Mom had been there for several horses passing over the years but had never let me be present. She’d figured that after Dad, I’d dealt enough with death in the family at a young age without adding more. I was older now and I knew what to expect, but suddenly the dark inevitability of it knocked the air out of me. My hand, which was stroking Grandpa Milkshake’s thin mane, started shaking.
Mom reached out, grasping my hand tightly.
Around us, the sky moved from blue to pink and purple. Distantly I realized that the play would be starting soon, and unless I headed out I would miss it.
I would miss Armand.
But then I glanced over at Mom’s face, lined with sadness but staying strong, and knew I couldn’t leave. Besides, my pants were already ruined with mud, the shirt that had done me so many favors earlier was sweat-stained and wrinkled to hell.
We grew quiet as Grandpa Milkshake’s wheezing breaths began to slow. I’d been sitting long enough for my legs to cramp, the stress of justwaiting for it to happenwracking me with exhaustion. I stared down at his frail body and wondered if horses could sense death and whether he was scared.
My hand was still clutching Mom’s when we felt him breathe one last time and then go still.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, to Milkshake, or Mom.
Or Armand.
August 14th- The bloody convention is to-bloody-morrow
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to a play, so I hadn’t been sure if I had to dress up or bring flowers or what.
“Your assistant’s lead?” Lakshmi’s voice over the phone yesterday had been hoarse and flat and entirely done with me.
“He’s not my assistant, he’s my ...” What was his job description again? Something liaison ...?
“But he’s the lead? And he’s what, nineteen?”
“Aye.”
“Then you bloody well bring him flowers.”
“Noted.”
“And you wearwholeclothes—nothing fancy, Armand, just notshredded; you understand the distinction?”
“Do I own any clothes that aren’t, as you say, shredded?”
“No, but I packed you some anyway. A shirt should have four openings, no more. You don’t embarrass this boy on his big day.”
I hadn’t told her about Lucas, so she had no way of knowing I’d already made a pathetic attempt at appearing human tonight. However, it was fascinating to note that even an ocean away she’d managed to develop maternal feelings for a boy she’d never met. Finch’s innate vulnerability was that strong.
“I’ll get some flowers.”
“Good lad.”
And I had. Now, in my office, I changed into the starchy, posh clothes Lakshmi had bought me and which I’d somehow managed to wrinkle over a mere couple of hours. Come to think of it, it might have been a result of shoving them into my messenger bag.
And so, rumpled, a tad drunk, but game for anything at this point, I found the venue, collected the ticket Finch had left for me, and took my seat at the back of the theater. Next to the one I’d saved for Lucas.
Which remained empty.
I’d considered waiting for him at the front, but the idea had made my legs threaten to stop working, so sitting down had probably been in everyone’s best interests.
A sad little part of me, that I’d honestly thought had been struck out of commission weeks ago, wished I hadn’t drunk so much in anticipation of meeting Lucas, that I’d managed to stay sober and unwrinkled and the slightest bit suave just for tonight.
But I hadn’t, and Lucas was about to get a glimpse of reality.
If he ever showed up.
