“I like him just fine.”
She takes my hair in her hand, letting the curls flow down my back. “You hate him.”
“Brandon loved him, so that means I have to try.”
Kenna laughs and stands, making the bed rise again from the loss of her weight. She struts toward the mirror, fixing her bright red lipstick with her finger, fluffs her hair, and twirls, making the tulle fan out like a ballerina.
“You look hot. For a funeral.” I wipe my eyes and finally stand up. I need to get my shoes on. The funeral starts soon. One shoe is on top of the broken glass and the other…I don’t know. I can’t see it anywhere. Where can a flying shoe go?
She spins around, putting her hands on her hips. “You never know where a girl can meet someone.”
“A funeral? Really? That’s where you are going to troll on guys? Brandon would have a field day with that.”
“Psh, Brandon would be my wingman.”
The thought of Brandon helping her find sad, vulnerable men makes me laugh until I cry. They are good tears this time, stemming from the way I miss him and his humor. “Yeah, he would have.” My voice hitches. I miss him so much.
“Come here.” Kenna heaves me into her arms and rubs my back. “I know you do. I miss him, too. We all do. He wouldn’t want this, though. He’d want you to go out and celebrate his life. He was like that. The life of the party. Surprisingly, too, since he was such a serious doctor.”
“He threw the best parties.”
Kenna picks some lient off my dress. “That’s where we met Caden.”
I snort, taking a look at myself in the broken mirror. “Where he had his arms around not one, but two women? Gross.”
“If by gross you mean hot...” She snags my coat off the dresser and shoves it at my chest.
“I mean, if that’s your kind of thing.” I shrug on my coat, ignoring the glare she gives me. I always know when she glares. I feel her searing, green-eyed gaze watch me as I cross the room. I sigh, putting on my bracelet. “What?” I stare at her with annoyance.
She puckers her bottom lip and wobbles her head, ignoring the awkward moment. “Nothing. We need to go, though, or else we are going to be late to your own brother’s funeral if we don’t get a move on.”
“Why rush? His grave will be there. Every day. Forever.” The door slams behind me. I run down the stairs, away from the bedroom. Away from Kenna. Just away.
Kenna's footsteps pound down the steps as she runs behind to me. “Sure, but you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t see him laid to rest.”
I remain silent and take a right out of the staircase to the door. I reach for the handle, but I don’t turn it. My feet are glued to the floor. My body is frozen. I can’t move.
“Molly?”
“Yeah?” My breath quivers as I stare at the handle. It doesn’t turn, no matter how hard I try to bend it to my will.
“You haven’t opened the door.”
“I don’t know if I can.” A tremor quakes through my hand. “I can’t.” One step out that door is one step closer to closing a chapter of my life that I’m not ready to close. I’ll never be ready to bury it.
Her hand lands on top of mine and turns the knob. The lock clicks and the door creaks open ever so slightly. The day inches its way in through the crack, but my feet still won’t move.
“We have to go. I know you don’t want to, but we have to.”
My blood boils at the sound of her words. I fling the door open until it smashes against the wall, leaving a dent from the knob. “Don’t you think I know that?” As if I don’t know that I need to go to my own brother’s funeral. I want to stay in this house, where the last cup he used is still sitting by the sink. A blanket is bunched up on the couch where he or Amelia last used it. There is a load of laundry in the dryer that they never got to take out and fold. Plates are in the sink from the last time they ate.
Everything was used one last time, and they aren’t coming back. The reality of it punches me in the gut, and I pause mid-step on the porch staircase, glancing over my shoulder at the old house Brandon and Amelia love. Well, loved. They wanted to fix it up. He told me it was a little rundown and it just needed some love to bring it back to life. They poured so much of their hearts into this place, and now, our family can barely step foot in it.
My mom refused to get ready here. She and dad got a hotel room instead, while Kenna and I stay at Brandon’s house. Posie stays with my parents. My mom can’t seem to let go of her for a minute. She looks just like Brandon. She has his eyes, cheeks, and classic blonde hair. She is beautiful.
