Chapter 28
While I’m aware that Sunday is usually a day of rest, I do very little resting.
Instead I worry a lot, and pace the floor of my shed, and commandeer Nathan’s kitchen for a quick batch of muffins—pumpkin spice, the kind from a box.
Alvina drifts in wearing a velour tracksuit; I don’t know why, I don’t care to ask.
It’s the first time I’ve laid eyes on her since the potluck.
She asks what I’m making, if it’s sugar-free, and then wrinkles her nose and sighs in disappointment when I tell her the muffins definitely have sugar.
Then she leaves, a mournful air to her steps, and without another word.
My worrying and pacing come from a trip to the Walker house I make with Dom. The weirdo who’s been stalking Liv broke in last night. She’s understandably shaken, and I’m worried about her, so when Dom goes over to install new locks and security stuff, I tag along.
By which I mean I force my way into his truck and refuse to get out, even when he says he’s going alone. What finally convinces him is that he knows I’ll drive over myself if he doesn’t let me come. Despite the level of friendliness and even teasing we’ve cultivated recently, we’re unusually grim.
“Everything will be fine,” Dom says once we’re leaving, pulling away from the Walker’s house. His voice is quiet, but he glances over at me briefly. “The Walkers are a solid bunch, and they’re not going to take this lying down. Liv will be okay.”
“They should have asked me and Ari to run point on this whole operation,” I mutter, watching the house disappear in the rearview mirror. “No one is going to kick butts like the best friends of a woman threatened.”
He lets out his classic huff of laughter, and we fall silent again. There seems to be an unspoken agreement between us not to discuss our dance last night, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. So when Dom speaks again, I’m grateful.
“Need a distraction?” he says. “There’s someplace I wanted to go. You can come along if you want.”
“A distraction would be great,” I say with relief, and he nods…
Which is how I find myself standing in front of my father’s tombstone, looking down at it and then turning to Dom.
“You are so bad at lightening the mood,” I say flatly.
“I didn’t promise a lighter mood,” he points out as he walks past me. “And you’re the one who stopped there.” He gestures to the other side of the little cemetery behind the church, to a spot next to the white fence and grass covered with colorful leaves. “I was always headed this way.”
He continues on, but I look down at my dad’s headstone. It’s simple and neat, nothing fancy, and I crouch down to dust it off.
Nathan and I keep it in pretty good shape, usually. I don’t know if Alvina ever comes. The stone is rough beneath my touch as I brush away a bit of dirt, some errant leaves.
“I miss you,” I say quietly as I trace the grooved letters of my dad’s name—REGINALD BERKELEY. I haven’t been to visit in a while, and I find the words bubbling to the tip of my tongue without much thought or prompting.
“I feel like our family is falling apart, and no one cares but me.” I try to swallow the knot in my throat, but it stays.
“You were the glue that held us together. We were even back living in one house again—our house—but it’s not the same.
” Tears prick my eyes now, and my voice is thick when I go on.
“And I keep feeling like I should try one more time.”
The faint strain of holy hymn reaches me from inside the church, tries to wrap me in something soothing, but the wind blows it away too soon, until it’s lost. My eyes drop to the grass at the base of the rough stone, the weeds fighting for space, and I can feel them around my throat, too.
“Maybe I can make us happy again.” It’s a pathetic, desperate plea, choked with tears and stupid hope. “If I just—” My breath stutters, trembles in my chest, and I try again. “If I can just—do better.”
There’s something about losing a parent, though, that no one ever tells you. They may be gone, but you always know what they would say.
My father is off in the heavenly ether, but I can almost feel him here. He would stand behind me, his hands gentle on my shoulders as I kneel in front of his grave. Sweet girl—that’s what he called me—you’ve done what you can do, he would say. Now let it go.
But let go…what? My entire family? Obviously not. So what does that even mean?
“You’re not very helpful,” I mutter to my father.
I startle when a very real pair of hands rest on my shoulders, standing behind me; I yelp and whirl around, losing my balance and toppling to the ground.
It’s not my dad, of course. It’s Dominic.
I turn quickly to hide my watery eyes, swiping at them before looking back. Dom offers me his hand as a smile touches his lips, not of laughter but gentle understanding. I slide my hand into his gratefully and let him pull me to my feet, dusting my clothes off.
“Want to say hi to my mom?” he says.
I blink up at him in surprise. “I’ve never met your mom.”
“Sure you have,” he says easily. He lets go of my hand and turns away, speaking over his shoulder as he heads back toward her plot. “We’ve lived here forever.”
My cheeks heat, and I give my dad’s grave one last wave before following Dom. “You know what I mean.”
His footsteps slow for half a second. “I do know what you mean,” he admits, so softly I almost don’t hear, and then he starts walking again.
Had I interacted with Sally Harper around town before? Sure. But had I ever met her as the woman her son was dating? Had I ever been formally introduced as Dominic’s significant other?
