19. Nia
19
NIA
I didn't realize they made coffins small enough for toddlers. Not that I've ever actually thought about children dying. Even if it is a reality that I have to acknowledge exists, I've never seen a tiny coffin in real life.
Piper Lachlan was supposed to have her entire life ahead of her. A life full of laughter, love, and endless possibilities. She was only three years old, with her whole future waiting for her, and then… nothing. It’s a cruel joke, the kind that leaves you reeling, questioning everything you thought you knew about the world.
How could someone so young, so innocent, be taken away like this?
The unfairness of it all gnaws at me, making it hard to breathe or concentrate on anything. I can’t stop thinking about the milestones she’ll never reach, the experiences she’ll never have, the joy she’ll never bring to the people who loved her. Every thought of what she should have had in this life sends a fresh wave of grief crashing over me, and I struggle to keep it together.
Josh held me while I cried when he told me, and he didn’t let go when I raged about the lost innocence of a beautiful girl that we’d saved from the fire.
He doesn’t call me crazy when I insist on going to her funeral or when I ask him to go with me.
Nor does he think I’m batty when I pull Piper’s brother Richard into my arms before the funeral when he runs straight for me with tears in his eyes.
“Piper’s gone." He sobs loudly as my arms wrap around him. "She's gone, and she was only three. It’s all my fault.” His words come out in a rush, each one more devastating than the last. The pain in his voice is unbearable, and it cuts through me like a knife. He’s just a child, carrying the weight of a guilt that wasn’t his to bear. It’ll never be his. But in that moment, I can see that he truly believes it was his fault, that he should have done something, anything, to save his little sister. It’s an impossible burden for such a young boy to carry, and it shatters me to hear him voice such dark thoughts. I tighten my arms around him, holding him as if I could ever shield him from the cruelty of the world, even though I know I can’t.
His words decimate me. But his sobs are the knife twisting in my heart that I will never be able to escape. His pain is the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. It’s palpable, permeating the space all around us.
I can’t let him go. Not when he’s clutching the black hem of my dress shirt with a desperation that makes my heart ache. He’s holding on so tightly, his small hands fisted in the fabric as if letting go would mean losing the last connection he has to his sister.
I don’t think twice, I just do what feels right.
I scoop him up into my arms, ignoring the fact that he’s nearly as big as I am, and I let him cry. His weight is nothing compared to the weight of his grief, and I would gladly bear it all if it meant taking even a fraction of his pain away. We sit there on the curb, outside the church that holds his little sister’s body inside, and I just hold him, rocking him gently as he sobs into my shoulder. It’s all I can do, and it feels so inadequate, but it’s the only thing that makes sense in this senseless situation.
"Shh." I rub his back and sit down on the curb right there, outside the church that holds his little sister’s body inside. "Shh."
I don't tell him it will be okay. It won't be.
Instead, I give him the only comfort I possibly can.
In less than three months, he lost his mother and his little sister.
Both to fire, no less.
No.
If I have any idea about life, it is that Richard's life won't be okay. Not for a long time.
"I wish I was never born," Richard whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.
The words cut through me worse than even before. Leaving nothing but desolation in their wake, the kind that leaves you breathless and reeling. It’s a declaration so full of pain, so heavy with despair, that I feel my heart twist in my chest.
How do you respond to something like that?
How do you even begin to offer comfort to a child who feels like the world would be better off without him?
The depth of his sorrow, the hopelessness in his voice, it’s too much for any child to bear.
I find myself blinking back tears, my throat tightening with the need to say something. Anything. But I’m lost. There’s nothing I can say that might help.
My chest clenches again painfully as he wraps his arms around my neck tighter, and I find myself squeezing him tightly in response. "No," I whisper. "I don't want that. You don’t want that. Your mother and sister wouldn’t want that.”
"I couldn't save her." His tear-ravaged voice echoes in the parking lot.
With tears in my eyes, I look up to see not only Josh standing there, but the entire Birch Fire Department. Every single man and woman who works there, even if they aren't on our shift. Every one of them is wearing their dress uniform. More than a few of them have tears in their eyes as they watch our interaction.
"You're not alone, Richard," I whisper. "We're all here for you. You're part of our family now."
He doesn’t look up.
He doesn’t nod.
He doesn’t move.
The broken little boy in my arms cries until he passes out against my chest.
"I'll take him." Josh tries to pull him out of my arms, but I shake my head.
