Bet on Us

by MariaLisa deMora

  It hadn’t taken long to gather up the things worth keeping. The photo album his mother had kept, her family Bible. That wasn’t where Jericho expected, and Trent had to explain that’s where the investigator had found the will, that single piece of paper that handed responsibility of Jericho over to her brother, a man she’d kept a secret all these years.

  He’d rounded the corner from his room into the hallway to see Jacob’s back as he stood in the doorway of the room his mom had shared with Frank. “I don’t know,” Trent had hissed, and Jericho had slowed his steps, listening closely. “Do we need to get shoes for her?”

  “The white sandals.” Jericho’s voice had cracked, and he’d cleared his throat, finding that lump had made yet another reappearance. “That’s what she wore with the dress.” Jacob had moved backwards to allow Jericho to shuffle in front of him where Trent was standing, dress in hand. “You found it.” He’d looked at the nightstand on her side of the bed. “Her jewelry is there. She don’t have much, but there’s a necklace from her gramma that’s real pretty.”

  His throat had closed tight, breaths coming short and shallow as he turned and walked away, shaking. By the time they’d left the house, he’d been covered in sweat, exhausted and sad, overwhelmed by how much life had changed. The boarders had all picked their horses up by then, and the silence emanating from the barn seemed charged somehow, as if the acts that had occurred inside had deadened the very air around the building.

  Jacob had ordered room service once they’d gotten settled into the suite, and Jericho had wondered how he could have gotten everything so right without even asking. Trent had made contented sounds as he ate his roast chicken, while Jericho had battled his burger until Jacob had taken it from him, cutting it in half without a word. He’d dropped the plate back in front of Jericho, then returned to his plate of pork chops smothered in mushroom gravy, giving Jericho a distracted smile when he’d offered thanks.

  Feeling them on either side of him now, supporting him without being obtrusive about it, Jericho let his mind drift back to the memory of what had happened next.

  “You don’t have to go out of your way for me.” Silence met his announcement, and Jericho kept his gaze fixed firmly on the TV, not recognizing the movie that had been playing for the past forty-five minutes.

  “Out of our way?” Trent’s question hung in the air before he followed it with, “By doing what?”

  “I mean—” He felt the flush of hot blood in his cheeks. “By not doin’…whatever. I’m not gonna be offended if y’all hold hands or anything.”

  Jacob made a sound like he’d tasted something bad, and Jericho wanted to look at him but instead kept his gaze resolutely directed forwards.

  Trent shifted around, sitting sideways on the couch towards where Jericho sat on the other end. Jacob had taken the chair earlier, propping his socked feet on the coffee table. From the corner of his eye, Jericho saw a flash of white as they disappeared and heard the squeak of leather as Jacob sat forwards.

  “Like, it won’t be the end of the world.” Jericho cleared his throat. He needed Trent to understand. “If y’all hold hands or somethin’.”

  “We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Jacob’s words held firm, the truth in them as unmovable as the man seemed to be himself. “I’ll admit we’ve…dialed it back a little.”

  Jericho shrugged, hoping it looked as if it didn’t matter to him. “Undial it if you want.”

  There was more squeaking of leather; then he felt Jacob’s presence standing in front of Trent. On TV, a man and woman ran up a darkened street, either chasing or following…something. An ungodly screech sounded from beside him, and Jericho jerked to the side, twisting to see Jacob had flung himself into Trent’s lap and was writhing around, face pressed to the side of Trent’s neck, unmistakable sounds of wet raspberries filling the air. The squeal had come from Trent, who was now laughing hysterically, voice rising and falling as it went from words to laughter and back again. “Ohmygodstopit.” Laughter. “Jacob Grimes, stop it now.” More laughter as Trent tried ineffectually to push Jacob away. “Jakey, pul-ease.”

