19. Trina #2
“A what?” Casey frowns.
“A happy place. Somewhere comforting he likes to go when things get overwhelming. Maybe something you two share? You said you watch games or movies on Sundays. Maybe a stadium or a theater?”
He shakes his head slowly. “He wouldn’t—” His eyes light up as he cuts himself off, but they dim just as quickly. “Lisa wants me to stay here in case he comes by.”
“If you think you know where he is, you should go.” I shouldn’t get more involved than I already am, but I’m already in pretty deep. “If you want, I can stay. You can call me if you find him.”
His lips part on a sharp inhale, then he closes his mouth and opens it again. Finally, he breathes in again.
“Will you come with me?”
Yet again, my brain screams at me that I shouldn’t.
This is too much, too personal, too deep.
But there was such a raw vulnerability in that question.
He almost never asks anything of me. He negotiates or he demands.
The ball is only hypothetically in my court with his question.
In reality, I’m powerless to refuse. He has a different kind of dominance over me right now. He needs me.
And it’s dangerous to admit how much I like being needed by him.
“Yeah.” My voice is barely a whisper. “Of course.”
His brown eyes go soft, and he blinks a few times, almost as if he has to process what I said. As if he didn’t believe I’d agree. Then, he snatches his keys off the counter and brushes past me out the door, leaving me no choice but to follow.
He doesn’t tell me where we’re going. In fact, he doesn’t say anything as he drives.
When he gets on the highway, he picks up speed, weaving smoothly in and out of traffic.
There aren’t many cars on the road, and after about fifteen minutes, he’s pulling off onto neighborhood streets.
When he slows down and starts peering out the window near a limestone-gated cemetery, I start to make some guesses as to where we are.
Casey expertly parallel parks on a side street and cuts the ignition.
He sits there for a moment, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
“It’s a bit of a walk,” he says to the street in front of him.
His gaze drops to his lap, then with what seems like effort, lifts to meet mine.
“You can wait here if this makes you uncomfortable.”
I search inside myself for some level of discomfort, some red flag or warning sign. But all I can find is a pulsing, growing ache to be what he needs.
“Do you want me to stay here?”
That intensity he always carries with him is back as he studies me. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. And it’s strange, but I’m relieved.
“Then let’s go,” I say before I can think better of it.
We both step out of the car and start walking. Even though I know he has to be eager to see if his brother is here, he matches my stride, and that’s how we walk through the quiet, green grounds of the cemetery.
“It’s so peaceful here,” I remark to break the silence.
“Mm-hmm,” Casey hums. “Mom chose it because it was so pretty. It has to be a weird thing, planning your own burial, but she always knew what she wanted. Robert loved it here, too. He always loved everything she did. They were close.”
Before I can respond, we turn a corner, and Casey lets out a relieved sigh.
About thirty yards in front of us, a Black man sits on the ground in front of a simple granite headstone.
His hair is longer than Casey’s at the top, but he has the same broad-set shoulders, the same shape of his jaw.
I didn’t even know about Robert until about an hour ago, so I’m surprised to find how relieved I am to see him bent forward, lips moving, having a soft conversation with his mom.
Casey turns to me and takes my hand, seemingly without thinking. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Of course,” I say. “Take all the time you need.”
He squeezes my hand and lets go, breaking into a jog.
I sit on a nearby bench under a huge maple tree and watch as Robert stands, his face lighting up, and Casey pulls him into a hug.
He steps back to hold his brother at arm’s length, and it looks like he’s saying some stern words, though I can’t hear them.
Robert responds, then Casey hugs him again.
Unwilling to be a voyeur to this intimate moment any longer, I scan the headstones in front of me. So many lives—so many stories buried here. But somehow, it doesn’t feel sad. Just peaceful. Like these souls are actually at rest.
It’s not unlike the library. Quiet, calming. Anyone can walk through, either aimlessly or in search of something, alone or with a friend. I can see why Robert would like it here. I can see why their mother chose to rest here too.
Casey and his brother face the headstone now, each resting a hand on top of it. Without removing his palm from the granite, Casey puts his arm around Robert’s shoulders and holds him close.
They must miss her so much. And here I am, with a mother who wants to contact me, unwilling to make a decision about whether or not to let her.
The two men start walking toward me, and when they get closer, the relief is evident in Casey’s features.
“Robert, this is my friend, Trina. Trina, this is my brother, Robert,” he says as he approaches.
“Nice to meet you.” I smile. “You gave your brother quite the scare.”
“Yeah.” Robert scrunches up his nose in thought. “He’ll be okay.”
Casey laughs a booming laugh, then gives his brother a little shove. “Don’t even think about doing that again.”
Robert shrugs, then turns to me. “I like your skirt. Yellow is my favorite color.”
“What a coincidence. It’s mine, too,” I tell him, which earns me a wide smile full of perfectly straight, white teeth.
“We’re going to eat at my restaurant,” Robert says. “The food is really good. Are you coming with?”
“Oh, um…” I look at Casey with my eyebrows raised. “I should probably go home.”
Casey shrugs, but by the stiffness in the movement, he’s not as nonchalant as he wants to appear. “You have to eat, right? Might as well join us.”
He clearly wants me to come with them. And when I search for those red flags and warning signs again, I can’t find them now either.
Tilting my head back and forth, I pretend to give it some thought. “You know, I am a little hungry.”
Casey rolls his eyes. “You’re never ‘a little hungry.’”
I scoff. “Asshole.”
Robert chuckles. “I like her.”
Casey regards me with an unreadable expression, his eyes full of some emotion I can’t place. “Makes sense. She’s likable. So, are we going or what?”
I don’t know why those simple words fill me with such warmth, but I could get used to this feeling. I could get drunk on it, addicted to it. Which probably should be a warning sign in and of itself.
But I can’t disappoint Robert by backing out of the meal. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
“You guys go ahead,” I say. “I’ll catch up.”
Casey eyes me strangely again, then nods. When he and Robert get a little ways away, I pull out my phone and take a deep, shaky breath as I thumb through my contacts and look for the one I want. I open up a new message and type.
Me: Hey, Aunt Donna. If Mom still wants my number, you can give it to her.