No.
A faint wind rustles through the cemetery, playing with the leaves of the trees scattered around the edges. The sun is tucked mostly away, but enough peeps through the clouds to lend a few rays to the graveyard, making it feel breezy and bright rather than gloomy.
My heavy heart lifts some as I make my way toward Dom, who’s stopped in front of his mother’s headstone. I slow as I approach, eyeing him, but he seems calm enough, even casual.
I take my cues from him. My feet crunch over the leaves, and I give the grave marker a little wave. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Reese. I guess—you’ve seen me around town before.”
Silence falls for a second, until Dom quirks an eyebrow at me, his hands tucked easily in his pockets.
“That’s all?” he says. “Nothing else you want to say?”
So I look back at Sally. I would recognize your son’s hands in the dark, I tell her sadly. I loved him the way the bird loves the sky.
A crack of sun illuminates before me, casting Sally’s grave marker into a shaft of light; when I look up, more of the clouds have drifted away, revealing bright, vibrant blue.
“Maybe it’s clearing up now,” I murmur to no one in particular. I glance at Dom, but his eyes are still on his mother’s headstone, some of his earlier flippancy gone.
“The anniversary of her death was last week.”
“It was,” I realize with a start, and I inspect him more closely now. His attention remains trained on the sun-speckled grave.
Is he wondering what his future looks like, now that Alvina has entered Daryl’s life? Is he remembering the woman buried here, feeling like she might be replaced by my mother soon? Is he comparing them?
Because that comparison is inevitable, good or bad, and a sense of discomfort washes over me. I know it’s not my fault our parents are dating, but somehow I feel responsible all the same. Guilt by association.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dom says suddenly, and I startle, pulled back to the present to find his eyes on me.
“Like what?” I say, my answer too quick, my question too innocent.
He snorts and shakes his head. “Like that,” he says, gesturing to my face. “Like you’re—like you pity me.”
“I don’t.” When he looks skeptical, I go on, “I’m not. I don’t!”
It’s not a lie, exactly, but it’s not wholly true, either.
Finally I sigh under Dom’s stare. “I just think it’s sad. Your dad really seems great. And your mom was too, I’m sure. And now my mom comes in and…” I don’t know how to describe it, so I make an explosion sound as I mime something blowing up.
It’s only when Dominic’s expression shifts that I realize how depressed I sound. “Oh, no,” I say quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I don’t even know what I’m trying to reassure him of. I just know that it’s what I’ve always done—tell people I’m fine, because it’s easier than explaining, and I sound stupid when I try to explain anyway.
It’s one of the great frustrations of my life: I can never adequately put words to what’s wrong with my mother, because taken in parts, nothing sounds particularly bad.
She doesn’t hit me. She doesn’t scream at me.
She doesn’t take joy in my pain. I grew up with a roof over my head and food on the table.
I’m luckier than most of the world with all of these things.
But my heart races when I speak against her.
My hands shake. Tears jump to my throat for no reason.
I gauge what mood she’s in and adjust my behavior accordingly; I do it without thinking.
I know what her footsteps sound like when she’s angry, what they sound like when she’s not, because at some point my mind thought that information needed to be learned.
Is that normal? Are these things okay?
My heart crumbles a bit, because I have the horrible, sinking feeling that no—my relationship with my mother is not normal. And it’s not okay.
I take a deep breath and turn to Dom. “So,” I say, injecting new energy into the word. “What’s our plan moving forward? Our parents have been dating for…” I tilt my head. “A month?”
Dominic nods, accepting my change in subject. “Yeah, probably a month. Maybe a little more.”
“I think it would be helpful to hear how Daryl feels about my mother at this stage in their relationship.” My voice is brisk and businesslike, a relief to hear. “Alvina really likes him. But last time we spoke, she seemed to feel like he was too good for her.”
Dom’s brows notch upward in surprise.
“I know,” I say, but I shrug. “It was a rare moment of self-awareness that was very depressing and very uncomfortable. That was the gist, though.” Then I swallow. “She seemed sad. Like she wanted a good relationship with a man like Daryl, but didn’t think she was capable of it.”
Folding his arms, Dom wrinkles his nose, his brow furrowing. “That…is depressing.”
“Yep,” I say tonelessly. “It was when you and I ate in the alley on Main—the donuts. I had talked to her the night before.”
“Ah.” His expression clears with understanding, and he settles comfortably against his mother’s grave.
“Are you allowed to lean on that?” I say, my eyes dropping to the headstone.
He shrugs easily. “Seems sturdy enough. She never minded when she was alive.”
It’s a lovely thought.
“See what you can find out from your dad,” I say. “How he’s feeling about Alvina. We’ll move forward from there.”
Dominic nods and stands up. “Should we head out?” he says, dusting his hands off.
“Yeah,” I say, sending my silent goodbye to Sally Harper and then to my dad. “Let’s go home.”