Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Five Years Ago
LILA
The rattling bugle calls from a family of sandhill cranes flying overhead steal my attention. Squinting in the sunlight, I scan the skies until I find them. With their powerful wings flapping fluidly, they sail over the graveyard, unaware of the sadness beneath them.
Beautiful, lucky birds.
I can’t think of another creature that’s as free as a bird. No school or work. No societal norms or boxes to force yourself into. No endless cycle of disappointing your parents. No pressure to be thin. No unrequited crushes. No bills. Well, except the ones on their heads.
Best of all, whenever you want to leave, you just flap your wings and go. Following the winds or the whims of your soul.
Even though they eat bugs, I’d gladly trade places with a bird if I could. Especially on a day like today, when every breath I take reminds me of when we buried Zara.
The coffin size is different.
Otherwise, it’s all too familiar.
It even smells like I remember—dirt, fresh-cut grass, and fragrant flowers. All wrapped up in a bouquet of grief.
Once the cranes have flown away, my eyes fall to the mourners who’ve come to pay their respects to Mr. Hayes. Everyone but me seems to be listening to the pastor. I couldn’t focus, so I tuned him out.
Some familiar faces. Some new. Most crying or dabbing their eyes. Some stone-faced. Judging by the turnout, he left a mark on the people around him.
In the years before he divorced Kenzie’s mother, I spent more time with him than I did with my own father. Richard Hayes was a decent man who deserved a better ending to his life. His family deserved better too.
Kenzie sniffles beside me. Like the dutiful best friend, I pass her another tissue. Once she takes it, I wrap my arm over her shoulders to offer my meager comfort.
Her mood has been up and down these last few days while processing her father’s death.
I’m sure she regrets not seeing him more in his final days.
I sure do. While she’s a mama’s girl, she loved her father.
And he loved her. Even after the divorce, when he moved away, he made it a point to stop by our apartment for visits.
Until he got too sick to drive. I gave him a ride a few times.
On the other side of Kenzie, her mother stands stiffly but poised. Her demure black dress highlights her trim frame. She isn’t crying, but it’s evident from her facial expression that she loved him despite the bitter divorce.
Wearing a crisp black suit that fits him perfectly, Reed stands on the other side of the coffin like a sentry guard.
His arms are straight, and his hands are clasped in front of him, resting just below his waist. With his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses and face downcast, I can’t tell how he’s handling the loss.
However, his positioning is telling. Despite his mother attempting to pull him to her other side when we arrived at the burial site for the second half of the funeral, Reed elected to stand on his own.
Stoic and stiff, he resembles a statue. No doubt he’s gutted on the inside, though.
So why is he forcing himself to stand over there like he’s an island?
Does he feel like he needs to go through this loss on his own?
I hope not.
Because he isn’t alone. I’ll be there for him, even if nobody else will.
It’s no secret he and his mother aren’t close. And Kenzie and him have an oil-and-water thing going on.
Nobody deserves to suffer through the mourning process on their own like I did.
It was a solid year after Zara’s death before I met Kenzie.
She pulled me out of the darkness. I won’t let Reed or anyone else in this family grieve alone.
They’ve all but taken me in since I was a child. It’s the least I can do.
Plus, Reed’s been so kind to me. Well, the adult version of him has been. The younger version was a bit of a turd. Then again, I was too. Probably a phase most young people go through. The turd stage or a turdening.
Another flock of birds flies over. These are a bit too high for me to identify, but their calls are solemn. Fitting.
This time, when I lower my gaze from the sky, I get the sense I’m being watched. By Reed.
He’s no longer looking down at the ground. Even through his sunglasses, I feel the weight of his stare on me.
Oh crud. He must think I’m rude for gazing at the sky like a daydreaming child. I’ll have to explain later. I can already picture how that will go.
Reed, I promise I wasn’t being disrespectful to the only father you’ve known. I was disassociating from my own grief by trying to identify bird species. No hard feelings. We good?
With a grimace, I shrug one shoulder innocently while returning his stare. If he is watching me behind those glasses, he’ll hopefully recognize it for an apologetic oopsie gesture.
His dimple pops on one side when his mouth quirks at the corner. He’s smiling at me. Well, sort of. It’s a funeral-appropriate smile.
After glancing both ways to see if anyone is watching, I return his smile with one of my own. Even without seeing his eyes, I think he feels less alone because of this interaction. Or is that my foolish heart making wishes again?
