In This Life
Page 6
I watched until their door closed and then did the only thing that was left for me to do. I went home.
The house was dark. When I stepped up to the front porch I accidentally kicked over an object. It was soft and I soon realized there were more just like it. Flowers. They’d been placed all over the front porch. I could also make out a very large poster board that had been propped up beside the door. The clumsy hand drawn letters said, “Chris and Heather. We love you always.”
The outpouring was touching, and not unexpected. Hawk Valley prided itself on its small town vibe and my family was well known here. The tragic deaths of two pillars of the community would have left everyone reeling.
Roxie sniffed at the flowers as I fumbled with the front door key given to me by Kathleen. The hinges creaked as I pushed the door open. Immediately I was transported back to my childhood as I breathed in the scent of old wood and a vague mustiness that never completely dissipated. It was the smell of years and life and generations. But right now I just thought of it as the smell of sorrow.
I switched on the light near the door and the first thing I noticed was that the place looked far different than it had five years ago. The bones were all still the same but now adorned with antique furniture and tasteful accents. The paint scheme was far brighter, the lighting had been enhanced and everywhere I looked pictures hung on formerly bare walls.
I paused at eye level with a poster sized photo of the three of them; my dad, Heather and the baby. It must have been taken right after Colin was born. I’d been sent some photos of him wearing the same blue sailor outfit but those pictures were only of him. I’d never seen this one of the three of them before.
Roxie crept around with her nose to the ground, sniffing every corner. Her tail was down, as if she guessed this was a sad moment. After a few minutes she settled down on a braided throw rug while I couldn’t quite tear myself away from the picture of a happy family that had been shattered. The smiling couple with their baby boy had no idea what fate had in store.
There was more grey coursing through my father’s hair than I remembered. There were deeper lines around his eyes. And Heather was beautiful, her honey colored hair piled on her head in a loose bun. My dad’s arm was slung protectively around her shoulder as she cradled the son who would have no memories of them. To Colin, Heather and Chris Ryan would only be people in pictures and stories.
I couldn’t get used to the idea. Nothing about this was fucking fair. After my mother was killed I’d done nothing but cry in the days that followed. This time I hadn’t yet shed a tear.
But then, as I sank slowly down to the floor in my father’s empty house, I finally broke down and sobbed until my chest ached.
The forecast didn’t call for rain today but the skies opened up and the crowd began drifting away from the ceremony. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, people from out of town. Maybe they were morbid curiosity seekers. The fire and its tragic conclusion had been all over the news.
“The husband and wife team owned a souvenir shop in the picturesque town of Hawk Valley. They leave behind an infant son. Now back to you, George, for the traffic report.”
A news truck from one of the Phoenix stations was hovering in the parking lot. I wondered if it carried the same reporter who had encountered Nash this morning. He’d told her to fuck off before she finished her sentence.
As the grievers who’d been circled around the burial site began to back away and glance up at the threatening sky, Nash remained in place with his head bent and his big hands hanging at his sides.
The pastor concluded the ceremony and touched Nash on the shoulder before following the crowd. He appeared to say something but I was too far away and it didn’t seem to matter anyway. Nash ignored him.
My left heel wobbled in the slippery grass as I made my way over to Nash. I avoided looking at the two caskets covered with bright flowers. I didn’t want to think about what they contained.
Nash didn’t look up as I approached and I couldn’t see his face.
“Nash,” I said as the rain intensified. “Are you okay?”
Now he looked up. A loud overhead thunderclap punctuated the moment. The expression in his blue eyes was so anguished I was tempted to reach for him. But Nash Ryan was not the kind of man who would lay his head on anyone’s shoulder and weep.
“It’s over,” he said and seemed surprised. I wondered if he’d been listening to the service at all or if he’d been too lost in his bleak thoughts. This wouldn’t be the first funeral he’d sat through, not the first time someone he loved was taken in a brutal manner.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s over.”
That was true. At least this part was over. The authorities had mercifully released the bodies quickly and the funeral was able to proceed only four days after the fire. A lot of people in town had stepped up to help but Nash insisted on personally handling the arrangements himself. Maybe he just liked keeping his mind occupied.
