by J B Heller
Emotion fills every inch of the space surrounding us, the room is full of pain, grief, sadness, remorse, and so many other emotions I can’t name. Their effect is cloying, suffocating almost, and I find myself fighting to keep my own feelings locked down.
I’m numb. At least I think I am.
I’ve cried more tears than I knew I was capable of producing. And now, I don’t think I have anything left.
My mother is strangely composed. I’m not sure if it’s normal or not. Shouldn’t she be a blubbering mess? She just lost her husband, making her a widow at the age of sixty-one.
Carter has barely left my side since he came for me at the hospital. He’s been amazing. When we left the hospital, he drove Mum and I home, then sometime after we’d fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, he and Mase had gone back to the hospital to retrieve Mum’s car for her.
When I woke the next morning, he was passed out sitting on the floor, propped up on the side of my bed, one of his big hands wrapped firmly around my own. It took me several minutes to realise why he was there. And when I did, the hole that had torn through my heart when my mother called me the night before, ripped open again and more tears began to stream down my cheeks.
Carter woke up and climbed into the bed behind me, wrapping his strong, warm arms around my shuddering body as grief overtook my senses.
Today is the day of my father’s funeral. My father’s funeral. Those three words don’t make sense to me. I can’t wrap my head around them.
“Chance,” Carter says from my doorway.
I lift my head to look at him, is it wrong that I notice how good he looks in that black suit? Maybe that means I’m not numb after all? I sit there just staring at him as I contemplate that.
Carter moves toward me, “You ready, baby?” he asks when he stops in front of me, his hands tucked into his pockets.
I blink up at him, how is this the same guy from Friday night? The thought hits me like a sledgehammer. Flashes of the crazed gleam in his whiskey eyes assault me and I flinch.
Carter reacts immediately, dropping to his knees at my feet, “Baby, what is it?”
Shaking my head, I focus on the look in his eyes right now, as he watches me, his brows furrowed with concern. “Nothing,” I close my eyes, “Nothing, I’m okay.” I can’t deal with that right now, I need him too much.
His expression doesn’t change as he continues to search my face for any sign of distress. I try to smile for him, I really do, but the muscles in my cheeks won’t cooperate, so it comes across as a grimace. “Just being my normal awkward self,” I say, in an attempt to reassure him that everything is fine between us, even when I’m not so sure of it myself.
When Carter’s warm, calloused palm cups my cheek, I lean into it, accepting his touch and the comfort it brings. “We need to talk about Friday night at the gym, I know we do,” he sighs in resignation, “Just let me be here for you now. And for as long as it takes for you to get through this, then we can talk about it. Please,” he whispers.
I get the feeling he needs this as much as I need him right now. I nod, leaning further into his touch, “Okay,” I say softly.
He brings his free hand to the other side of my face, gently holding me still as he moves his face closer to mine, “Thank you,” he murmurs as his lips brush against mine in the sweetest kiss he’s given me yet. When he pulls back his eyes are glassy, “We need to go, baby,” he says, as he gets to his feet then holds a hand out for me.
Taking it, I allow him to pull me up, and I follow him out to the dining room where my mother is sitting at the table, her fingers laced together in front of her as she looks out the window to the back yard, twirling her wedding ring around her finger.
Dropping Carter’s hand, I wrap my arms around her shoulders from behind and press my cheek to hers, “Mumma,” I whisper, “I love you.”
She swipes a tear from her cheek, then pats my hands at her neck, “I love you too. Come, we should get going,” she says in a voice much stronger than my own, as she braces her hands on the table and slides her chair back, effectively disengaging my hug.
Carter wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side, somehow knowing how much my mother’s detachment from the situation hurts me. Dropping my head to his shoulder, I curl into him, absorbing the comfort he offers freely, the comfort that my mother won’t or can’t offer me right now.
Fifteen minutes later we arrive at the Crematorium. Knowing my Papa is not only gone, but that his body is about to be engulfed in flames until he’s nothing but ash, turns my stomach and I throw my door open, running for the gardens along the side of the building.
“Chance,” I hear Carter call after me, but I can’t stop.
I run until my legs give out and my stomach heaves, forcing bile to burn its way up my throat and out my mouth into a shrub by the river bank. Tears flow from my stinging eyes as I heave, over and over again. I wipe my running nose with the back of my hand, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the glare of the bright sun that’s intensified by my tear soaked glasses.
I feel someone sit on the damp grass beside me, then Carter is pulling me into his lap, cradling me to his chest, “Here,” he says, sliding my fogged-up classes off my nose and replacing them with a big pair of black sunglasses.
“I don’t think I can go in there,” I whisper.
“I’ll be right beside you. Out here, or in there, I won’t leave you,” he says, gently stroking my sweat dampened temple.
We sit there in silence for a minute or two longer before Hux approaches, “You ready to come in now, Buttercup?” he asks when he reaches us.
“Do I have to go in?” I ask him.
I hear him sigh, then he crouches down beside us, “You should, I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. You won’t be alone in there, El and I will be right beside you, and Kassidy too.”
