“He’s acting weirder than normal. He was a dick to me earlier in the week before the funeral, and then I heard him yelling at Mom when I was home grabbing my shit earlier. When I walked into the room, Mom was really upset, and he stormed pass me out of the house. I asked her about it, but she just made an excuse for him. Again. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but you don’t need to get caught up in it.”
“I have enough on my plate, I’m not interested in getting pulled into his circus.”
He’s always been a lot to deal with, but ever since their parents separated, it’s been worse. He has become so obnoxious, and I have no patience for it right now.
Logan gives me one last squeeze before stepping back and taking my hand in his. Slowly, he leads me towards the front door. If I could delay this goodbye forever I would.
“Should I go up and say goodbye to your mom?”
“Nah, I’ll tell her for you. She was going to try and have a nap.” Napping is about all she’s doing right now, but she doesn’t look like she’s slept a minute.
I can tell he’s having a hard time leaving as he slowly puts on his winter boots and coat. I pull the toque out of his pocket and place it on his head. He rolls his eyes.
“What? You look adorable,” I say with a grin, placing my palm on his chest.
“Sure, I do.” He shakes his head at me before pulling me back into one more hug. He places a lingering gentle kiss on my lips, and I try to savour the moment. I will not cry. It’s only a week, just one, I reassure myself.
“Okay, I got to go.” He sighs heavily, holding me a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“I love you, Logan James. You are my favourite.”
“And I love you, Hannah Knight, forever my favourite.”
Slowly releasing him, I step away. If I don’t, I may keep him here forever.
“Go. Say hi to Riot and Carson and thank them for me.”
“I will. I’ll talk to you soon.” He leans in and gives me one last quick kiss on the lips before picking his backpack up off the floor and swinging it up on to his shoulder.
Opening the door, he steps through and calls, “I love you,” before turning and jogging down the steps and climbing into his truck.
Standing by the open door, I see Riot give me a small wave before getting in beside Carson. I watch them as they back out of the driveway and on to the snowy street.
Closing the door, I lean against it for a moment before straightening and walking towards the kitchen. I guess I’ll see what the casserole ladies have on the menu tonight.
Chapter Nine
Grief is weird. Over the past eight weeks, I have ping pong between disbelief, sadness, and anger daily. My memory keeps circling back to the last time I heard my dad’s voice. The circumstances surrounding that conversation. The last time he told me he loved me. How I was so angry I refused to talk to him. I have so many regrets, guilt lays heavy in my heart.
Mom is drowning in her sadness. She barely talks to me, and she doesn’t want to see anyone. She rarely leaves her room, and I can hardly get her to eat.
Ryan has been coming to the house twice a week to see her and check on me. He has convinced me that I should see a therapist as well and I agreed to go next week.
Francis is still helping with the house, cooking, and even grocery shopping.
I have closed the art gallery until June. I don’t think mom will be able to return to work anytime soon, and that will give me time to hire someone new to help me out. That alone is ridiculous. What do I know about hiring an employee? It would be simpler to just sell it, but I want it to be there for her when she is feeling better and ready to go back to work.
Beth has successfully transferred all my dad’s clients to new realtors, but there has been a delay in selling the business. As organized and meticulous as my dad has always been, there is money missing. I don’t think it’s a lot but enough for our accountant and lawyers to be involved.
To be honest, they could give the business away or burn it to the ground for all I care. The professionals can manage it, and I’ll just sign what I need to sign to make it all go away.
People keep telling me how strong I am, like I have a choice to be anything else. I feel like I am always on, hyper vigilant, preparing for the next crisis. Every night I fall into bed exhausted and pray my brain turns off even for a few hours.
I’m overwhelmed and so incredibly lonely. I miss school, my apartment, and most of all Logan. I just want my old life back.
I think the only good thing that has happened in the past two months is nobody is talking about my dad’s affair and guessing on who the other woman is anymore. If they are, it’s gone underground because my little circle hasn’t heard anything.
Going through the familiar motions of my bedtime routine, I’m reminded how strange it feels to be back in my childhood bedroom. It looks exactly the way I left it when I graduated high school. The same colour of paint, the same posters on the walls. The same stuffies, art supplies, and books on the shelves. Everything is the same, except me.
