Closing my eyes at the onslaught of fresh tears, I prayed with all of my heart that my family would survivethis.
I wasnumb.
I knew it was only temporary, the numbness, but I welcomed it never-the-less. It was a quick, bittersweet respite before I endured moreagony.
In less than fourteen hours, we would be laying our mother to rest. I’d cried on and off all day, pasted a smile on and powered through the wake. Hands grasping mine, apologizes and condolences passing lips, my responses automatic, each face ablur.
I wasn’t sold on the idea of going out for drinks with Brock and Braden’s friends after the wake, especially not with Braden’s erratic behaviour lately, but Brock wanted me to get out of the house for a bit. We both knew Braden would go anyway, and Brock wanted to keep an eye onhim.
Tessa had offered to stay with Aiden, along with Braden’s girlfriend and Tessa’s best friend, Elle. She was at a loss for how to help himtoo.
I couldn’t remember the last time I let loose, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen on that particular night. After all, I was feeling raw, but I needed the change of scenery. Being at home right nowhurt, it hurt because my mother was gone and I missed her more than anything. It hurt because I was fumbling through my own grief and blindly trying to hold everybodytogether.
“This is a bad idea,” I muttered the moment I walked into O’Riley’s with my brothers. I sent a wary glance to Braden as he immediately crossed over to the bar to order a drink. All day long he’d been sullen and angry, stealing sips of whiskey from a flask he’d kept in his pocket. My worry ran deep,unrelenting.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Brockpromised.
“I’m worried about you too,” I told him, frowning. I was worried about us all. I was worried about what would happen once this funeral was over. Would Brock go back to Alberta? Would he distance himself from us again? I couldn’t stand the idea of losing another family member in anysense.
“Don’t,” he ordered with a frown before two of his friends, Gordon Armstrong and Travis Channing, approached us to sayhello.
Gordon and Travis had always been around when I was growing up, along with Grady McDonnell and Steve Winters, both of whom were hanging out by the bar with a couple of other people I recognized from aroundtown.
After the arrest, Brock stopped talking to everyone in town, except for Mom, Braden and me. Even for us, it was irregular to hear from him. He’d hung out with them a few times since his return, but his budding romance with Tessa had caused tension between him and Gordon. Mom’s death seemed to have bridged that gap, and all seemed forgiven betweenthem.
“Glad you could make it out,” Gordon said to us. He was another one of Tessa’s many brothers. Getting together for drinks had been his idea, his way of trying to infuse a little cheer into our diresituation.
“What’s your poison?” Travis added, his hazel eyes drinking me in as he smiled. I felt my heart stutter in my chest, tripping over itself in hispresence.
When I was in high school, I had the biggest crush on Travis Channing. His hazel eyes were always so warm and friendly, always sparkling with elation. His dirty blond hair was always slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it a billion times, or the wind had mussed it. He was the kind of guy that lived for the thrill ofadventure.
He came from a family like ours—poor and struggling, only he didn’t have to grow up in a house shorn in darkness. Despite his circumstances—growing up in a trailer, fatherless, never having new clothes or the latest gadgets, Travis was inherentlyhappy.
Sadness is drawn to happiness; sadness seeks out the light, hoping it will drive away the darkness, and so I was drawn to him, eventhen.
But Travis had always looked at me the same way the rest of Brock’s friends looked at me: like I was their honourary littlesister.
“Oh I don’t know,” I looked away, blushing. The way he was smiling at me made me feel like a teenager again, and not at all like his honourary little sister. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a long time,” I admitted, immediately regretting my confession. How pathetic wasI?
“You look like a Sex on the Beach kind of girl,” he responded with a charming smile. Brock slapped him on the back of the head, and Travis laughed. “I’m just saying, something fruity and tasty. I didn’t name the damndrink.”
I glared at Brock, annoyed at his interference. So what if Traviswasflirting a little. It had been a long time since someone had flirted with me. It feltgoodand I didn’t want Brock to scare himaway.
I cravedthis.
“That sounds good actually. I’d love to have Sex on the Beach,” I said to Travis, smiling as I accepted his outstretched arm and followed him to the bar. I shot Brock a warning glare, letting him know I wouldn’t tolerate any further intrusion. Travis paused when we reached the bar, tapping his fingers against the glossysurface.
“Sex on the Beach for the lovely lady and an Old Fashioned for me,” he said to the older man behind the bar before turning his attention to Grady and Steve, who nodded their heads at me and raised their beers ingreeting.
“Evening, Becky. I’m sorry to hear about your mom passing. She was a sweet lady,” Mick O’Riley, the bartender and owner, said as he mixed ourdrinks.
“Thank you,” I murmured, unsurprised at the fondness in the old bartender’s voice. Mick had always been kind and warm to me, not that I’d spent much time in hisbar.
He’d also been kind enough to offer up his bar to Brock for the reception, which saved me the trouble of hosting it at the house. O’Riley’s was a short walk away from the church where the funeral would takeplace.
I had dreaded the idea of hosting it at the house. Our tiny, three bedroom bungalow was cramped, and it needed a lot of work. I didn’t want people to focus on the old worn furniture or the roof that was in massive need of repair, or the water stains on the ceiling and walls from multiple leaks over theyears.
I also sort of wanted to be able to leave if it got to be toomuch.