“Okay,” I whisper, and Carter moves beneath me, getting to his feet, then gently placing me on mine.
I take my seat in the front row nestled between Hux and Carter. The seating area is full of people, some I recognise and a lot that I don’t. But it’s obvious they knew my father well, because they’re visibly upset. Some even come up and embrace my mum.
Frowning, I lean past Hux to ask her, “Who was that?”
“An old friend,” she says without meeting my eyes.
I let it go when a lady steps up the podium positioned to the right of the front of the room, and turns on a microphone. “Good morning friends and family of Henry Holland Haynes,” she greets.
Everything fades to white noise as one of Papa’s favourite songs begins to play, and pallbearers I’ve never met before carry in a dark walnut coffin containing my father’s body. My knees buckle, but Carter’s strong arm holds me up, “I can’t do this,” I sob into his shoulder and he wraps his other arm around me, holding me tightly.
The service continues, but I’m locked away inside my head, remembering the way Papa held me and comforted me when Hux and El’s little dog, Minty, got hit by a car. That day he’d told me that Minty’s time came when it was supposed to, even if I wasn’t ready for it. I guess that’s what was happening now. It was Papa’s time, regardless of whether I was ready for it or not.
A voice I don’t recognise filled my ears, a man’s voice, and I stop to listen as he speaks of my father. “Henry was a good man, a loving father, and caring husband. But like all of us, he wasn’t perfect. He made some pretty monumental mistakes in his time. However, the thing that made him exceptional was his willpower and determination to turn his life around.”
I swallow hard, what is this guy talking about? None of what he is saying makes any sense. What monumental mistakes? What the hell is he going on about, turning his life around? Papa was an incredibly loving man, this guy is making it out like he wasn’t always that way.
Turning to my mum, about to ask her who this man is, I pause, she’s nodding along as he speaks, tears filling her eyes as he continues to ramble abo
ut a man that most definitely was not my father. Shifting to look at my brother, his expression is resigned and his eyes shine with unshed tears. What the hell is going on?
As the service draws to a close, another of Papa’s favourite songs plays through the sound system as I watch his casket lower into the stage it’s positioned on. My throat convulses, and I slam my eyelids shut, not being able to bear the thought of where it’s now going.
“I want to leave, please. I need to leave,” I sob into Carter.
I feel his nod before he curls me into his side and makes his way to the exit, not allowing anyone to stop him to offer their condolences. I don’t want to hear them. I just want out of here. And he seems to know it.
What would I do without him? He’s been my lifeline all week, and now, he’s saving me again. Ushering me into his car, closing the door behind me, then rounding the hood to get in beside me. He pulls out his phone and sends a text, then he’s driving without asking me where to go, and I honestly don’t care where we go, as long as it’s away from here.
Resting my forehead against the cold glass of the window, I draw shapes in the fog created by my breath with my fingertip. Thoughts roll through my head and I’m not sure which one to focus on. They war for my attention, but I can’t, I just can’t.
I’m so tired. That is my last coherent thought before sleep pulls me under.
Four days have passed since the funeral service, and my mind keeps replaying the words of the man who gave Papa’s eulogy. I’ve held my tongue until now, but I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer. I have to know what the hell he was talking about.
I know my parents were older when I was conceived. Old enough to have led lives I would never know about. But I have to know about the monumental mistakes my father supposedly made. I can’t shake the idea that whatever it was has something to do with the constant strain between him and Hux.
This morning I sent Hux a text asking them to come over for lunch because I need to talk to everyone. He agreed and they would be here in twenty minutes. Carter has gone to pick up lunch from a café in town for me. He thinks I should let it go, but I can’t do that.
I can’t stay still, so I’m cleaning my camera collection to keep my hands busy. But it doesn’t stop my mind from wandering. Cleaning my cameras is one of those things that I’ve done so much and so often that it’s engrained in my mind, so it requires very little thought when I’m doing it.
This one is one of my favourites. I found it at an elderly couple’s house sale about a year ago. It’s a vintage lavender Kodak petite folding camera, it had been an anniversary present to the wife many years ago, but as they were getting ready to move into a retirement community, they had to downsize.
It’s in such good condition I could hardly believe it, the elderly woman had clearly loved and cared for it. She even had the original case. It showed signs of wear and tear, but not the camera itself. The average person would never know that this model was produced between 1929–1933, not from the condition of it.
Wiping it with a microfiber cloth, I made sure to be gentle with the bellows which were a pretty dusty rose colour, and delicate due to its age. A knock on my doorframe startles me, and I gently place the camera back in its spot on my shelf that houses four other vintage folding cameras from different eras.
Once it’s safely returned, I turn to see who’s at my door. Carter, of course.
The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile, “Lunch is in the kitchen, and I think I just saw your brother pull up.”
The calm that had washed over me while I cleaned my camera disappears, and my shoulders stiffen. I remind myself why I’m doing this, and relax a little.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Carter says softly.
I give him a half-hearted smile, “I know I don’t have to, but I need to. I need to know, Carter.”
He closes his eyes and nods, “Okay, let’s do this then,” he says, with an outstretched hand.
