying, the agony he was going through—had been going through for a long time—radiated off him. His eyebrows creased, and his chest rose and fell sporadically, like he held his breath to keep the emotions reined in.
My throat tightened, and I shook my head. “Don’t talk like that. It’s not your fault.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed deep.
Oh, Neil. I took his face in my hands and spoke as sternly as I could, “Your dad’s death was not your fault. You are not cursed, Neil. Not when you make my life better. Not when you’re the most genuine person I’ve ever met. My mom cared for you, and I know your dad would be proud of you.” I leaned my forehead against his. “Please stop blaming yourself.”
Neil held the sides of my neck and brushed his thumbs along my jawline. “I don’t deserve you, Andie.”
I almost laughed. Hadn’t I thought the same about him months ago? I used his words against him: “Why don’t you let me make that decision?”
He tried to smile but failed. Then he kissed me like the world would crumble beneath his feet if he didn’t. Though it was freezing outside, my skin flushed. I grasped his arms, a final tear streaking my cheek.
When he pulled away, slow and reluctant, I spoke confidently, without letting him go, “I love you.”
He kissed my forehead. “I love you, too. More than I ever thought I could.”
My insides fluttered, and I grazed his lips with mine. How could I have, once upon a time, thought the worst of him? If I could have one wish, I’d go back in time and fight for him, refuse to let him push me away with that silly kiss in the high school library.
Neil ran a hand down his face then stood and helped me to my feet. Arms around each other, we returned to the truck, and I sat as close to him as I could on the bench seat. Never wanting to let him go.
chapter twenty-six
My cell phone awoke me the next morning. I lay on my side, with Neil’s arms wrapped around me, and considered letting my voicemail answer. But on the second ring, Neil muttered, “Stop the noise,” and I grabbed the phone. A one-eyed peek at the screen showed Jill name.
At 8:00 a.m.
“Since when do you get up this early?” I asked after thumbing the answer button and pressing the cell phone to my ear.
“Since my dad stuck ice cubes down the back of my shirt.”
I almost smiled at the image of Jill swatting at her father and screaming bloody murder.
“It’s your boyfriend’s fault, really. He texted my dad yesterday to say you were doing better, and now Dad wants me to invite you over. Something about New Year’s dinner, four o’clock, and Christmas presents. Seriously, they’ve been sitting under our tree since your aunt named him temporary guardian. You need to open them.”
I bolted upright, startling Neil. “He’s what?”
She yawned. “Relax. It’s no big deal. Your aunt didn’t want to make you up and move halfway through your junior year of high school, so my dad offered. I guess they still have two years on their London contract.”
My eyes burned. Not only was it hard to believe Aunt Kathy would let me stay, but Mr. Anderson taking on guardian responsibilities? There were no words.
When I spoke, I forced my voice to stay calm, “Okay, tell your dad we’ll be there at four.” I needed to say thank you to him in person.
“Roger that. Wake me up when you get here, ‘kay?”
I shook my head. “Bye, Jill.” I set my phone on the nightstand and glanced at Neil. He watched my every movement, his expression full of concern. But instead of tears, a smile broke free.
“Get up,” I said. “We need to buy Christmas presents.”
At 3:45, we parked in front of Jill’s downtown condo. After three quick knocks, Jill yanked open the front door, and, before I could say a word, she crushed me in her arms. Smiling, Neil touched my back and slipped past us, Christmas gifts in hand. I squeezed my best friend, fighting tears. Already? Making it through the day was going to be emotionally impossible.
“I missed you, too,” I said as Jill let me go.
“Don’t do that to me again.” She pointed her finger at my face.
I rolled my eyes and smiled.
