Chapter 30
?
— Bea —
“ Y ou came for the kids,” Lilac said, not quite a question.
“Of course I came for the kids,” I confirmed, clutching the wrapped presents like a shield. “Knox and Luca invited me personally. I wasn’t going to disappoint them.”
Lilac studied me with that look she had — the one that saw too much.
She was enormous. Eight months pregnant with more twins, leaning against the doorframe of the clubhouse like the building was holding her up rather than the other way around.
One hand rested on her belly, fingers spread wide over the fabric of a dress that had clearly been chosen for the single purpose of fitting.
“And the fact that Holden will be here?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Bea —”
“I’m here for the twins’ birthday. That’s all.” I squared my shoulders and walked into the clubhouse before she could push further.
The main room had been transformed. Streamers and balloons in blue and green—the boys’ favorite colors.
A cake shaped like a motorcycle sat on the bar, surrounded by presents.
Brothers milled around, some looking distinctly uncomfortable in party hats, others throwing themselves into the festivities with surprising enthusiasm.
A couple of the club girls had set up behind the bar.
One was serving drinks; the other was now ferrying platters out of the kitchen.
Lilac had mentioned they’d come in early to help with the cooking.
It gave the whole room a different energy. Bigger, louder, more like a real party.
It was smaller than last year’s party. I’d been invited to that one, too, but I’d been out of town the weekend it happened.
Lilac had told me about it—the bouncy castle, the mechanical bull, the fake tattoo station, Colt going so far over the top that she’d stood at the edge of the compound and run out of words.
This year Colt had been instructed to scale back, which apparently meant no bouncy castle, and a face-painting station instead of fake tattoos because, according to Lilac, “I’m not dealing with another round of angry parents at school pickup. ”
I could see the restraint was costing him.
Colt stood near the food table with his arms crossed, scanning the party like a man mentally cataloging everything that could go wrong.
Every few seconds his gaze drifted to Lilac, tracking her movement through the room, and his whole body angled toward her without seeming to realize it.
“Sit down,” he called across the room.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re on your feet.”
“I’m aware of what I’m on, Colt.”
Betty appeared from behind the food table carrying a plate stacked with sandwiches cut into triangles. She set them down, wiped her hands on her apron, and aimed a look at Colt that could have stopped traffic.
“Let the woman walk. She’s pregnant, not incapacitated.”
“She’s pregnant with two —”
“Women have been doing this since the dawn of time, and Lilac’s done it before. She’s got a doctor, a midwife, and a retired nurse in this room. If she needs to rest, she’ll rest. Now make yourself useful with the lemonade.”
Colt shut his mouth. Betty gave him a look that said she’d meant every word, then noticed me standing near the entrance and her face changed entirely—warm, open, the Betty I remembered from Lilac’s stories and the few times I’d met her at family events.
“Bea, sweetheart. Come in. Don’t stand there holding those like they’re going to bite you.”
She crossed the room, took the presents from my arms before I could protest, then set them on the gift table, and squeezed my elbow—brief, firm, the kind of touch that said I see you and you’re welcome here without requiring a response.
“The boys have been asking about you all morning,” she said. “Knox informed me at breakfast that if Miss Bea didn’t come, the whole party was off.”
I had to swallow twice before I could speak. “He said that?”
“He did. And Luca backed him up, which as you know is the real endorsement.” She glanced toward the pool table. “Go on. They’re over there with their uncle.”
I followed her gaze and found them.
Holden was at the pool table with the boys. Knox was lining up a shot while Luca watched from the other side, already planning his next move. Holden leaned against the table with his cue, waiting his turn.
Knox took the shot. The cue ball connected, sending a striped ball rolling toward the corner pocket. It dropped in, and Knox erupted in cheers.
“Did you see that, Uncle Holden?”
“I saw it.” Holden held up his hand for a high-five. “You’re hustling me.”
I watched from across the room. This was Holden with the kids—the same way he’d always been. Warm. Patient. Present. Not performing for anyone, not trying to prove anything. Just being the uncle they adored.
Almost six months since Danny Curtis died in his arms.
The thought arrived without warning, the way thoughts about Danny always did — not as information but as weight. The six-month mark was coming. I’d been aware of it the way you’re aware of weather approaching from the west — not looking at it directly, but feeling the pressure change.
My hands were tight around nothing now that Betty had taken the presents.
Knox ran off to the food table, but Luca stayed. He tilted his head, studying Holden with that perceptive look. “Are you sad? You look sad.”
I expected deflection. Expected him to brush off the question with a joke or a redirect. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the pool table and met Luca’s eyes honestly.
“A little bit,” he admitted. “But seeing you guys helps.”
Luca nodded solemnly, as if this was the most reasonable answer in the world. “That’s okay. Mama says it’s good to feel sad sometimes. It means you care about stuff.”
“Your mama’s pretty smart.”
“I know.” Luca grinned, suddenly looking his age again. “Can we do cake now?”
The moment passed. Holden herded the boys toward Handful, and I watched him go.
He wasn’t using the kids. Wasn’t performing for my benefit. Didn’t even seem to know I was here.
He genuinely cared about those boys. The same way he’d cared about Danny.
The same way he’d cared about me.
I found Betty at the drink station, pouring lemonade into paper cups. Gunner, the black Lab the boys had gotten for their last birthday, was stationed at her feet with his tail going at a steady thump, waiting for something to fall.
“He’s good with them,” Betty said, not looking up from the lemonade. She didn’t need to specify who.