  Jacob finally lifted his head and looked at Jericho, then winked. “Thank God I don’t have to keep it dialed back.” He shifted, sat on the cushion beside Trent, and rested a palm-up hand on his thigh. A moment later, Trent’s hand covered Jacob’s, and Jericho watched as their fingers fell between each other as if they’d done this a thousand times. “We weren’t sure how cool you’d be with even this.” He lifted the joined hands, bringing them to his mouth and placing a kiss on the back of Trent’s. “With everything—we know it’s a lot of change all at once and want you to feel okay about whatever.”

  “It… You can’t change for me.” What Jericho didn’t say was how terrified he’d already been, concocting scenarios where they quickly became tired of him, of everything, and went back on the offers previously made. “You wouldn’t be happy.”

  Trent leaned forwards and looked at him, then scoffed and sat back. “Huh.”

  “What?” Jericho bent at the waist and craned his neck until he could see Trent’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” The amusement in Trent’s voice gave lie to the word.

  “There’s somethin’.” Jericho squinted. Now Jacob was twisted and looking at Trent. “See? Even Jacob thinks so.”

  “Jake.” Jacob’s piercing gaze turned on Jericho. “Family and special friends call me Jake.”

  “Jake thinks so, too.” Warmth built in his chest as he realized they were all teasing each other. “Y’all are crazy.”

  “Welcome to the club.” Trent leaned sideways until his head could tip and touch Jacob’s. “What’s your middle name, Jericho?”

  “Michael.” He paused and thought, then asked, “What’s yours?”

  Trent’s lips spread in a wide smile, and he cut his eyes towards Jericho. “Michael.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yeah, huh. Your mom and me, we were peas in a pod for years. Even if she cut me out of your lives, she kept me close, too.” Trent’s eyes drifted closed, and Jericho was exhausted all of a sudden. “When I left, I missed her most of all.”

  “Ready?” Jacob, steady and unflappable, waited at his side, hand under Jericho’s arm. Trent was on his other side, hand curled tightly around Jericho’s.

  He nodded, and they began the endless, yet all-too-quickly completed walk to the edge of a yawning hole in the ground. There was a complicated scaffolding across it holding up the casket. When Jericho had blanched at the costs of the coffins, Trent had stepped in and selected exactly what he would have picked out. Glossy wood, brass handles, and the insides were the softest ivory fabric Jericho’d ever felt.

  Back at the funeral home for the viewing this morning, his mother had looked pretty lying there in her dress, her grandmother’s locket resting in the hollow of her throat. Pretty, but not there, her shell so clearly empty that he felt it was unreal. Like she was a mannequin or something, a prop to take his mother’s place, and for an instant, he’d nurtured the fantasy that nothing was real. He’d known the truth, though, and his wishing hadn’t stopped the tears from rolling down his face while he stood there, knuckles white as his fingers clenched the edge of the casket. He’d heard Trent murmur something to Jacob, and a moment later, he’d felt them as they were now, bracketing him with their strength.

  Trent wavered, and Jericho jerked his arm up, holding tight. “I got you,” he whispered into the silence.

  “You do, Jericho. You have both of us.” Trent’s arm went around his shoulder. “I got you back.”

  The preacher’s voice was droning, issuing what Jericho was sure were kind words. There was a pause, and he realized Trent and Jacob were both looking at him, the preacher too, and he grasped that this was the moment they’d talked about earlier. Where if he wanted to say something, he’d be given the chance.

  Jericho found he had something to say.

  He pushed up from the chair and
faced the casket, the drape of white and pink daisies pretty against the warmth of the wood.

  “Come here. Come with me.” Trent stood as he spoke, then led Jericho towards the end where the preacher had spoken from. Jericho found himself adrift, a tiny sea of concerned faces aimed at him.

  With a deep breath in, he started, speaking from the heart. “My mom’s the best. She does…did whatever was needed to make sure I had enough, that we had enough. I don’t want to let what that man did to her be what makes up all my memories of her. He took enough of her from me. He doesn’t get to take this. My mom told me to be kind, to help our neighbors. She taught me that beauty isn’t the same for everyone. Once, she told me that it was a sin how folks kept their best opinions of people until they were dead. So I promised her I wouldn’t do that, and now”—he took a deep breath as he glanced at the coffin, the box that contained what had been the most important part of his world—“at least I don’t have to worry that she didn’t know how much I loved her. I told her every day. And me? I don’t have to wonder, either.” He stood straighter, lifted his chin. “This is the truth as I know it. My mother was Estelle Marie Conway, and she loved me. Her smile was brighter than the stars, and I’m proud to be her son.”