Instead of relinquishing Richard to Josh, I let him and Ryder help me up, their hands steady and reassuring as they lift us both. It’s a bit awkward, trying to stand while still holding on to Richard, but they’re gentle and patient, making sure we’re balanced before stepping back. Richard doesn’t stir, lost in a deep, fitful sleep, and I’m grateful for the support of these two men who understand, who’ve seen the same horrors, who’ve carried the same burdens. Together, we form a silent, unspoken bond, a shared understanding that words could never fully capture. This is what it means to be part of the fire department, to be part of a family that stands together in the face of even the darkest moments.
When I walk by the foster parents who are openly crying and watching me with him in my arms, I shake my head as the father moves to take Richard.
“I’ve got him,” I tell them quietly. “I’ve got him.”
I walk with him in my arms, ignoring the weight. In fact, I ignore everything and everyone as I carry him into the large room that is being used for her funeral.
For a moment, I worry about the empty pews, and all the love that Piper will miss out on in her life. Until I sit down in the front row with Richard on my lap and turn to see all of the people quietly walking in. Firefighters, police officers, EMTs. Dozens of people I know from work and training. Even doctors from the hospital.
Kyle walks in with his parents and Josh and his little brother and sister at his side. Even my parents are in the back, tears in my mother’s eyes.
"Richard," I whisper into the boy's ear. "Richard, sweetie, you need to wake up. So that we can say goodbye to Piper." I choke on the words, and when his eyes open and lock on mine, there is no stopping the tears from falling down my face.
"I don't want to," he whispers back and then shuts his eyes the way only a child could. "I want to wake up and it's all just a dream."
"I know." I rub his back. "I know, and if the world were fair, that would happen. But it’s not, and this moment is one that you have to live. Hate the world. Scream and rage if you need to. But you have to live this.”
Josh sits down next to me, and on the other side Richard's foster parents slide onto the bench.
I can’t make myself look up at the tiny coffin surrounded by hundreds of flowers at the front of the church. Instead, I stare at the photo of Piper that sits on an easel at the side of her coffin. Her bright smile and chubby cheeks, nestled in light-brown curls that frame her face. Just like the day I raced into the fire to save her.
All around us, the pews are filled with people who never got a chance to meet the innocent little girl. Yet they mourn her loss alongside Richard. Alongside us.
“My heart is broken today,” the reverend says from the podium at the front of the church. “As many of you know, I’ve served our community for forty years. In fact, I was the one to perform Richard and Piper’s baptism for their mother, Sheryl. Not only that, but I baptized Sheryl when she was a child as well. The tragedy of losing Sheryl shocked our community to the core. But the Lord taking Piper…” He clears his throat and wipes a tear from his eye.
“We, as a community, should take comfort in the fact that Piper’s soul has not perished with her body. Know and take comfort in the fact that Piper’s soul will find eternal peace.”
Richard sobs in my arms. Silent tears stream down his face, matching the ones falling down mine.
“Let us find comfort in each other’s arms. Let us grieve not just for Piper, but for her mother as well. Let us mourn their loss and hope for the future. During the darkest moments in life, let light shine through to bring hope and healing to those who need it most.”
Josh wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I lean into his offer of support and strength.
“Every day that passes will help us remember the smile, the shining child who is no longer with us. And every memory will cast out the longing and suffering that lingers for her family.”
“I’ll never forget her,” Richard whispers. “Never.”
He doesn’t say another word while the prayers continue. When they are done, Richard slides off my lap and moves to the casket, drawing every eye in the room.
“It was my job to protect you.” His words ring out, broken strength filling them and carrying them to the corners of the room. “It was my job to take care of you. I’m so sorry.”
In a show of maturity that I didn’t know was possible, Richard stretches out his hands and rests them on the soft white casket, and then he drops to his knees.
Sobs tear through the room, and there isn’t a dry eye in the entire building.
“I’m sorry, Momma. I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t keep her safe.”
Josh, Ryder, Gino, and Kevin stand up at once, and I watch them go.
Three firefighters and one Marine, all dressed in their formal attire, move to Richard’s side.
“Let us help you.” Kevin crouches down and whispers something else into the boy’s ear. He nods and then moves to Kevin’s side.
Each of the adults take a part of Piper’s coffin, and as one they carry her out. Richard follows a few feet behind them. His eyes are shining, but no tears fall. His fists are clenched at his sides, and my heart breaks once more for the child who’s lost everything he’s ever known or loved.
