Glancing at the dinky, two-bedroom trailer house they were staying in now, he lifted his eyebrows and shot me a look. Okay, so he had a point. Even our shithole apartment was in a hell of a lot better condition than this dump.
“Look, my bed’s bigger than yours. The boys can camp in my room, your sister can take yours, I’ll get the couch, and you can bunk of the floor until we find someplace bigger to rent.”
I just stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Are you serious?”
He made a face. “Fuck, yeah. I’m certainly not taking the floor.”
With a short laugh, I shook my head. Only Ten could make me smile at a time like this. “I mean, about the whole thing? This is a big deal, Ten. This would fucking save my life, but it’d be a huge change. For you too. Are you sure about them coming back with us?”
He shrugged as if it was nothing. “I mean, they’re going to be squished in my half backseat on the ride there, but hell, why not?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I covered my face with my hands as the relief nearly buckled my knees. “Thank you. Oh, fuck. Thank you so much, man. I’ll never be able to repay you for this.”
CHAPTER THIRTHY-THREE
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end." - Gilda Radner
ASPEN
I was hollow. An empty shell.
Staring down at the graves of both of my parents, I wondered why I wasn’t crying, why I hadn’t shed one tear over their deaths.
Next to me, Rita sniffed into a tissue and dabbed her eyes. I reached out and patted her arm, trying to offer a measure of comfort, but how did I offer anything when I had nothing? Felt nothing?
The past few days had been a complete blur. After “resigning” from my position at Ellamore, I’d gone home and packed a bag, ready to leave town for a few days to, I don’t know, find myself. Recalibrate my life. Make plans for the future.
Hide from Noel.
But my housekeeper had called when I was stuffing a handful of jeans into my luggage. And now my biggest fear had come true. My parents had died before telling me they loved me or even showing they cared. I knew I should’ve felt destroyed, lost, alone, hopeless. But no. Nothing. There was just a big, blank void, a vacancy where they’d never filled my heart.
I’d been braced to hear about my father. In the hospital with pneumonia, losing his leg to diabetes, I knew this fate was most likely coming for him. But that wasn’t how he’d died at all.
Mother had actually been driving him home from the hospital when they’d had a head-on collision on the freeway. Both dead. Instantly.
Shocked much? Oh, yeah. I was definitely in a state of utter shock. Maybe that’s why I was so numb. Or maybe I was just a heartless shrew. Maybe Mallory and Richard Kavanagh had rubbed off and I could never feel anything again.
But then I thought of Noel, and I knew that wasn’t true. Because just from drawing forth his face in my mind, I was no longer numb. I was aching and broken.
My parents might not have ever shown me love, but I did know love now. I knew how it felt to find someone worth living for, to risk everything for that love, and to sacrifice everything for it. It was beautiful and amazing. So I no longer craved it from the two bodies lying in this cold, hard ground. They could take their brand of love with them, wherever they went.
I tossed a rose into each open grave and turned away, ready to be finished with this. Only a dozen other people were present at the cemetery. I recognized colleagues of Richard’s and Mallory’s—Zach’s father stood near the back—but that was it. No friends, no other family. Just work ties.
A rustling came behind me, and I knew Rita was hurrying to catch up with me. I slowed enough for her to reach my side, then I hooked my arm through hers, and we made our way to the black ride awaiting us.
“Am I an awful person, Rita?” I wondered aloud.
Warm fingers surrounded mine and squeezed hard. “Why would you think such a thing, child?”
“They raised me,” I said. “They kept me healthy and clothed me, put a house over my head. They paid for my education and helped me get a good start on life. I wouldn’t have anything if it weren’t for them. So shouldn’t I owe them more than this? Shouldn’t I...mourn?”
“Oh, honey. You’re just in shock. Denial is a very real stage in grieving.”