“Hermana, you have to eat.” She pushed the lasagna closer.
I curled my lip at it, “I’m not hungry.”
Movement on my left, and Mom took up residence in that chair. A hand on my shoulder and the distinct smell of magnolias told me Hannah was behind me. Great. It was the lasagna brigade. Mom reached for me, and I recoiled at the hand she placed on my arm. “Honey, Maria is right. You need to eat something.”
Hannah squeezed my shoulder. “If not lasagna, then what? I will make you anything you want.”
Momma Laverne extracted herself from the throng of well-wishers and stopped in front of me. “How about some country fried steak, honey?”
Seriously? Could they justnot?
“I’m not hungry.” The thought of food made me sick. My stomach rebelled at the idea of anything in it. And I resented the effort.
I looked up, desperate to focus onanythingbut the four women closing in around me. Unfortunately, that meant catching the eyes of the others. Rodney. Clint. Hell, even that weirdo Silas. Their pity hit harder than any blow.
The room started shrinking—air thinning, sound dimming—until I couldn’t breathe. I shoved my chair back. It scraped loud against the floor before toppling. Hannah stumbled out of the way as it clattered to the ground.
Too much.
The sympathy.
The coffee.
The fucking lasagna.
I bolted.
Out the door, into the sharp air. My lips tingled, that first kiss replaying like a cruel trick. On the porch, I could still hear his laugh. By the time I hit the yard, I was drowning in memories. The snowball fight. His jacket draped over my shoulders. The way he’d smelled—pine, motor oil. Home.
He smelled like home.
I couldn’t breathe in that air anymore. God, I had to get out of there. Without a second thought, I turned toward the road. If my legs would carry me, I’d walk home. Anywhere but here. I heard Maria shouting for me, but I pretended not to hear her. The quick tap tap of heels on pavement gave my mother away as she hurried to catch up with me.
“Holly, honey. Let’s just get in the car, and we can go home.”
“I want to walk.”
She hesitated and I chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was gnawing at her bottom lip, a habit she’d tried for years to break. When she made no move to walk away but instead kept pace with me, I reiterated, “Alone, Mom. I want to walk alone.”
“Oh.” For a second, I was sure she was going to protest, but instead she slowly dropped back. I didn’t even glance behind me.
I was determined to find a moment of peace, so when I got to the end of the Saints’ driveway, I frowned when a shadow cut through the afternoon sun’s rays. Dalton didn’t say anything, but his long legs didn’t have to work hard to keep up with me. He didn’t even look at me. “I said I want to be alone.”
“I know what you said.”
His tone was not the light, carefree one I had grown so used to. This was the kind of weary that came from a grief so deep it settled in your bones like a cancer. I knew the feeling. I felt like someone had carved my heart out with a rusty spoon. So, while I wanted to protest, I kept my mouth shut. We walked in silence for the twenty or so minutes it took us to get to my house. My eyes strayed to the guest house, the wide expanse of lawn where I had spent many a summer night. In his arms. Skin to skin. I stumbled on the even ground, and Dalton caught my elbow. At my door, he stopped and sighed. He turned, staring at Sally where she gleamed in the driveway. He was a million miles away, so I headed inside without a goodbye.
His voice stopped me just as I crossed the threshold. “He was my brother, you know.”
“What?”
“You’re allowed to hurt, Holly. But you’re not the only feeling like they are drowning. You’re not alone. Don’t…don’t push us away, ok?”
I gaped at him, and I blinked furiously, trying to banish the unshed tears. He gave me a tight-lipped smile before turning around walking back the way he came. I stood there for a minute, before closing the door behind me and bolting up the stairs.
In the doorway of my bedroom, I looked at the little box on my desk. I wasn’t sure why I had brought them. They usually stayed at my apartment. But I made my way to them on shaky knees, like the little box called to me. I couldn’t stop the trembling of my hands as I took off the lid and set it carefully to the side. Inside was a pile of letters. His familiar scrawl stared back at me. I had teased him so many times about his awful handwriting. Picking up the little bundle, I sat on the floor and thumbed through them, the ache in my chest growing sharper with each memory.
Hey Malibu
