My coffee sloshed over the rim as I jolted. She giggled. “His face looked like yours.” Her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head, the sadness giving way to disdain for a moment.
“It’s important to me that he doesn’t wallow in grief. You know what he’s like. He still beats himself up about all those years we missed out on. This isn’t about just him. It’s about all the children. Not just Liam, but Savannah, Rose, and Oliver as well. They need a happy dad.”
“Bex, they’ll still have Kelsey. They’ll lose their step-mom, but your son is losing you.” My voice cut the air sharp, but she had taken me by surprise yet again with her thoughts.
“I know,” she snapped, the words trembling as if they’d escaped on their own. “But I’ve prepared him the best I can. I’m grateful that Kelsey exists. I’m relieved our blended family works so well, but they all need to move on and live without me.” She paused, and eyes identical to my own locked on mine. “And Amz, you need to let them do that.”
“Let them?” My throat tightened, the protest catching before it reached my lips. I didn’t want to argue, but she had to understand I’d do what I could to help.
“Yes. Let them. You’re to remain as their aunt, nothing more. I don’t want you picking up the role of mother and substitute wife. Be there, support them, but don’t stop living your life because of them.”
A faint smile touched her lips then, but tears slid unchecked down her cheeks. “I’d tell you I’ll miss you,” she whispered, almost fragile, “but I’ll be dead.”
My sister found happiness far too late. It hurts.
Chapter three
Terry
My wife pulls her long blonde hair back into a knot and pins it in place. The fitted black dress, which finishes a fraction above her knees, hugs her lean frame.
Two years of lifting have carved her down—muscles strain against fabric, calves coiled like rope. When I hold her, what used to give—her hips, her belly, the old softness I loved—doesn’t. My pride in her determination sticks in my throat beside the loss. I miss what she was.
Today marks the end of an era ? we will lay Bex in her final resting place. The last few years blurred with hospital appointments and counting good days. Amy set her alarm by Bex’s needs.
Our plans were folded away, slid into the back of a drawer to be dealt with later. I’d never say it out loud, but as much as I loved my old friend, Bex, I’m glad this tragedy has come to an end. Toxic relief settles beneath the guilt.
“What time should we expect the car?” I ask.
“They’re picking up Ben and the kids, then coming round for us. Our car will be at the back.” I nod. She never actually answered my question. “My parents are meeting us there. They didn’t think Bex would want them using the cars. They’re probably right; she never forgave them for wanting her to have Liam adopted.”
I could mouth along to this part of the story; we’ve rehearsed it enough. One stupid-perfect night, a blue line, and two parents who thought paperwork could hide their grandson away.
Though I didn’t support her not telling Ben about the baby, I understood why. After their encounter, Ben reconciled with his wife and went back to the house with the posed family photos on the fridge before Bex had even missed a period. Bex stayed silent to be noble, to not ruin his family that he only just got back. She was never a homewrecker.
Years later, the school gates did what confessionals couldn’t and brought it all to light, and they finally got their happily ever after. Her relationship with her parents never recovered. It was icy until the end.
“Okay, well, do you want a cup of tea while we wait?” She drags another coat of pink lipstick over quivering lips before shaking her head. “I’m going to wait in the living room,” I mumble and leave our bedroom.
Amy appears in front of me moments later and wraps her arms around my waist, snuggling into my chest. “It’s going to be alright. Once today is over, we can start healing and moving forward,” I whisper.
Her head snaps up, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing to slits. “Move forward!” she cries. “My sister isn’t even buried yet, and you’re talking about moving forward? For fuck’s sake, Terry, don’t be such an asshole.”
Biting my tongue till iron floods my mouth, I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her tighter. Now is not the time for this argument. The day of her sister’s funeral shouldn’t be shrouded in our marital issues.
Releasing her, I go to look out of the window. The three black cars are lined up at the curb, and my phone pings. It’s Ben.
Outside
Ben has been my friend as long as my wife. He and I have painted the town red many times and cried on each other’s shoulders. I don’t know how he stitches this kind of tear, even with four kids to anchor him.
Sometimes I watch him with his kids, and jealousy lights a match in my chest. Four faces for his Christmas card; I can’t even get one. Then, the shame squashes the flame. The man’s just lost his wife.
“That’s the car here, Amz. You ready?” I walk over to her sitting on the sofa and hold out my hands. She takes them and rises to her feet. Once I’ve turned her to the door, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward it.
I’ll be glad when today is over.
***