  There was shuffling from the people in the chairs, and a single irreverent clap that nearly tore laughter from his throat. Then Trent’s arms were around him and Jericho was holding on, tighter and tighter because suddenly he was drowning in grief and pain, and a sobbing rat-a-tat ripped free with raw sounds. Voices spoke out, and he heard the preacher’s final words as they stood beside him. And it was done.

  Jericho lifted his head to see the mourners straggling off, making their way down the hill and to the cars parked in the lanes threading through the cemetery. Except for a persistent group standing nearer the tent. Jacob stood and looked around, and Jericho saw recognition on his face, a smile that broke through the shared pain like a laser as he called out, “James.”

  Trent tensed, then relaxed, and he murmured for Jericho’s benefit, “Jakey’s sister, Jaime. I didn’t think they were able to come. It’s good, Jericho. It’s fine. That’s her and her husband, Connor, and their boys Nate and Matt. Matt’s the little one.”

  Jericho swiped at his eyes with his hand, blinking against the tears. He saw a pretty woman wrap her arms around Jacob, stretching to her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. Jacob released her, touched his lips to the top of her head, then was engulfed in a hug from the man who also brushed a kiss against Jacob’s cheek. The two boys stood close, the younger already reaching with his hands in a demanding “pick me up” gesture.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Trent grabbed Jericho’s hand and had him moving before he knew what was going on. “Jaime, gorgeous, just look at you. You’re absolutely glowing, darling.” He wrapped an arm around Jericho’s shoulders. “This is my nephew, Jericho.”

  Jaime stepped closer, her gaze on his face as she said, “I’m so sorry to hear what happened.” Her eyes turned to Trent, and she offered her cheek for his kiss. “You know I always love any chance to see you guys, but I truly hate the reason. I’m so sorry, Trent.” Behind her, Connor had finally released Jacob, who’d crouched down to talk to Nate, little Matt wedging his way in between them, arms around Jacob’s neck.

  Trent’s voice was soft when he responded. “Thank you, beautiful girl. When did you get in? Just now?”

  “No, we made it, barely. Only Con could have turned what should have been a five-hour drive into seven.”

  “Seven? That seems unlikely.”

  “We came by way of Chattanooga.”

  “Ah.”

  There were sounds from the rise behind them, and Jericho stepped away from Trent to turn and look. Three men clustered around the casket. The conversations behind him faded, muting and becoming muffled, as if they were happening yards away instead of feet. He watched as the men began to turn and twist handles they’d fitted to the scaffolding. It took a second before he realized what they were doing, the coffin slowly lowering into the ground.

  Heartbeat pounding in his ears, he found himself unable to look away. The daisies were almost even with the ground when Trent’s arm pulled him sideways until he collided with him. There was silence in the cemetery now, all conversations stopped, and he glanced to the side to see Jacob next to Trent, their hands clasped tightly together. Next to him was Jaime—holding Jacob’s other hand—and her two sons, then the man, Connor. When Jericho looked back at the gravesite, all that was left were the three men still working the cranks, but even that activity only lasted for another minute before it was done. When the men straightened, one of them glanced around and saw the group staring at him. “Sorry,” he called out. “We thought y’all were leavin’.”

  “Jericho, do you want to stay and watch?”

  He shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the men as they disassembled the mechanism, quiet clanks of metal on metal as the poles and struts were laid into a wheelbarrow parked nearby. One of the men fiddled with something on the ground and then flipped back a piece of green fabric so Jericho could see the raw earth underneath. It looked stark, like an unhealed scar against otherwise pristine skin.