“He always has been.”
“Mm.” She finished pouring, lined the cups up neatly, and finally turned to face me. Her eyes were sharp in a way that reminded me she’d been a nurse for thirty years—she read people the way I read people, just from a different training. “And you’re good at watching from a distance.”
The observation landed with more precision than I was prepared for. “I’m here for the boys.”
“I know.” She said it without judgment. “I spent years watching Lilac protect herself the same way. Clinical distance. Functioning perfectly. Keeping the world at arm’s length because the alternative was feeling something she wasn’t sure she’d survive.”
I didn’t have a response to that. Betty didn’t seem to expect one.
“She came back to life eventually,” Betty said. “Not because anyone convinced her to. Because she felt safe enough to do so.” She picked up a cup of lemonade and pressed it into my hand. “Drink that. You look like you haven’t eaten today.”
Betty moved off to intercept Handful, who appeared to be constructing something structurally unsound out of paper plates for the boys’ entertainment. I stood with my lemonade and watched her go.
Across the room, Colt was trying to light the candles on the cake while simultaneously preventing Lilac from standing up. She swatted his hand away. He lit another candle. She stood up anyway.
“Lilac —”
“If you tell me to sit down one more time, I will put this cake somewhere you will not enjoy.”
Betty, passing behind them, said “She means it” without breaking stride.
I laughed.
Colt lit the last candle and stepped back, shaking the match out. The boys spotted the glow from across the room and came running. Knox practically knocked a chair over getting there. Luca was right behind him, faster than he looked.
Someone dimmed the lights. Everyone gathered around — brothers, old ladies, Betty with her hand on Lilac’s shoulder, Colt behind them both.
Someone started singing and the rest joined in, off-key and enthusiastic.
Eight candles on a huge motorcycle cake, both boys giggling and exchanging looks across the cake.
Holden stood at the edge of the group, not quite in the circle but not outside it either. I noticed the way he watched the boys blow out their candles.
Five months ago he would have been drunk.
Five months ago he would have been unreachable, locked inside his own grief, spiraling toward destruction.
I knew this because I’d watched the beginning of that spiral, had held him through the first hours of it before the night turned into something neither of us had seen coming.
Now he was here. Sober. Steady. Clapping when the candles went out, stepping in to ruffle Knox’s hair, telling Luca the wish wouldn’t come true if he told anyone what it was.
I was heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when he came around the corner from the hallway. We both stopped.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He didn’t reach for anything more than that. Just held it steady and let me have the next move.
I glanced toward the main room, where the boys were making Handful wear a party hat. “They’re happy today.”
“Yeah.” He watched them too. “They’re good kids.”
“They are.”
That was all. I nodded once and moved past him into the kitchen. Behind me, Colt’s voice cut through the noise: “Holden, juice boxes.” I heard Holden follow me in a second later, open the refrigerator, grab what he needed, and head back out without a word.
I stood at the sink for a moment with my hands on the counter, not filling the glass, just breathing.
He’d said something. I’d said something back. We’d been in the same three feet of air and nobody had broken anything.
“Miss Bea!”
The twin missiles hit me at knee height, nearly knocking me off balance. Knox wrapped himself around my left leg while Luca took the right, both of them chattering at once.
“We missed you!”
“Where have you been?”
“Did you see our cake? It’s a motorcycle!”
“Uncle Holden helped us pick it!”
“Did he?” I crouched down to their level. “I missed you too. Happy birthday, both of you.”
“You should come to dinner again,” Knox said, his face earnest. “You haven’t been to family dinner in forever.”
“It’s been a while,” I admitted carefully.
Luca’s expression shifted—that perceptive look again, too old for his eight years. “Are you and Uncle Holden not friends anymore?”
The question hit hard. I scrambled for words, for some way to explain adult complications to a child who saw through everything. “It’s complicated, sweetie.”
Luca considered this. Then, with the devastating simplicity only children can manage, he said. “Dad did something bad and Mama was really sad. But she forgave him. Maybe you could forgive Uncle Holden?”
Knox nodded. “Yeah! And then you could come to family dinners again. We miss you.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, but just barely.
“I miss you too,” I managed.
The boys hugged me again, fierce and unconditional, and I held on longer than I probably should have.
Over their heads, across the room, I saw Holden. He was watching. Our eyes met.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t signal anything. But for a second, before either of us looked away, I felt the pull of him the same way I always had—that particular gravity, unchanged by everything that had happened between us. Still there. Still stubborn.
He gave a small nod—acknowledgment, nothing more—and turned back to his conversation with Dutch.
And that was the thing I hadn’t expected. Not that he’d changed, but that the change made him harder to hold at arm’s length, not easier.
I left an hour later, presents delivered, birthday wishes exchanged, boys hugged goodbye. Betty caught me at the door and pressed a container of food into my hands.
“You didn’t eat enough,” she said. “Don’t argue with me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.” She held my gaze for a moment—that nurse’s assessment, quick and thorough. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her, because she nodded once and let me go.
In the parking lot, I sat in my car for a long time without starting the engine.
The six-month mark approaching. And Holden in there, playing pool with two boys who adored him, carrying his grief without letting it touch them, giving me space I’d asked for and was only now learning to use.
I thought about what Betty had said. She came back to life eventually. Not because anyone convinced her to. Because she felt safe enough to do so.
I wasn’t tired. But I was starting to notice how much effort the careful was taking. I started the car and drove home slowly, the container of Betty’s food on the passenger seat beside me, still warm.