Chapter 8
8
HOPE
We pull up to the cemetery in three separate cars, so we can each go our own way after this visit. I grab the bottle of beer from the passenger seat and turn back to Evan. “You ready?”
“Do I get a choice?” he snaps.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t wanna be here. He’s not here. It’s just a creepy, empty place.” He pats his heart. “He’s in here.” Then he touches the side of his head. “And here … mostly,” he murmurs the last word as he turns his gaze out of the window. “I hate coming here.”
God, I don’t know my son anymore. He used to always want to come here to talk to his dad. He’d tell him all about school and soccer, about his friends and what he was watching on TV. He’d make Lego cars and bring them along, showing them to the headstone with pride. I swallow around the lump that’s lodged in my throat. “I-I-I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“You wouldn’t. I can’t talk to you about this stuff,” he snaps with venom, and my eyebrows shoot up my forehead.
“I’m sorry I’ve let you down the most, Ev.” I pause to look out the windshield. “If you wanna go, we can leave.”
He opens his door and climbs out, then ducks back inside. “We’re here now, and everyone’s waiting.” He slams the door and heads toward his aunt and grandparents, leaving me to feel like a steamy pile of shit.
With shaky hands, I open my door and climb out of the car. I’m not a fan of coming here myself. I hate the finality of the place. I hate seeing Wyatt’s name carved in the cold, unforgiving stone. I hate the permanence of it. But I come here out of respect for the love of my life. For the father of my son. For my best friend. Most of all, I come because I hate the idea of him always being here all alone.
I push away the hurt and the tears that threaten and follow everyone toward Wyatt’s final resting place. Clara drops back and weaves her arm through mine. “You okay?”
I smile tightly. “Not really.” No point lying. “But I’m going to work hard to do better.”
“You’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.” She tugs me in close. “I think you’re so brave,” she whispers. “I don’t know how I’d cope if I lost Ryan, and we’ve only been married for three years. I’d be completely devastated.”
Nobody understands my grief. How can they, unless they’ve experienced it for themselves? “I just miss him so much.”
“I know. I do too. He was the best big brother a girl could ever ask for. Sometimes I talk to him when I’m alone just to feel closer to him, but as each year comes and goes, I feel like my link to him has lessened. Ryan’s been amazing and has really helped me honor Wyatt’s memory in positive ways. I don’t think I’d be in the place I am today without him in my corner.”
I squeeze her tight. “I’m happy for you. Ryan is an amazing man.” I drop my voice as we stop in front of Wyatt’s grave. “Wyatt would have really liked him.”
She laughs. “Only after he’d kicked his ass.”
I chuckle too. “True.”
Tracey and Graeme fuss about, pulling out weeds and wiping down the headstone as I wrap my arms around my middle to hold myself together. I promised myself no more tears today, and I’m determined to keep that promise. Once they’re satisfied with everything, they sit on the grass and the rest of us join them. I open the bottle of beer and slowly pour it onto the grass for Wyatt.
“I’d really like it if we could all share a happy memory of Wyatt today,” Tracey says.
Graeme nods and a low chuckle escapes. “I’ll never forget my son’s face when he first laid eyes on you, Hope. He was only fourteen, but I could tell how much he liked you.” My heart skips at the memory and my somber smile widens.
“I thought he was so cute, even though I was only twelve and boys weren’t really on my radar.” I glance across at Evan and he screws up his face.
“That’s just gross,” he grumbles.
We all chuckle.
Tracey smiles wistfully. “Yeah, then he would find any excuse to hang around whenever you came to visit. Clarissa would get so annoyed, telling him you were her friend, not his.” Clara chuckles and Tracey drops her gaze to the headstone. “We knew as soon as you were both old enough, he would ask you out. We couldn’t have been happier.”
We were each other’s firsts for everything. So many good times and fantastic memories. My eyes flick to Evan. He’s studying me closely, as if he’s seeing me in a different light. I should make more of an effort to think about our good memories—our happy memories—instead of being swallowed by the most tragic memory of all. We were so lucky to have Wyatt in our lives, and I’m beyond grateful he gave me Evan, but I’ve done a terrible job of keeping his memory alive for our son.
I draw oxygen deep into my lungs and glide my hand over Evan’s hair and down his back slowly. My heart warms as I think about the memory I want to share today. “I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him I was pregnant. I swear a light breeze could have knocked him over. It was such a surprise. He immediately went into protective daddy mode and catered to my every whim while he was home. He kept track of your development during my pregnancy, even while he was deployed,” I tell Evan as I wrap my arm around him, pulling him in close. “He was so excited to be your daddy, and he loved you so much.”
Evan pulls out of my embrace and shoots to his feet, then storms away from us. I’m frozen with confusion, my thoughts in a muddy swirl.
Graeme jumps to his feet. “I’ll check on him.” He jogs to catch up with his grandson, and I watch helplessly from my place on the grass.
Maybe I should be the one to go after him, but he doesn’t talk to me, which is completely my fault. I get too upset, and I’ve been in a constant state of sadness. How would he possibly think he can talk about his father with me?
I bury my face in my hands. I’ve failed him. He didn’t just lose his father; he lost me, too. Tears flood my cheeks, and I gasp to take in a breath at my sudden realization. I have to fix this before it’s too late. Damn it! I promised no more tears today.
Arms wrap around my shoulders and waist on either side of me. “Shhh, Hope. Things will get better,” Wyatt’s mom murmurs against my hair.
My body shudders, and I take a hiccupping breath. “I need to do so much better for him.”
Clara’s arm squeezes my waist tighter. “You’re doing okay, and I think things have changed for you today. I can see the determination in your eyes.” She kisses my hair. “Small steps starting today, Hope. That’s all you can do. It’s all you can ask of yourself.”
Thank goodness for these two amazing women.
When I glance in the direction Evan went, he and Graeme are walking back toward us. I climb to my feet and tentatively make my way to them. The smile I give Graeme is shaky at best. He squeezes Evan’s shoulder, then my hand, and leaves the two of us alone with a sad smile.
In the middle of the cemetery, we stand a foot apart, but it may as well be a mile. Evan’s face is tilted toward the grass, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated breaths. I take the step needed to close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around him, and instead of pulling away like I was scared he would, he falls against me, burrowing his face in my chest and wrapping his arms tightly around me. A sob breaks free, and his body trembles against mine.
I slip my fingers through his hair as my heart breaks for the not-so-little boy in my arms. Tears escape and track down my cheeks as we hold each other, and I kiss the top of his head, holding still, drawing in his boyish scent, as we stand quietly in each other’s arms. It’s the closest we’ve been in too long, and I make a promise to myself to hold him more. To be more present for him. To be more emotionally available and less broken.
“I’m so sorry, Ev. I’ve let you down in the worst possible way.” I kiss his hair again, then look up at the sky. God, how many times have I apologized? How many more times will I need to?
He pulls away from me slightly, and his wet eyes shatter me. “I-I-I can’t remember stuff. I’m scared I’m gonna forget him.”
I cup his freckle-covered cheeks—something he got from me. “I won’t let you forget. Things are gonna change, Ev. I promise. We’ll talk more, and I’ll share more stories about your dad.”
His body loses some of its stiffness, and he smiles sadly. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk. I’ve just been scared.”
“You haven’t been a jerk, Ev.” I pull him back in close. “I love you so much, baby.”