I’m grateful.
Chapter 22
Tinley
I never realized what people meant when they said they were walking around like their life was a dream, and I don’t mean in an everything is perfect sense. I’ve been in a dreamlike state for three days, every voice an echo, every conversation tainted with the haze of detachment. I’ve been going through the motions, yet somehow still always looking over my shoulder.
It took Cooper less than twenty-four hours to trash the house while we were at the hotel. I was thankful I left the keys to Ignacio’s truck with the desk clerk and took an Uber to the funeral home. I did it out of spite, a way to prove to him that I don’t need him, but it worked out in my favor. Had I brought Alex home to that mess, it might have broken me more than I already am.
I spent over an hour cleaning the living room, kitchen, and bathroom filled with fear that my brother would show up again. We don’t live in the best neighborhood, but with diligence, I’ve managed to feel mostly safe here. I hate that Cooper snatched that away from me so easily.
“Are you ready?”
I turn my head to look at Ignacio. Despite what happened between us at the hotel and the aftermath, I’ve leaned on him probably more than I should’ve in the last couple of days leading up to today.
“No,” I answer honestly, switching my gaze to the small group of people making their way to my mother’s open grave.
Alex places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze and it hurts more than helps. I should be consoling him, making sure he’s okay. So easily I’ve let those responsibilities shift, leaving that weight on his and Ignacio’s shoulders. I want to straighten up and hold my head up high, assure everyone that I’m okay, but I don’t have the strength to even lie.
Confusion draws in my brows when I see Ignacio standing at my side of his truck with his hand out. I don’t know when he and Alex climbed out but they’re both looking at me expectantly.
The prospect of losing time helps me to snap out of it enough to take Ig’s hand and climb out of the truck. He moves his arm around my shoulder as I reach down to take Alex’s hand.
My son has been so brave through all of this, but I can’t help but wonder what kind of toll it’s taking on him emotionally. Externally, he seems to have accepted Mom’s death, but I know better. He’s hurting, and I’ve been hurting too much to help him.
As we walk to take our seats for the graveside service, I make a vow to snap out of it and do better, but as the minister begins to speak about my mother, I beg God for just a few more minutes before that strength is expected of me.
I can’t focus on the service, which is a shame because it’s my mother’s final farewell, because my eyes are darting all over the place waiting for Cooper to show up and make a scene.
Somehow we make it through without his shadow looming over us, and through the wake—held at the activity hall at the church because I’m too embarrassed for anyone to see the condition of the house—without the sight of him.
As grateful as I am, I’m still appalled that he couldn’t be bothered. I texted him—a message that went unresponded to—with the information on the service more than once, but he’ll still somehow turn it around on me for missing it.
I haven’t seen him since that first day, but I’m not hopeful I’ve seen the last of him. His threat of selling the house hangs in the air around the place like it knows it’s going to be rid of us soon.
“We don’t have to stay,” Ignacio says, leaning close to my ear after a lady I’ve never seen before in my life walks away.
She told me how much she adored my mother, how she knew her for years, and hinted at them being best friends. Social rules forced me to smile at her, pretend to be sorry for her loss when all I wanted to do was ask her where the fuck she’s been if they were so close. Where was she when Mom got sick? When she sat alone some days during her chemo treatments because I had to drop her off and go back to work so the bills would get paid.
I hate—fucking hate—funerals and wakes. I hate that I’ve experienced this now twice, both of my parents gone way too soon, but at least at Dad’s wake some of the people were genuine. Those people we had over for dinner and backyard BBQs.
Maybe illness is the difference. Maybe friendships were strained due to her long, drawn-out illness. Dad’s death was sudden. There one minute, gone the next. Both deaths are a tragedy, but his was more dramatic. Everyone knows someone who has died of cancer. Very few have gotten news that someone they knew was crushed by a crane on a jobsite.
“Tinley?”
I look up at Ignacio, a look of concern on his handsome face that barely even registers. It’s no longer my job to worry about him and how he’s feeling, not that I’ve spent much effort on it since he popped back into my life in the first place.
“What?”
“Are you ready to leave?”
“There are more people,” I say, despite my whole internal tirade about how much I hate being here right now.
“Fuck those people,” he says. “I don’t care about them.”
Don’t care much for me either.
“Where’s Alex?”
“Waiting in the truck. He doesn’t want to be here.”
And that’s all it takes. I may not have to worry about the man in front of me, but Alex will always be my concern. “Let’s go.”
Ignacio guides me out of the activity center, barely giving me enough time to nod at the minister. By the time we make it back to the house, I’m wishing we stayed to listen to all the shit spewing from people’s mouths.
The scene in front of me when I push open the front door is much worse than dealing with fake people.
Cooper, along with a man I don’t recognize, stand in the middle of the living room, my brother shooting daggers at me at the interruption.
“Buddy, why don’t you go to your room for a while, maybe get out of those nice clothes,” Ignacio urges, his eyes locked on Cooper.
I know Alex wants to argue, wants to be here either to protect me or not wanting to miss whatever family drama is about to unfold.
“Hi,” the stranger says with his hand out stretched as he steps closer to me.
Ignacio repositions himself making it very clear to the man that he doesn’t have permission to touch me. He drops his hand, lips spreading into a thin line.
“I was just talking to your husband—”
“Brother,” I correct, watching the man’s face fall even further.
I glare at Cooper for the lie he told the man. It’s not the first time he’s said some fucked-up shit like that to someone, using the fact that we still have the same last name to manipulate a situation. Usually it’s on a credit application, but this is an all-time low.
“I’m Manny Fitzgerald with Graham Realty.”
“Brooke Holland’s estate hasn’t even been settled,” Ignacio begins. “I think you being here is a little premature.”
Cooper growls, somehow maintaining most of his composure in front of the new man. Houses down here are a hard sell as it is. Finding someone willing to take a look in mere days is a miracle in and of itself.
“No,” I say, putting my hand on Ignacio’s back and urging him to the side. “I think getting a look now is best.”