I take it, and he gives my fingers a little squeeze. Then, it’s show time.
Chance is determined to do this, but I know better than to pry into secrets from the past. I don’t want her to get hurt, but she refuses to let this go. The only thing I can do now is be here for her when the shit inevitably hits the fan.
We’re in the kitchen plating up the lunch I just picked up in town when her brother, Hux, and his wife and son enter the room. I grimace when I make eye contact with Hux, he looks apprehensive, like he knows what’s about to go down and he’s dreading it.
Chance hugs them all then goes to get her mother from her room, where she’s been hiding since the funeral. I’m kind of pissed with her for abandoning Chance at a time like this. But at the same time, I can’t begin to comprehend what she herself is going through.
Kassidy approaches me as soon as Chance leaves the room, “You know what this is about?” he asks.
I simply nod, and his chest deflates, making me think he knows whatever it is that Chance doesn’t. And that pisses me off. It’s beginning to look like she’s the only one that’s been left out of the loop on whatever the hell they’re hiding.
My eyes narrow on him, “You know whatever it is she’s about to find out, don’t you?”
This time he is the one to nod in response, “Dad told me this morning after he got the message from Chance,” he swallows, hard, “She’s not going to handle it well.”
Fuck. My fists clench, why do people do shit like this? Secrets never stay buried, all they do is hurt people. Now one’s about to hurt my girl and there’s fuck all I can do about it. I want to punch something.
Looks like I’ll be spending a few hours at the gym tonight after Chance falls asleep, to let off some steam.
Just then, Chance and Vivian enter the dining room together, and another round of hugs are dispensed. I can’t help but glare at all of them, they all know what she doesn’t. And they’ve kept it from her on purpose. Fuckers.
We sit down to eat, but nobody’s actually eating the food on their plates. I drop my chin and whisper to Chance, “Maybe now is a good time to get this show on the road, baby.”
She nods and I gip her thigh under the table, letting her know I’m right here by her side, no matter what happens. She gives me a small smile then leans into my side, “I love you,” she whispers in my ear, and I swear my heart stops beating.
Before I can say anything or react, she turns her focus to her family and clears her throat. “So, I know you’re all wondering what this is about, or maybe you already know and have chosen to avoid it for whatever reason. But it ends today. I want to know the truth.” She delivers these questions to her mother, then turns to face her brother, “I want to know why there was always strain between you and Papa,” she says to Hux, and he flinches.
I watch all of their reactions closely, and from what I can tell, they’ve all resigned themselves to telling her what she wants to know. My blood feels thicker in my veins as my heart tries to push it through my rigid body, and my knee begins to bounce beneath the table. This is going to hurt her, I can see it in their eyes.
Chance continues, this time looking directly at her mother, “Who were those people at the funeral? I didn’t recognise a lot of them, but they all seemed to know Papa really well. And the guy who gave the eulogy, what was he talking about when he said he’d made some monumental mistakes? I need answers,” she says slowly, looking at each of them in turn., showing them how much she needs this.
Her hand slides under the table to meet mine on her leg and she twines her fingers with mine, squeezing tight. I squeeze back, it’s all I can do, because right now she has rendered me speechless. Her strength in this moment, I have no words. She’s blown me away.
And if I wasn’t sure if I loved her before, I sure as hell know it now.
The silence that surrounds me is deafening. No one wants to be the first to speak. So, I make the decision for them, “Hux, you’ve never lied to me. Whenever I’ve brought it up in the past
you’ve changed the subject, and I respected you enough to let it go. But not anymore. I can’t, it’s festering inside of me and I need you to be truthful with me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then nods, “Okay. You deserve to know. Just,” he pauses, “Before I tell you, I need you to know that we didn’t keep it from you to hurt you, but to protect you.” His eyes search mine, pleading with me to believe him, and I do.
“Dad and I never got along. Not since the day my mother walked out and left him alone with me, the child she couldn’t stand to look at anymore because she couldn’t make herself love me, as much as she tried.” He stops speaking abruptly, dropping his head so I can’t see his eyes anymore.
My sister-in-law, El, takes his hand resting on top of the table then begins to speak for him, “Your dad didn’t take it well, and not knowing what else to do, he turned his anger and pain on Hux,” El pauses, looks to my brother and waits for something, after a moment he shakes his head at her, and looks back at me.
My throat is so thick I can’t swallow, pain radiates through my body. I don’t want him to say what I know he’s about to say. But I have to hear it.
Hux’s eyes shine with unshed tears, I don’t know if they are tears of sadness, hurt, or regret. But it doesn’t matter, he’s in pain, and I’m making him relive something he clearly tried to get past for my sake, “Hux, you don’t have to,” I say on a choked sob.
But he shakes his head, a sad smile tugging the corner of his mouth up, “Yes, I do. You deserve to know. And I’m sorry I kept it from you. We really thought it was best if we all just tried to pretend like it never happened. You were the second Chance we all needed. Even though he and I were never really able to heal completely, seeing the way he was with you went a long way toward helping me forgive him.”
