Momma gawked, like I’d grown tentacles out of my neck. “He came to the funeral. Is that not enough for you?”
My head fell back. Now I was the one looking at her like she was some kind of alien. “No, he did not. Do you have dementia? Should we get you checked for Alzheimers?” I reached up to tap her forehead like she’d done mine. She smacked my hand away. Hard.
“That is so disrespectful. I’m old, but I’m not that old. And your daddy only died three years ago. I remember very clearly that Silas was there. Don’t believe me?” She stood up, towering over me.
“Sorry, Momma, but, no, I don’t. I was there too. I think I would’ve seen Silas if he’d come.”
She swished her way to the back of the attic where I’d been when I found the scrapbook. A minute later, she came bustling back up the aisle with a white book in her hand. The funeral guest book. She flipped through, her gaze following her finger down the lines, searching for his name. But she wasn’t going to find it because it wasn’t there. Ididn’t know what event she was confusing Daddy’s funeral with, but I knew Silas hadn’t attended.
Until she laid the book in my lap, her finger pointing right at his chicken-scratch signature. The same one on Daddy’s birthday cards.
I gasped. Silas had come?
She stood over me, her arms folded, looking smug. “Don’t question your momma.”
I stared at his name, so confused. “I never saw him.”
She sat down facing me, her legs criss-crossed. “I don’t think he wanted you to see him.” Her tone was softer now. “I think he stood at the very back, away from his family, and he slipped out before it was over.”
My face twisted up, trying to understand. “Then how did you see him?”
She sighed. “I didn’t see him at the funeral. But I knew he was going to be there. He told me.” She squeezed my knee, giving me a pity look. “He stopped by the house the night before and tried to give back the rope your daddy taught him to rope with. He thought I’d like to have it. But I wouldn’t accept it, told him James would’ve wanted him to have it.” Her stare pinned me. “He loved you, Clementine. And he loves you still.” She patted my cheek. “You weren’t ready to hear it back then. Maybe you’re still not ready.”
I was dazed, unable to process any of it.
She caught the time on her watch. “Oh, we’ll have to finish this later. We got to get up to your house and get everything done before Anna gets back.”
Silas and I had planned out Anna’s party. Jenny had taken Anna shopping all day and out to a movie. Bo and Si left before dawn to pick up a new bull in North Carolina, but he promised he’d be back at seven with Brooklyn and the cake and ice cream. Momma and I only had to decorate.
I held the book up, completely shook, as Anna would say. “Can I keep this for a little while?”
“Of course, baby girl.”
My thoughts were a raging cyclone as we hung streamers and blew up balloons. Silas was in love with me? Why hadn’t Sophie ever mentioned it? And why hadn’t she told me he came home for the funeral? And if Silas had those feelings for me, how could I not have known? And why hadn’t he said anything when we were younger?
Actually, I was glad he hadn’t. Momma was right. I wasn’t ready back then. If he’d told me I would’ve ruined him—cracked his ribs right open, yanked his heart out, and left it pulverized on the ground. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was a woman. And I’d been through hard things. With Sophie dying and Billy’s affair, I was well acquainted with heartbreak, too.
The difference was, someone else had broken me. Someone Silas despised. Someone I never should have chosen. Regardless of all that, Silas had come charging in on his white horse, scooped me up, and put all my broken parts back together again.
And what had I done for him?
Absolutely nothing. I was disgusted with myself. Entirely. All I’d ever wanted was to be loved, completely and unconditionally. And he’d been there all along, quietly waiting. I’d seen the quiet patience as weakness or indifference. In actuality, Silas was probably the strongest person I knew. If he did love me, I didn’t deserve it. He was so far above me, it was embarrassing. And to think only a few months ago I’d still seen him as…just Silas. Momma had been right. It was crazy what a summer could do.
The sound of an engine and crunching gravel brought me back to the present. I ran to the window to see Silas pulling up.
“Momma, they’re here.”
“Perfect timing.” She tied off the last balloon and stood back. We’d picked the Happy Birthday sign up at the craft store. Momma had brought the rest from the attic. Anna would love the pink and green balloons and streamers. They were her favorite color combination.
I looked down at my clothes—sweat-stained and dirty—and peeled a cobweb off my leg. “Shoot.” I ran to the bedroom, suddenly hyperaware of my appearance. In thirty seconds, I had a sundress on and was back in the living room right as Silas came through the door with Brooklyn and his dad.
“Hey.” I walked up to him and took the cake, my pulse skipping every other beat. He smiled, crow’s-feet barely appearing at the corners of his eyes. And I let myself believe what Momma had said. Silas loved me. Right?
Like he could read my thoughts, his smile broadened, his gray eyes burning into me in a way Billy’s never had. Not even in the beginning. And everything in me screamed that Momma was right. I wanted to kiss him right there, in front of everybody. Just grab his shirt in my fists, yank him as close as I could, and smash my mouth on his. But it would have to wait.
First, we had to celebrate our girl.
twenty-two
