Page 7 of In Your Wake

“Not this long,” Mom corrects him and then winks at me. She presses her lips together and tucks her hands into her elbows as if fighting the urge to wrap them around me for another hug. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”

The scotch from the plane has worn off. “I’ll have a beer.”

Her eyebrow perks up. “A beer?” She chuckles, but then taps my arm. “I’ll see what we have.”

Once she’s gone, I notice Dad watching me with an unrecognizable expression. Clearing my throat, I look around. The house is still my childhood home, but it also seems light-years away from the warm, welcoming place it used to be before Mom moved out. Before Joanne Nolan snuck in and messed everything up.

I step closer to the artwork on the wall near the fireplace. Landscapes of the Oakwhite shores and beaches. “Did Mom paint these?”

Bill grunts. “It sure wasn’t me.”

I roll my eyes, relieved he’s not looking. A simple yes would have sufficed. Mom returns holding a beer and some weirdly colored brown thing. Might be a milkshake, might be sludge.

“Lunchtime,” she says, handing Bill the glass. If looks could kill, he would have just murdered his lunch.

Mom notices my grimace and laughs softly. “It’s a health shake the doctor recommended. It’s supposed to help with everything.” Her eyes flicker to Bill’s, and they share an unspoken, strained exchange that leaves me more awkward than before.

“Bottoms up.” I raise my bottle.

With another grunt, Dad lifts his glass, then glares into it before tipping it back. His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, and I can tell he’s trying not to taste it. I hide my disgust with a few sips of my beer. It’s a Budweiser, my mom’s favorite, but it tastes like water compared to the brews we’ll be selling at the brewery. Still, not wanting to be rude, I keep swallowing it down.

“So, where are you staying, Chi-Chi?” Mom asks.

Something about my mom still using my childhood nickname makes me feel so small, even though I’m a foot and a half taller than her.

“I figured I’d stay here,” I reply.

Her expression goes blank as her eyes dart to Bill.

“I mean, if that’s all right? If not, I could find a hotel,” I suggest, feeling suddenly awkward as if I’ve interrupted something personal.

“No, no, it’s fine. More than fine. I’m surprised that’s all.” She reaches over and takes my hand, tugging me to sit with her on the couch. “Your room is exactly how you left it,” she adds with a kind smile that dimples her cheeks. “Well, more or less. There’s a new bed. It’s nice. Comfy.”

Not offering his two cents, Dad keeps his eyes fixed ahead, staring out the window, but I can tell what he’s thinking. He’d rather I wasn’t here because being here means arguments and heavy, awkward silences. Means confronting our past and all the things I said, but can’t ever take back.

When Mom informed me about Dad’s illness and pleaded with me to come home, I agreed because it was time. She needs me here. And I was already coming back to Oakwhite for the brewery’s opening anyhow, so it wasn’t a big deal.

But I heard something more profound in her tone. Something urgent and desperate, which is why I figured I’d stay here where I’m most needed. Besides, it’s not like I can stay with Spencer and Bethany who are constantly fucking like bunnies, or with Hunter in his house that’s likely haunted by our dead best friend. And there’s no way in hell I’m staying at the town’s only hotel, the Adams Inn, where Max works.

“Doesn’t the team pay you enough to get a hotel room?” Dad asks. Other than the inn, the closest hotel is a half-hour out of town.

“Bill,” Mom scoffs, but I tap her hand.

“They pay just fine, Dad. Like I said, I’ll sleep anywhere. I don’t mind.”

A coughing fit follows his grunt, racking his once lean and fit body. Teetering at the threshold of Death’s door, his body is giving up, and tells me this is where I have to be, if for nothing else than to help my mother. She’s going through this hell right alongside him.

“I’ll stay here. It’s closer to town.”

“Good.” Mom lights up, squeezing my hand. “I need to go shopping. We’re not big eaters, but you sure are.” She gives my stomach a gentle tap and giggles, lifting the tension off my shoulders and filling the room with levity.

“Don’t go out of your way, Mom. I’ll be gone in a few days, anyway.”

“A few days?” Her voice quivers with disappointment.

“Well, once the opening is over, sure. I have to get back to New York at some point.”

“Oh, of course you do.” She nods, trying to hide the hurt. Seeing it fill her eyes is one of the worst things ever. I hate how it throws me back to years ago when I told her I was leaving Oakwhite, and my guilt grows, becoming suffocating, like the silence in the room.