31. Grayson
31
GRAYSON
T he day we bury Gran is a beautiful spring day. It’s early March, so there’s still a bite to the air, but the transition from winter to spring is palpable. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the otherwise quiet cemetery. The snow has mostly melted, and patches of green grass are coming back to life, although there’s still the odd clump of white stacked against a headstone or lying beneath the shade of a tree.
Spring was Gran’s favorite time of year. She loved watching the bare trees return to life, tiny buds blooming beneath the sun’s rays. Bird song fills the air with a strangely cheerful symphony despite the mournful day. The priest rambles on as I watch a pair of robins flit from tree to tree, their vibrant red breasts a stark contrast against the pale sky.
Gran will be happy resting here amongst the plants and birds she used to enjoy watching from the large bay window in the nursing home. With Riley’s warm hand tucked in mine, her presence a strength at my side, the world feels strangely peaceful, wrapped in a quiet serenity that’s hard to describe.
The chirping of birds mixed with the crisp breeze that has chilled my nose and fingertips reminds me that no matter how harsh the winter, spring always follows, bringing a sense of hope and possibility. I cling to that hope as they lower Gran into the ground, and I say a final goodbye to the last happy link to my childhood.
As dirt is thrown on top of her coffin, my gaze slides to the headstone beside her. My mother’s. There’s not that same grief as I linger on her grave, but that aching emptiness of loss resonates.
Riley squeezes my hand, her voice low as she leans in. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m hanging in there.” For a moment, I fall into those hazel eyes. Today, the green in them is sharper. Perhaps it’s the spring weather bringing her back to life, too. Now that we have Aurora back, it feels like all of us are trudging out of the frozen tundra. It doesn’t need to be said that we were all starting to lose hope despite our efforts. Fear had crept into our systems, slowly paralyzing us. None of us wanted to be the one to admit it. To put that out in the universe, but we were all thinking it.
However, having Aurora back does not mean that she is entirely safe. Even now, I can feel the probing of my father’s gaze on us. Specifically on them —Riley and Aurora.
When Aurora started to become restless, and Logan bundled her into his arms, murmuring quietly to her, I noticed from the corner of my eye how my father’s jaw ticked. Admittedly, the way he has possessively watched them since we arrived has dampened some of the smugness I felt when we walked in—the five of us striding down the aisle as one. As a family.
I know my father. He won’t be an easy nemesis to best, although we do have the upper hand now. Not to mention the fact that I know him—better than he would probably like to admit.
“Grayson.” My name is nothing more than a whisper on the light breeze: a wariness, a warning. Blinking, I realize I’ve been staring into Riley’s eyes for an inappropriately long time. Wrenching my gaze away, I focus instead on the pile of dirt now marking Gran’s grave. My chest pinches painfully. I still can’t believe she’s not here. How many times in the past week have I grabbed my keys to go to the nursing home only to remember that she’s not there?
Riley’s hand squeezes mine, and I tear my gaze away from the grave, noticing that guests have begun to file out of the rows. I keep one eye on my father, who lingers nearby, while I accept condolences and thank people for coming. Quite a few of the older employees from the office attended, along with a few residents and staff from the nursing home.
As the last of the guests walk away, my father finally steps up. “Son.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, his face the picture of polite grief. Except that’s where it stops. That grief, that pain… it doesn’t bleed into his eyes the way I know it has spilled into mine. Since discovering the truth, I’ve noticed the cold calculation in my father’s eyes, the falseness of his actions, especially at that fucking dinner. Still, for the first time, I see how fake it all is. How fake he is. Does he even know what genuine emotion is? Is he capable of feeling anything ? He’s perfected the facial expressions, the right things to say, the correct way to behave in any given situation, but I highly suspect that’s where it ends.
By the time I respond with a forced, “Dad,” his focus has already slithered away, lingering on Riley for longer than is appropriate before skipping over Logan and Royce to land on Aurora. Wide-eyed, Aurora burrows herself deeper into Logan’s chest. The action makes Riley stiffen, and I rub my thumb over the back of her hand in an attempt to soothe her.
Logan’s arms tighten around Aurora and he shifts so she can’t see Bertram, ducking his head to murmur into her ear before my father interrupts. “What was your name again? Larson?”
Logan’s responding stare is as icy as Royce’s. “Logan.” Not sparing my father another minute of his attention, he turns to Riley. “I’m going to take her back to the car.”
Riley manages a small thank you smile. “Okay.”
With a repulsed sweep over my father, he drawls, “I think today calls for milkshakes once you’re all done here.” With that, Logan stalks off toward the car, Aurora safely in his arms.