Suddenly, he removes the sunglasses and tucks them into his suit pocket.
Despite our grim setting, my chest tightens and core heats. Same as always, any attention Reed gives me goes straight to my head, heart, and the unused lady parts below my waist.
Our moment of respite from the sorrow comes to an abrupt end as someone hands Reed a long-stemmed white rose, inviting him to be the first to adorn the coffin as it lowers into the earth.
As the rose falls silently from Reed’s hand, he stares into the hole. For what feels like a long time. Unspeaking. Unmoving. I’m not even sure if he’s breathing.
The old cracks in my heart resurface in response to the pain leeching from him. With the vast space between us, there’s nothing I can do to comfort him. I don’t think looking at the birds will work a second time.
But at least I gave him a moment of light before the dark returned.
Balancing three mostly empty food trays in my hands, I enter the kitchen to find Reed having a tense stare-down with his mother. Although I attempt to set everything down without making a sound, both their heads snap in my direction.
“Sorry for interrupting.” I gesture at the trays. “I thought I should help clean up before I take Kenzie home.”
Mrs. Hayes offers me a warm smile. “Thank you, Lila. I can always count on you.” Her expression shifts into a near-scowl as she turns back to Reed. “Unlike some of my children.”
Oh boy. What in the world did I walk into here? Better question, where’s the nearest escape route? Follow-up question: Did she just imply I was one of her children? That’s weird. She’s never done that before. Not sure how I feel about it.
On second thought, I do know. And I don’t care for it.
Despite the tension in my home, being a child in this family wouldn’t be an improvement.
Especially since the divorce, there’s been a yellow do-not-cross line down the center of the family.
Kenzie took her mom’s side, and Reed was in his dad’s corner.
While Kenzie is my best friend, Reed’s a good friend too. I would hate to choose.
Plus, anything that further removes me from my sister is automatically out of the question.
I think I’d rather be an orphan at this point. Especially since I suspect Mrs. Hayes is using me to cut Reed down about some perceived indiscretion.
If I had feathers, they’d be puffed up in defense of him right now.
Because he’s my friend, and I’m protective of my friends. And that’s the only reason. Honest.
I attempt to back out of the kitchen stealthily, but fail again when I graze a dining chair with my wide hip, sending it careening to the tile. Guess I won’t be getting into ninja school after all. Probably for the best. I can’t afford the tuition on a barista’s salary.
“Forgive my clumsiness.” Holding my head down in shame, I awkwardly retrieve the chair and slide it under the table. “I was on my way out to give you some privacy.”
“No. It’s fine, Lila. You should stay to help Reed tidy up.” Mrs. Hayes rolls her shoulders back, lifting her chin. “I need some fresh air.” Her flowery perfume stirs in the air as she brushes by me, nauseating me slightly.
After an awkward pause, I face Reed and shrug. “Surely not everyone was kung fu fighting, right?”
The hard lines of his face and his rigid posture soften incrementally.
Without missing a beat, I fling more at him. “Once, there was this cow with a knack for hiding in the pasture. Then he’d pop up at random, surprising everyone. They call him Moodini.”
He grimaces. “Cookie, that’s a terrible dad joke unworthy of even a pity laugh.” Despite his faux scolding, his frame relaxes. “I’ve come to expect better from you.”
“I was rushing. I can do better.” Deciding to go all-in on cheering him up with my whimsy, I point an accusatory finger at the chair and scowl. “How dare you pick a fight with me? You stay on four legs, or else I’ll turn you into firewood.”
When I look back at Reed, he’s outright smiling. Stupid humor wins the day every time. Actually, maybe nine times out of ten. Or eight. Seven at worst.
While wracking my brain for more nonsense, he shocks the heck out of me by joining in. “If Hippies exist and Vikings exist, does that mean Viking Hippies are real?”
“Hey! Thief.” I sputter through shocked chuckles. “Aren’t you a cop? Arrest yourself for stealing my whimsical distraction technique.”
Reed shakes his head, ardently refusing to laugh although it’s plain to see how much he wants to. “Not a prosecutable crime.”
“Says the accused.” I stride toward him with my fingers curled like talons, feigning an attack of sorts. “Give me your cuffs. I’ll bring you in myself. Wait until the chief hears how I collared a dirty cop.”