Cute.
And so innocent.
Absconding to Belize.
Give me a fucking break.
Absconding to Belize.
I’ve got some conglomerate quartz he can sit on.
Dad’s opened a second bottle of wine. It’s finally wearing the mood down since he’s said little since they got here, all of it growled.
Nobody’s talking, uncommon for our family. The cabin is quiet except for the sound of clinking silverware. Their eyes are on their plates, Dad’s tense and Abby’s pleasant. She’s just happy we’re all together again.
“I have a new urban fantasy novel out,” Mom offers, “It's been in the top one-hundred in the Kindle store for a week now.”
“That's great, Alice!” smiles Abby.
“Not bad,” Mom rises, “Not bad,” wanting more water from the pitcher left on our counter by which I now stand.
I’m so close to Ma, wishing I could hug her, tell her I miss her, that I’m okay, and Dad interrupts my longing by finally unleashing what’s been bugging him. “Who was that man we met today?”
I look over, see Abby sit straighter in her chair, swallowing her food to ask a vague, “The landscaper?” like being caught talking to The Hulk meant nothing.
Mom guides Pops toward civility, offering, “Jack was his name.” She returns to her seat. “Handsome!” I vanish.
And reappear in the opposite corner, drawing a darting glance from Abs. She finally sees I’m furious.
Oh!
Just catching on now, Abs?
Huh?
Dad announces, lifting his glass for another sardonic sip, “I’m just glad he wasn't British. Scottish I can handle.” But he looks like he can't handle Scottish, either.
Abby smiles, “I’m not interested in Jack. You don't have to worry.”
Dad bluntly says, “Good.”
“Henry!”
He sways his wine glass to Mom. “I’m just being honest.”
“Well, quit it.”
Abby reaches for my father’s hand, saying gently, “There's only one man in my life. You guys know that.”
I relax a little.
“Abby, honey,” Mom sighs, “you're gonna have to let go of the rope someday.”
“What's your book about?”
“It's about a woman who moves on.”
Dad barks, “No, it's not! And she can take all the time she needs. What's the rush?” He grabs the bottle and begins pouring into his glass.
Mom mutters, “Looks like I'm driving tonight.”
Dad grumbles, “We already agreed on that,” his voice raises, “With my night vision—”
“—You know I was hoping that someone would be able to help me navigate.”
Dad shouts, “Enough,” rattling the cabin. “It's like you don't even feel it that we're here, in our son's home! You don't even show you care that he's dead.”
Abby’s eyes drop to the table as Dad glares at Mom’s shocked face.
“Where is that coming from, Henry?” she whispers, sounding almost like a child. “Is that why you're glugging that like it's water? Because we're here?” Her voice regains its strength. “Well, enough! Some people don't handle grief the same way you do. They don't mope around and act as if they died, too.” Her eyes tear up, and so do mine as she clutches her hand over her heart. “They try their very best to rise up from the ashes and live a good life in honor of their son, so that if by God he is watching, he doesn't have to hurt anymore. If Max were here, do you think he'd want to see the pain you hold onto like some badge of love?! Do you think he wants his father hurting like this, because if he does, he is not the boy that I raised!” Her beautiful head tilts with a warning, cheeks flushed, eyes brimming, “And don't you dare ever, ever, insinuate again to me that my heart didn't shatter when he died! Because every day I want to see him and I can't. And every day I want to say goodbye to him in a different way than I did at that party.” I completely lose it. “I want to say, Max, you are the best person I have ever met. And I want to say, I can't believe what an amazing man my little boy grew up to be!” She throws down her napkin, leaps up from the chair, “I want to hold him!”
Abby starts to go to Mom, but Dad touches her hand, telling her this is for him, his error in judgment to fix.
Rising, he drops his napkin with a soft release, walks to pull Mom into his arms, whispering, “I’m so sorry!”
She relaxes into Dad, and I kneel beside Abby as we both watch.
I ask her, “What can I do?” just crushed. I feel it in my heart — the only thing I seem to have left — that it would do more harm than good to explain I’m a ghost. They’re from a different stock, believe psychics and ghosts aren’t real. “You can't tell them. They'd never…”
Abby gives the smallest nod, and Mom’s sobs echo throughout the room.
Chapter 31
Abby
Well, it’s a good thing they were driving with planned over-night stays, because they’re not going anywhere tonight, and pajamas are needed. Alice and Henry have changed into comfy clothes for some much needed sleep after the emotional dam that burst.
Alice disappeared to wash her face, and took her time gathering decorum in the bathroom. Her repressed anger is gone, for the moment. Henry’s misguided rage has dissolved, as well.
There’s a calm in the air after a storm like that where everyone’s kinder than normal. Quieter.
But the sadness might never go away, not really. We will always have this between us. Even with his ghost here with me, I still feel it, the loss. I’d love to hold him, too, and I can’t. Ever again.
I won’t let myself linger on it.
There’s no changing what is.
I’m so grateful, and anything else would be a slap in the face to Max. He’s lost more than even I have. He was wrecked by her breakdown.
With Henry in the bathroom, Alice follows me as I carry our softy, fuzzy blanket to the couch.
Her warm brown eyes are puffy, but dry, tone apologetic and respectful, “I hate to kick you out of your own bed.”
Together we spread out my blanket, moving slowly after the night’s exhausting revelations. “It's totally fine. I slept on the couch when Lorna…came to visit. It's really comfortable, actually.”
I left out that Barry was here.
Leave that unsavory information for a happier time.
“Lorna came?” Alice smiles, “How is she?”
“She's well.”
“How are she and Barry doing? Still happy?”
I stare at my mother-in-law. “You know about that?”
With a maternal grace, Alice steps closer and straightens my necklace as she shares, “Barry came to see us a number of times after that night. Such a wreck. Poor guy. I think he always felt Max was the better man.” Her eyelashes rise, hands falling. “And maybe he was.” She holds my eyes, with love in hers. “But Barry has a good heart, and he's very loyal.”
If it were any other night, I’d ask why I was the last to know about Barry and Lorna, but I can’t bring myself to. Who really cares, in the end. We’re all together now, and happy. So I swallow my questions and agree that he is loyal. Nobody can fault him that.