  “Come on, then.” The arm around his shoulder urged him to turn, and he did, but he twisted his neck to keep watching. All the way down the hill, he stumbled and swayed as toes and heels tripped and sank into unseen holes. Each of the men had a shovel in hand and was bent to his work, an easy rhythm to their movements. Stoop, scoop, twist, and fling. They were far enough away he couldn’t hear the sound the dirt made as it hit the wooden casket.

  He was glad of that.

  Voices and hands urged him into the car, and through the tinted glass, he watched, turning to look out the rear window as they drove away until he couldn’t pick out the men’s outlines from the tree line anymore.

  Chapter Five

  Trent

  “Where’s your room?”

  Trent had asked the question of Jaime but was watching Jacob as he stood at the minibar, pouring from bottles that were nowhere near mini. When Jacob walked the glasses to the occupants of the room, he did so with one stiff leg, toe of his boot lifted to keep Matt’s bottom in place where the boy had latched on to his uncle. Trent lifted his chin as he took the tumbler filled with bourbon, and Jacob obliged, pressing a kiss to his lips. Eyes opened throughout the kiss, Trent was treated to a close-up view of Jacob’s face softening, the stress easing with the pleasure of connecting like this.

  Jaime was next to Trent on the couch, and he watched with surprise as she turned down the drink, opting instead for, “Just pop or water, Jake, thanks.”

  He darted his gaze to Connor, seated in the chair, and caught the man looking at his wife with a loving and long-suffering expression. Certain now that he wouldn’t be telling tales out of school, he blurted, “You’re preggers. Oh. My. God.” Her wide-eyed look was the final validation that he’d guessed correctly, and he crowed. “You are. Oh my Jesus, that’s perfect. Perfection. When were you gonna tell your brudder?” Glancing back at Connor, Trent added, “Good job, big man. No test tubes this time around, am I right?”

  Connor laughed aloud as Jaime dropped her chin to her throat, shaking her head back and forth as she laughed. “We are,” she confirmed, then laughed softly. “This didn’t seem the right time, so I was going to wait to tell you.”

  “Not around my husband,” Jacob said on a chuckle. “Congrats, James. That’s amazing.”

  Trent threaded his arm around her shoulders and pulled her sideways against him. “Tell Uncle Trentie everything this little one needs. We’ll have another baby shower. Every child should be celebrated.” There were sounds from the other end of the room where the boys were, and he turned to look that direction.

  His eyes narrowed when he saw Nate staring at Jericho with a wildly disbelieving expression. When he focused, he could just pick out the words when Nate leaned towards Jericho and said, “You can’t quit
school. School’s the most important thing in your life right now. It’s the foundation of everything to come.”

  Jericho’s back was towards the adults, so he couldn’t hear him, but Nate’s response gave him all the clues he needed to know what was said. “No way. Nope. They’d never think that. They might not have known you long, but they already love you. You don’t have to try and pull your weight like that. Was your mom gonna let you quit?”

  Jericho’s nod broke Trent’s heart.

  Nate’s fierce expression as he swung his head back and forth helped salve that wound a little. “No way that’s happening now. Not on my watch.” Nate lifted his voice, ignoring the frantic arm-waving Jericho launched into. “Dad, do we still have the money from that grant I got for housing?”

  “What, son?” Connor’s voice was deep and resonated with love for this boy who wasn’t his but was all the more his for that fact.

  Jaime had been pregnant when her first love had died in a car crash, and she’d been on her own with Nathan for the first ten years of his life, before their world collided with Connor’s. Con had fallen in love not just with Jaime, but her son, and once he’d found what he wanted, he hadn’t stopped working until they were a family. Of course, it didn’t hurt she’d gifted him with a second son almost nine months to the day from when they met, but that was a different story.

  “Nothing, Mr. Thompson.” Trent saw the arm-waving had stopped, but the boys’ heads were close together, their conversation quiet enough he could no longer tell what was said.

  Something to explore with Jericho after Jaime and her crew left for their room. Which brought him full circle.

  “Where’s your room?”