Slowly, the rest of us follow, until Piper is put into the back of the hearse. Heart breaking more every second that we stand there, I watch Richard’s foster parents load him into the back of their vehicle and leave after that.
For the rest of my life, I will never forget the sound of his crying. Of his apology for not protecting his little sister. Nor will I ever be able to scrub my mind of the vision of those foster parents’ devastation. The pain and torment written on their faces as they take the responsibility from him and mistakenly put it on their shoulders.
“I need a drink,” I say to no one in particular when they are gone.
Josh nods as he slips his hand into mine. “I think we could all use a drink right about now.”
A chorus of agreements sound out, and a dark-haired woman wearing black holds up her hand. “I shut down Lucy’s for the day. Why don’t we head there.” Parker Townsend, that’s her name. I knew her from when she stopped in to see her husband at the police station while I worked there.
Standing next to her is Poppy, who waves sadly at me when Josh and I walk by.
Neither of us say anything else until we are sitting in his truck. “Do you want to go to Lucy’s?” He watches me over the center console, looking for any sign that I want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. Even though I usually want the silence of my house and the warmth of my blanket as I curl into its depths to forget everything around me, I don’t want that. I need people. I need the chaos of other people being around to help keep me out of my own head.
“Yeah,” I tell him with a small smile. “I think we need to be around friends right now.”
What I don’t say is that I know the investigation into the fire is taking a toll on Josh. I see it every single night we are at home together. On nights I’m at the station he can pretend that he is okay. But when we are in bed and he gets up in the middle of the night, I know it is the fire keeping him up.
I swore I would never date a cop, but the longer Josh fills the fire investigator position, the surer I am that he is the exception to my rule.
I also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Josh was the one to arrange for the entire fire department and police department to be there for Piper’s funeral.
We are one of the last to arrive at Lucy’s, and when we walk in, I zero in on a table to the far right. Sitting in a massive circle are Josh’s family and mine, my parents included, whom I hadn’t even noticed at the funeral.
“Auntie Nia!” Lyla stands up on her chair and calls my name. “Over here. I saved your seat next to mine. He can’t sit here, though.”
Ella puts her face in her cupped hands, looking more embarrassed than anything else.
“I’m so sorry,” Rich mouths across the room as he physically picks up his daughter and moves them down a seat so that there are two empty chairs next to each other.
“Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Daddy.” He squeezes me tight. “I’m glad you met Josh’s family.”
Mom laughs. “Sweetie. I’ve known Adelaide and Jason Harmon longer than you’ve been alive. It’s like you think your father and I didn’t have a life before you were born.” She scoffs. “Child, please.”
Josh’s mom, who insisted I call her Addy, laughs. “Libby, can you blame them?”
“Yes.” Mom sniffs. “I’m not old. Neither are you.”
“You’re old enough to have grandchildren,” Kyle mutters from across the table, just loud enough for everyone to hear and stop moving in order to hear what’s happening.
“Excuse me?” Addy freezes, her eyes flashing dangerously as she stares at her oldest child. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Kyle holds his hands up in panic. “No. Not me. Not at all.”
Next to me, Josh goes still, then he turns his head almost imperceptibly in my direction. “You’re not, are you?”
“No,” I speak a little too loudly. “Definitely not.”
“You guys.” Ella waves a hand over the silently fuming Lyla. “Lyla’s here. She’s the grandchild Kyle was talking about.”
All four of our parents seem to remember the little girl at the table at the exact same time, but not quickly enough for Lyla not to notice.
“I see how it is.” She sniffs loudly. “You all suck, and I don’t have a favorite grandparent anymore.”
Then she gets up from the table and stomps over to the other kids in attendance, who happen to be sitting one table over.
“Hey, Lyla.” Rett James, one of the kids in her class, smiles at her. “Do you want to share my pizza when it comes out?”
“No.” Lyla blinks owlishly. “Pizza sucks. I’m getting tacos. But can I sit with you? You always pay attention to me, and my parents suck right now. They didn’t even think I was important.”
Rett scoots over so she can sit down and when she does, he pulls her into his arm where Lyla smiles brightly. “I got you, girlie. I won’t ignore you, ever.”
Josh drops a kiss on my cheek, dragging my attention away from the kids. “I got you, girlie.” He mimics Rett.
“You really do.” I lean even further into his embrace.
Surrounded by my family and Josh’s, I find something I didn’t know I was missing.
Peace.
At least for the moment.