That’s another issue I can't think about right now. We have no idea who gets custody of Posie. We are supposed to be meeting with the lawyers tomorrow to discuss logistics. Tomorrow seems so far away.
A light mist of rain hisses against the trees and grass, creating a sheen of morning dew. This town is beautiful. I can see why they loved it so much. Billings, where we are originally from, isn’t like this, even though it's only a few hours away. It is much busier and bigger, and not at all quiet or peaceful like it is here.
A tickle on my arm makes me look down to see a bead of rain run down my forearm to my hand. I knew it was supposed to rain this morning, but I didn’t bother with an umbrella. My face will be wet from all the tears anyway, so what’s the point?
Kenna’s hand lands on my back and pushes me forward, telling me silently that we need to get a move on. I put one foot in front of the other until we reach the car. I take one final breath as I open the door and sit in the passenger seat. This is it. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be burying my brother and his wife. Posie will not understand what happened, and she won’t be able to remember her parents or this moment because of her age. Is it said that I’m jealous? I wish I can forget it. Remembering this for the rest of my life seems like a punishment.
“Ready?” Kenna starts the car, not waiting for me to answer. The wheels roll as she reverses out of the driveway, leaving behind an old house where two people used to make memories.
The side mirror reads ‘Objects are closer than they appear.’ and it is misleading. The house does not seem closer. Nothing does. Everything becomes a distant memory the closer we get to the cemetery.
I blink when the car jerks to a stop. Has it been ten minutes already? We are already here. A cloud of black moves across the graveyard to the chairs surrounding the area of the caskets. The dark movement is a crowd of people and it makes the cemetery look more depressing than it already is.
Kenna opens her door first and steps out. I watch the crowd gather and build for my family to pay their respects, and I find myself unable to move again. I can’t breathe. The cold air and rain are light to the touch as they hit the skin of my arm. I rip my eyes from the windshield to Kenna, who patiently waits for me to get out.
I do, eventually. I search for her hand, holding on tight as we make our way closer to the mass of darkness.
My heels sink into the wet ground, and when I glance up from the green blades of grass, I see my mom and my dad. Caden stands beside them, holding Posie. He looks good with a kid in his arms, especially for a man such as himself. He has her head placed against his shoulder, keeping an umbrella over them. My mom is already crying, and my dad holds her through it. Who is taking care of him, though?
“Molly! There you are. Where have you been? I can’t believe you would be late to your own brother’s funeral. How dare you. How dare you!” my mother yells, disdain expressed in her features.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a tough morning.” I ignore her the best I can. I know she is in pain and everyone handles it differently. She likes to lash out and make people feel bad, but what she forgot is that I already feel bad. I don’t need her whipping of words for it.
Caden moves Posie to his other shoulder and steps closer to shield me from the rain. “Are you okay?”
“No. How about you?”
“No.”
I look up to see him staring straight forwa
rd at the caskets. His jaw is clenched and flexed. Posie must feel his emotions because she starts to cry. It yanks him out of his thoughts, and he bounces her, rubbing her back and soothing her like a father would. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” He croons into her ear, and she quickly settles back down.
“You’re good with her,” I say, a little jealous that he is holding my brother’s daughter, but I quickly put that aside. That is just the anger talking. Caden is Brandon’s family, in a different way.
“Nah, she’s just a good kid.”
I agree with that. Brandon always said he got lucky with a baby that didn’t cry much and was all smiles like his mom. “Yeah, she is.”
“I’m sorry, Molly. For your loss.”
This time when our eyes meet, I see how the loss is affecting him. His eyes are red and swollen, but there are no tears. He must have cried in private. “I’m sorry for yours, too, Caden.” I place my hand on his forearm, ignoring the pull I feel in my gut to step closer and wrap my arm around his waist. It is just comfort. That’s all.