Perhaps that’s why he’d been too busy to spend any time with Colin.
In the short term there was no shortage of people happy to fill the void and take care of the baby but sooner or later there was a critical decision to make. I knew what Heather and Chris had wanted. My cousin had told me about the visit to Steve Brown a few months ago. The attorney was probably waiting until after the funeral to share the contents of the will.
People wondered and whispered among themselves. “What about the baby? What will happen to him?” And I stayed silent because I didn’t have the right to gossip, especially when Nash himself hadn’t yet been informed about the role his father intended him to play.
Nash’s observation suddenly took on a deeper meaning. Yes, the funeral was over. But now he’d need to figure out what came next.
Nash walked silently at my side as we trailed after the sea of black-clad figures heading for the parking lot. Even though the rain was coming down steadily we didn’t hurry. I held my handbag over my head to serve as an inadequate umbrella while thunder rumbled above. Nash didn’t seem to notice that he was getting soaked to the skin.
We’d encountered each other plenty of times in the days since he returned to town but we hadn’t been alone together or had a one on one conversation. The vibe between us wasn’t awkward exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. From what I’d seen of Nash so far, he didn’t go out of his way for the sake of good manners.
“Your car?” he said, gesturing to my pile of old Ford bones that was probably a grocery store trip away from sudden death.
“Yes.” I unlocked the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you at Nancy’s house?” I asked him.
Nancy Reston, often referred to as ‘Saint Nancy’ had been Hawk Valley’s mayor for two decades and retired last fall because she loved children and wanted to run a daycare. She had volunteered to host a gathering at her house after the funeral so the family didn’t have to be bothered with such plans. Nancy herself had missed the funeral because she was watching Colin and Emma.
Nash didn’t answer and was staring off into the distance so I thought he hadn’t heard the question.
“There will be food,” I said, feeling as if I needed to fill the silence with words. Even stupid words. “Nancy hired a caterer. It was nice of her to go to all the trouble.”
Nash said nothing. He could have been a statue. A square-jawed, absurdly good looking sculpture permanently posed beside the hood of my car.
The house was dark. When I stepped up to the front porch I accidentally kicked over an object. It was soft and I soon realized there were more just like it. Flowers. They’d been placed all over the front porch. I could also make out a very large poster board that had been propped up beside the door. The clumsy hand drawn letters said, “Chris and Heather. We love you always.”
The outpouring was touching, and not unexpected. Hawk Valley prided itself on its small town vibe and my family was well known here. The tragic deaths of two pillars of the community would have left everyone reeling.
Roxie sniffed at the flowers as I fumbled with the front door key given to me by Kathleen. The hinges creaked as I pushed the door open. Immediately I was transported back to my childhood as I breathed in the scent of old wood and a vague mustiness that never completely dissipated. It was the smell of years and life and generations. But right now I just thought of it as the smell of sorrow.
I switched on the light near the door and the first thing I noticed was that the place looked far different than it had five years ago. The bones were all still the same but now adorned with antique furniture and tasteful accents. The paint scheme was far brighter, the lighting had been enhanced and everywhere I looked pictures hung on formerly bare walls.
I paused at eye level with a poster sized photo of the three of them; my dad, Heather and the baby. It must have been taken right after Colin was born. I’d been sent some photos of him wearing the same blue sailor outfit but those pictures were only of him. I’d never seen this one of the three of them before.
Roxie crept around with her nose to the ground, sniffing every corner. Her tail was down, as if she guessed this was a sad moment. After a few minutes she settled down on a braided throw rug while I couldn’t quite tear myself away from the picture of a happy family that had been shattered. The smiling couple with their baby boy had no idea what fate had in store.
There was more grey coursing through my father’s hair than I remembered. There were deeper lines around his eyes. And Heather was beautiful, her honey colored hair piled on her head in a loose bun. My dad’s arm was slung protectively around her shoulder as she cradled the son who would have no memories of them. To Colin, Heather and Chris Ryan would only be people in pictures and stories.
I couldn’t get used to the idea. Nothing about this was fucking fair. After my mother was killed I’d done nothing but cry in the days that followed. This time I hadn’t yet shed a tear.
