He holds me. I grasp onto him.
Nodding, Tristan whispers, “I miss you too, Mom.”
We stay there for a few more minutes, letting the natural buzzing and chirping sounds in the cemetery fill the void.
Tears cascade down Jessica’s flushed cheeks. Using the long sleeves of her dress, she lets them soak into the material, blowing out a breath. “Well, I think we need something to lighten the day.” Her siblings look at her with melancholy faces. “You guys want to go to The Honey Hut?”
Elena turns, the side of her head finding comfort against Colten’s chest. He peers down at her while she gazes at the plot, and a faint grin pulls at his mouth. He tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Nothing sounds better.”
“I miss you,” “I love you, Mom,” and “We’ll visit you soon” are murmured as goodbyes. And together—a storm of black on a cloudless day coasting through the quiet cemetery—we all walktoward the car. A young family, leaving their mother to rest peacefully below the maple tree her children chose for her.
A short drive from the cemetery later, the bell on the door of The Honey Hut rings, notifying everyone of our presence. Only a few patrons lounge around the café, some sipping on late afternoon coffees and others chewing on pastries. Eyes settle on us, their questioning gazes heating the room.
Sometimes, I wonder how long it’s been since all the Lindenvale children were seen together, as they mostly keep to themselves on the hill. We all match in black attire, so it’s expected that people will stare, form theories, and contemplate why we look the way we do. But if they soak in the expressions on the Lindenvale kids’ faces, the answer is simple.
“Can I go look and see what I want?” Tristan asks, eyeing the case of pastries picked over since it’s late afternoon and the weekend.
Brennan ruffles his hair. “Pick something good, so I can steal a bite.”
“I’m going with him!” Elena drops Jess’s hand and runs to the counter with him, her short black dress with a bow rippling behind her like water and her matching flats clapping on the floor.
My eyes scan the room as the guests return to their computers or conversations. Behind the counter is vacant. Adelaide must be in the back. We all move forward, Cameron parting from us. He walks around to the side and opens the door to slip behind the counter as if it’s where he belongs. Grabbing a white paper coffee cup, he wanders over to the three carafes of coffee next to the espresso machine and pours himself one. He jumps up onto the back countertop and sways his legs, sipping at the hot drink, steam billowing in front of his face. I watch in amusement.
Chuckling, I glance at Jess. “Does he usually act like he owns the place?”
She rolls her eyes. “Considering he spends most of his time here, if he’s not on the hill, yes.”
“If he’s late to work or missing, he makes it pretty easy to find him.” Colten grins.
“Yep,” Brennan pops the P, “whereversheis, he is usually somewhere near.”
She. Meaning Adelaide.
As if on cue, she strolls out of the back kitchen in her usual black apron. Her hair is curled with a gold claw clip, keeping half of it out of her face. The long pieces drape over her purple knit fall sweater. The cozy look is topped off with dark skinny jeans and knee-high brown boots that I would kill to pull off the way her toned legs can.
Her eyes zero in on Cameron, and she snaps her fingers, her index finger pointing downward as a command. “Get off my counter, Cameron Scott.”
He hides his smirk behind the rim of the paper cup. “I love it when you boss me around.”
I observe her snatching a white towel off the countertop and rolling the material. She whips it at his legs, and he sets down his cup, seizing her wrist when she goes for another blow. He tugs her toward him, and she giggles, pushing away from him.
For some reason, I can’t pull my attention away from them. Their fondness for each other is evident in their movements and flushed faces. Evident in the way their eyes cling to each other like there’s nobody else in the room. It’s a look I’ve only seen Cameron wear once before. I sift through the files in my head, trying to locate the exact moment I first saw this expression on his face. Then, the memory whips out of the box and straight into my hands. It’s when we were in Cameron’s studio, staring ata painting of a young girl alone on a dirt road winding through the woods.
Colten’s palm presses into the small of my back. “Let’s go grab a seat, Little Ghost.”
I smile up at him, nodding, letting him direct me away from the front of the café and toward the back, where Brennan is lounging on the antique couches, watching Elena and Tristan indecisively figure out what they want. Jess points to something in the case, and Elena eagerly bobs her head up and down in approval.
Brennan places an arm over the back of the couch. “So, what happens now?”
Colten raises a brow, taking a seat on a couch opposite him. I lower myself beside him.
He rubs a hand over his jawline. “Like, is Dad going to try and get out of prison now that we know—you know…that mom had been struggling when she died?”
Colten exhales a breath, leaning back with his arms crossed. “He said he was going to leave it alone. He feels responsible. But it wouldn’t surprise me if, one day, he decides to challenge the charges. But he would need to hire a defense attorney. There would be more trials; they would pull up her mental health history with the therapist, look for inconsistencies with the case and forensics, and probably drag Gram and Gramps back in it. So much shit would have to happen again.” A heavy sigh parts from his lips. “We’ll deal with it when or if that time ever comes. He made his choice. It won’t be easy, but we all deserve time to heal.”
Flipping his head toward me, he places his hand on my thigh, his fingers pulsing into my flesh. “You still haven’t told me what my father said to you before we left the prison.”
A faint smile tugs at my mouth.