Everyone takes their seats when the preacher starts reading something from the bible. I’m not paying attention. My eyes are focused on the identical caskets sitting above the six-foot-deep hole dug for them. Water gathers on the wood, pooling and dripping to the ground. It makes me wonder if Brandon and Amelia are crying, too.
Thunder rolls in the sky, quieting the sound of people sniffling and weeping. It doesn’t quiet the havoc I feel, though. Nothing ever can.
Chapter Seven
Caden
“No. I don’t know when I’ll be back to work. I put that I needed two weeks. Yeah? Well, that isn’t my problem.” I toss my phone on the couch. My boss is such an asshole. He knows I have not one, but two, deaths in the family, and he wants me back now.
We are still in Glendive, and Brandon’s lawyer reached out to me, asking to meet me today, so I’m currently fumbling with my tie. I need to leave in ten minutes if I don’t want to be late, but the damn knot won’t knot. “Damn it!” I take the tie off with jerky movements and ball it up, throwing it onto the bed. I have never been able to tie a tie.
Forget it. I’m foregoing the damn tie. It isn’t my lawyer I’m meeting with anyway. I run my hand through my thick hair, getting the tangles out, and then I sit on the bed. I lay back, staring at the ceiling of the hotel room I'm temporarily staying in for a bit. Today, I’m supposed to be playing golf with Brandon, drinking beer, and listening to him talk about how wonderful his life is, and I’d tell him how much I envy him.
I did. He had everything a man wanted. I don’t have it because I choose not to. I like my way of living, even if it is a bit lonely sometimes. I tap my fingers on my stomach, thinking about Molly.
Shit. I have no reason to be thinking about her. She hates me, and even if she does remind me a little of Blake Lively with those brown eyes and blonde hair, her ‘better than you’ attitude annoys me. Well, it is fun getting her all riled up. It’s a mission every time I find myself around her.
Except for lately. I don’t feel like giving her a hard time, and I know she won’t appreciate it, given the situation. I let out a deep exhale and try to rub the heaviness out of my eyes from exhaustion, but it doesn’t work. They still feel like a hundred pounds are on them. If I don’t get up and get moving, I’ll miss the meeting with Brandon’s lawyer, and all I want to do is nap.
I sigh one more time and roll off the mattress, much to my dismay, and put on my dark blue blazer, leaving it unbuttoned. The mirror catches my eye, and I pause, risking a glance at myself. I have dark circles under my eyes, more so than whenever I pull an all-nighter at the hospital. My shirt has wrinkles, my hair doesn’t have product in it, and my face looks gaunt.
But I guess losing someone you love does that to you. “I can’t do this.” I set my briefcase down and grip the dresser the mirror hung above. My insides feel shredded and sore from the emotional marathon. Depression holds on tight, sending me on a rollercoaster ride that keeps going down but makes sure to throw me for a loop.
Why am I meeting with the lawyer? Does Brandon have a letter for me that he wrote before he died? Fuck, I can’t handle that right now. “Damn it!” I slam my fist on the dresser, and the lamp teeters off the edge and falls, shattering the bulb.
“Why’d you have to go, man?” I say out loud like Brandon can hear me. “I know I shouldn’t be mad at you, but I am. I’m so fucking angry that you left. I’m angry that son-of-a-bitch drunk driver walked away from that accident with nothing but a scratch. I’m angry Amelia isn’t here anymore. What about Posie? You left her. You left me!” I scream, tears prickling my eyes. “You left Molly. What is she going to do? What are we going to do?” I hit my chest with the palm of my hand. I start to pace the floor, shaking my head because none of it makes sense. This doesn’t make sense.
They wouldn’t just leave.
“You were here. I just talked to you. We made plans.” I whisper and sit on the edge of the bed again. “We made plans,” I repeat and smooth my hands over my face. The stubble on my cheek scratches my skin, reminding me I need to shave. “I can’t do this without you. You were the closest thing I had to a brother. I don’t know what to do. A part of me is missing.”