But then, as I sank slowly down to the floor in my father’s empty house, I finally broke down and sobbed until my chest ached.
The forecast didn’t call for rain today but the skies opened up and the crowd began drifting away from the ceremony. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, people from out of town. Maybe they were morbid curiosity seekers. The fire and its tragic conclusion had been all over the news.
“The husband and wife team owned a souvenir shop in the picturesque town of Hawk Valley. They leave behind an infant son. Now back to you, George, for the traffic report.”
A news truck from one of the Phoenix stations was hovering in the parking lot. I wondered if it carried the same reporter who had encountered Nash this morning. He’d told her to fuck off before she finished her sentence.
As the grievers who’d been circled around the burial site began to back away and glance up at the threatening sky, Nash remained in place with his head bent and his big hands hanging at his sides.
The pastor concluded the ceremony and touched Nash on the shoulder before following the crowd. He appeared to say something but I was too far away and it didn’t seem to matter anyway. Nash ignored him.
My left heel wobbled in the slippery grass as I made my way over to Nash. I avoided looking at the two caskets covered with bright flowers. I didn’t want to think about what they contained.
Nash didn’t look up as I approached and I couldn’t see his face.
“Nash,” I said as the rain intensified. “Are you okay?”
Now he looked up. A loud overhead thunderclap punctuated the moment. The expression in his blue eyes was so anguished I was tempted to reach for him. But Nash Ryan was not the kind of man who would lay his head on anyone’s shoulder and weep.
“It’s over,” he said and seemed surprised. I wondered if he’d been listening to the service at all or if he’d been too lost in his bleak thoughts. This wouldn’t be the first funeral he’d sat through, not the first time someone he loved was taken in a brutal manner.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s over.”
That was true. At least this part was over. The authorities had mercifully released the bodies quickly and the funeral was able to proceed only four days after the fire. A lot of people in town had stepped up to help but Nash insisted on personally handling the arrangements himself. Maybe he just liked keeping his mind occupied.
Perhaps that’s why he’d been too busy to spend any time with Colin.
In the short term there was no shortage of people happy to fill the void and take care of the baby but sooner or later there was a critical decision to make. I knew what Heather and Chris had wanted. My cousin had told me about the visit to Steve Brown a few months ago. The attorney was probably waiting until after the funeral to share the contents of the will.
People wondered and whispered among themselves. “What about the baby? What will happen to him?” And I stayed silent because I didn’t have the right to gossip, especially when Nash himself hadn’t yet been informed about the role his father intended him to play.
Nash’s observation suddenly took on a deeper meaning. Yes, the funeral was over. But now he’d need to figure out what came next.
Nash walked silently at my side as we trailed after the sea of black-clad figures heading for the parking lot. Even though the rain was coming down steadily we didn’t hurry. I held my handbag over my head to serve as an inadequate umbrella while thunder rumbled above. Nash didn’t seem to notice that he was getting soaked to the skin.
We’d encountered each other plenty of times in the days since he returned to town but we hadn’t been alone together or had a one on one conversation. The vibe between us wasn’t awkward exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. From what I’d seen of Nash so far, he didn’t go out of his way for the sake of good manners.
“Your car?” he said, gesturing to my pile of old Ford bones that was probably a grocery store trip away from sudden death.
“Yes.” I unlocked the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you at Nancy’s house?” I asked him.
Nancy Reston, often referred to as ‘Saint Nancy’ had been Hawk Valley’s mayor for two decades and retired last fall because she loved children and wanted to run a daycare. She had volunteered to host a gathering at her house after the funeral so the family didn’t have to be bothered with such plans. Nancy herself had missed the funeral because she was watching Colin and Emma.
Nash didn’t answer and was staring off into the distance so I thought he hadn’t heard the question.
“There will be food,” I said, feeling as if I needed to fill the silence with words. Even stupid words. “Nancy hired a caterer. It was nice of her to go to all the trouble.”
Nash said nothing. He could have been a statue. A square-jawed, absurdly good looking sculpture permanently posed beside the hood of my car.
