Chapter 56
58 Years Ago
Warren fiddles around with the engine of my car for the millionth time, just looking for something to do to pass the time.
That’s a regular habit for both of us. Passing the time. It has been for thirty years, ever since Ellie died the same night as the twins.
The last time I saw Ellie alive was being wheeled back into the hospital, when they forced us to leave her. From what the doctors told us later, they’d performed an emergency cesarean section, only to find that it was too late for the babies. Ellie died moments later from blood loss.
But we know that isn’t what killed her.
A broken heart did that when she knew our babies were gone.
One week after Ellie and the babies died, we buried them in the Denis’ plot, Mrs. Denis’ guilt over not being able to save any of the three allowing her to make the offer. I can still see Benny kneeling on the grave, his hand on the simple stone that read:
Eleanor Walker-Cooper
Forever Ours
Grace Walker-Cooper
Shepherd Walker-Cooper
Forever Loved
Pastor Cooper had thrown a fit about the last name on the stone, but none of us gave a fuck about what he thought anymore, least of all Benny. His grief consumed him in a way that was otherworldly. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t drink. He barely talked in those days, except to tell his father to fuck off.
The next morning after the burial, Benny didn’t wake up. He died in his sleep. Doctors couldn’t determine why. But Warren and I knew.
Broken hearts had killed Ellie and Benny.
We waited our turn for the heartbreak to kill us, too, but it never did.
Instead, we lived our lives together, ignoring the whispers about homosexuality because neither Warren nor I ever entertained another woman. We watched St. Louis grow around us, including that hideous arch they built around ten years ago.
“Dinner,” I call out gruffly from the spot I was watching him at the door.
“Be right in,” he hollers back, cursing under his breath as something clinks together.
I return to the kitchen, dishing up bowls of chili and thick slabs of cornbread. Once I get it settled on the dining table, I go for the bourbon, pouring us both a double. I sit down and start eating, sipping at my drink between bites.
After several minutes trapped in my own head while I eat, I realize Warren has never come in. Frowning, I wipe at my mouth and stand. A pain goes down my arm, like I pulled a muscle, and I rotate it as I head for the door, trying to stretch it.
“Warren?” I call when I don’t see him over the engine of the car. No response has me venturing out, a familiar sinking feeling in my gut occurring for the first time in thirty years.
I see his feet first, his toes pointing straight up at the sky. “Warren!” I shout, rushing to his side.
Breathing shallow, he grimaces as I haul him up into my arms. “Richie,” he mumbles. “Don’t call for an ambulance.”
Tears flow from my eyes as his breath rattles in his chest. “No, please,” I beg hoarsely. “I don’t want to be alone.” The pain in my arm grows stronger, but I ignore it.
“Please,” he pleads in return. “I just want to find her again.”
I hold him close, sobbing into his thinning hair, and I don’t leave him to call an ambulance because I understand him wholly. That is how we stay, locked together like brothers, as his heart slowly stops and his last breath leaves in a gasp through parted lips that curve up in a smile right as the light goes out of his eyes.
After several long minutes, I finally set him down on the ground, my sobs loud to my own ears. As I go to stand up, the arm I’ve braced on the ground to help push onto my feet buckles, pain shooting down the length of it into the tips of my fingers. I collapse with a hiss and a grunt, hitting the ground next to Warren’s body.
A disbelieving laugh leaves me as I roll onto my back, the pain on my arm traveling across my shoulder and chest, followed by a curse muttered under my breath. I know in that moment how Warren felt as he laid dying, staring at the sky.
It’s peaceful.
It takes effort, but I reach out and take Warren’s hand. “Wait for me,” I murmur, the pain in my chest a soothing balm to the last thirty years of longing. A smile ticks up my lips, just as it did with Warren’s last breath. “I’m coming, too, little Ellie.”