I’m not the only one who releases a breath of relief, knowing Aurora is no longer subjected to his presence. Now, I just need to get Riley away, too. We’re all playing at being civil because this is not the time or place, but I’m so fucking done with pretending when it comes to my father.
In fact… Lifting an arm, I drape it around Riley’s shoulders, bringing her flush against me as I kiss the top of her head, all while keeping my eyes on my father. I smirk internally at seeing the burning decimation of his rage blazing in his eyes.
“No Lydia today?” I ask casually, more out of curiosity than anything.
“No.” Not looking at any of us, my father slides a hand down his wrinkle-free suit jacket. “She’s had enough of all this cold weather. Decided to soak up some sunshine in Europe for a while.”
“How nice for her,” I drawl, all the while wondering if we scared her enough to send her running or if it’s yet another lie. Another deception. Although, if it is, I doubt my father is covering for Lydia. I’m pretty sure the only reason he stayed married to her and decided to give things a go after his release was because he thought she could be of use to him. Or perhaps it was a case of keeping your enemies close. I can’t imagine he was too happy to discover she had neglected to inform him of Aurora’s existence and then tried to get rid of her before his release. “Well, we should get going.”
Arm firmly wrapped around Riley, with Royce at her other side, I move to step past my father. That’s when he reaches up and grabs my arm. “Really?” he hisses, voice too low for anyone else to hear. “You think you can just walk off with what doesn’t belong to you?”
Lifting my face to his, I keep my voice equally low. Only Riley can make out our whispered conversation, although she pretends not to as she stares at the car where her daughter is safely ensconced. “Which one of them are you referring to? Because as far as I’m concerned, they’re both mine.”
My father shakes his head at me, the corner of his lip lifting in this smug little smirk like he genuinely believes he will ultimately win. Doesn’t he realize he’s already lost? That this was never a fucking game—just him unable to accept not getting what he wants for once in his life.
“You’ll regret crossing me, son .” Standing tall, he straightens his tie and says loud enough for Royce to hear, “I’ll see you Monday at the office.”
We stand in a line and watch him stalk back to his car and drive away before Royce exhales loudly. Tilting his head, he gestures toward the car. “I’ll be with Logan. Take your time. We can leave when you’re ready; no rush.”
When we’re alone, Riley glances up at me. “I can go, too, if you want to be alone.”
“Stay,” I urge with a squeeze of her hand.
She rewards me with a rare, accepting smile. One that isn’t often directed my way.
Turning back to face the grave, she rests her head against my chest, and we simply stand there, lost in our thoughts. At some point, my focus shifts to my mother’s gravestone. Noticing, Riley’s gaze follows.
“I barely remember her,” I confess. “Anything I do remember, I’m pretty sure it’s from photos and stories Gran shared with me as opposed to actual memories.”
“How old were you when she died?” Riley’s voice is tentative as she slides her gaze to mine, holding my stare.
“Three, I think. I don’t remember it. I vaguely recall her being sick, but that’s about it.”
“What was wrong with her?”
I wrack my brain, trying to remember. “I’m not sure. I remember her sleeping a lot. Some days, she was so weak that she couldn’t even get out of bed.”
Riley seems to chew on the inside of her cheek before she spits out, “You said your dad abused her?”
Shoving my hands in my pants pocket, I nod. “I found photos Gran must have taken. Evidence.” My voice is thick. “I don’t think either of them ever did anything with them. There was also a journal. It was all pretty damning.”
A steady touch on my arm snaps me out of that dark place, and I stare down at where Riley is touching me. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Her gaze is tender with empathy. “Your Gran told you your dad killed her?”
“I mean, you can’t trust everything she said—the Alzheimer’s—but she was right about everything else.”
Nodding her head, she seems to think.
“What?” I eventually ask.
“I just… with everything your mom went through, I’m wondering if she was depressed.”
“You think she killed herself?” My tone is defensive, and Riley immediately straightens.
“No! No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think if I was in her position… Trapped. Traumatized. Helpless. I’d be so tired .” She shrugs a shoulder. “Your body can only keep up the fight for so long.” She squeezes my arm, emphasizing her next point. “I’m not saying she wanted to die. I only wonder if her spirit, battered and bruised, finally surrendered to the peace she’d been searching for.”
As we leave the cemetery behind, I cast one final glance over my shoulder to the graves sitting side by side: mother and daughter. The grandmother who shaped me into who I am today and the mother I barely remember. All I can hope for is that, in death, they have finally found peace.