I start to laugh as tears fall down my cheeks. My stomach starts to hurt from it. “You would think I was being such a bitch right now. You’d tell me to suck it up. Life goes on. You would say, ‘Caden Jackson doesn’t show emotion. Get your shit together.’” I wipe my face, hating myself for crying again. I never cry. I wait until I’m alone to let my grief take over. A man never shows his true colors. At least, that’s what my father used to say. “But you aren’t here. And I have no one to tell me otherwise.”
I press the heel of my palms against my eyes, holding in the tears. I don’t want to shed another one. “I know it wasn’t your fault. You wouldn’t choose to leave, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not angry because I am. I’m so mad. I don’t know what to do with it all. I feel it every day. It consumes me. All of me. My hands shake from the turbulent emotions and boiling blood. I want to scream. What do I do with it? I have no one now.” Brandon was my person. I don’t have any family. I have Charles, but that friendship differs from Brandon’s. Brandon helped me through med school. I was failing out, and I got myself in with the wrong crowd, but he noticed my struggle and helped me through it.
I can't help him now. I can’t return the favor. It’s too late, and I’ve never felt more alone. To let that show, though? Never. Men aren’t allowed to do that. Especially men like me. The good-looking, charismatic neurosurgeon, always smiling and laughing. I have to look strong for everyone, even if I have a moment of weakness.
At least, that is what my father used to say. He used to say a lot of things before he died.
The clock shows that I’m officially running late. Five minutes to be exact, but I don’t care. I know I need to meet with this attorney for Brandon.
I would have thought burying him would have brought me closure or some sort of peace, but I’m still all jumbled up inside. I don’t know what would set my soul at ease. A part of me doesn’t want to ever feel peace. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why yet. I don’t like to feel lost, but right now, it’s better than meeting with an attorney that would only solidify his death more.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and a lump lodges in my throat when I see the voicemail notification from a week ago. My cell likes to remind me of the things I haven’t checked yet, this being one of them. I’m pretty sure it is the last voicemail Brandon ever left, but I’m not ready to hear it. I swipe the notification away and shove the damn device back in my pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that the saying?
“Get your shit together, Jackson.” I push the strap of my briefcase up my shoulder and walk toward the front door. “I can do this. He needed me to do this. So, do it.” The door slams shut behind me, practically kicking me in the ass, telling me to get a move on.
I look
left and right, seeing if anyone is out and about enjoying the beautiful day, but not a soul lingers. My keys jingle in my hand as I fidget. I stand in the shade, knowing once the sunlight hits my skin, it will take away some of the angst weighing me down, and I’m not ready to let that go—not yet. But the lawyer isn’t going to meet with himself; I told my brain, which told my leg to take a step, taking me closer to my car.
It amazes me how the brain works. All the nerves firing off to one another, telling each other to do something. Without that, no one would be able to take a step. I wouldn’t be able to move. It’s a part of the reason why I became a neurosurgeon. I want to know everything about the brain. I’ve cut into so many different personalities and people. I hold everything in my hands that makes that person a person. It’s pure privilege.
Brandon always thought it was the coolest thing in the world. He told me if he ever needed brain surgery, he wanted me to do it because he said he’d come out a better man after I got done with him. I chuckle out loud, remembering when he said that. He knew he was the best guy around, and brain surgery wouldn’t affect that, unless I were to nick something I shouldn’t have. That would be bad.
The one time I could have helped him, he had already died, and nothing can overturn death. Except, maybe a god, and I don’t know if I believe in that. I believe in science and medicine. I believe in what I see, touch, feel—facts. If there is a god, I hope Brandon stands by him now. He deserves that.
My car beeps when I get close enough for it to read the key fob. I toss my briefcase in the back seat and slide into the driver’s seat of my Range Rover. I punch the address into the GPS, and Gail, the automated voice, tells me I have a ten-minute ride. It seems like everything in this town is only ten minutes away.
Unexpected Gift Page 5
