Chapter 28
Lacey
A cemetery.
He took me to a cemetery.
If you’d told me when TJ said he wanted to show me something that this is where we’d end up, I would’ve called you crazy.
As if this day hadn’t been gloomy enough.
TJ drove for what felt like an eternity after leaving Graceview’s Care Center, and, in spite of my many attempts at getting some answers, he wouldn’t tell me anything.
We’ve been making our way through this cemetery for a few minutes, headstones marking our every step. Is this the part where he reveals to me that he actually did this to his mother and I’m next?
Okay, that’s it. No more true crime documentaries before bed.
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Just a heads-up, if you don’t tell me where we’re going very soon, I might start wondering if you’re a serial killer.”
TJ laughs and reaches for my hand, interlocking our fingers to comfort me. “We’re going to the memorial tree planting near the mausoleum. Feel better?”
I consider rejecting his touch, but this place is way too creepy for me to give him the cold shoulder.
Wait, did he say memorial tree planting ?
Aren’t those memorials for people who chose to have their ashes combined with tree soil?
“Why?” I ask as we enter a different section of the cemetery. This one is full of family tombs and fancier, larger headstones.
TJ brushes his thumb against the inside of my palm. “You just met my mother. Only fitting that you meet my father, too.”
My stomach sinks like a rock.
He’s taking me to his biological father’s grave.
Or should I say his father’s tree?
A few minutes elapse before TJ stops near the entrance of a gated area with a sign that reads As trees endure for eternity, so will your memory.
Rows of trees stand before us, each planted at different times to honor different people who all had vastly different lives and stories. This is fascinating.
Creepy.
But fascinating.
TJ pushes the gate to the area open and ushers me inside, never letting my hand go as he treads through the memorial with unmissable ease. He’s been here before. Probably more than once.
Then, he stops.
A majestic oak tree stands tall before us, a golden plaque planted at its base.
“Lacey, meet my dad,” TJ breathes out.
Samuel Hawthorne, Beloved Son, Father, and Husband.
I can’t help squeezing TJ’s fingers. “You mean that’s…”
“My mom’s boss. Yeah.”
This is so messed up.
“How are you feeling?” is all I can think to say.
I zoom in on the date written below his name. He was only forty-two when he died from a heart attack. Crazy to think that TJ attended the funeral when he was a kid, not knowing they were saying goodbye to his biological father. Neither did he know the kids there were secretly his half-siblings.
“Like I want to scream at my mom. But mostly, I want to ask her why she did it.”
Time stands still for a second.
“She left a suicide note, you know?”
The truth crashes into me like a meteorite.
Suicide.
He said suicide .
“It was only a few words. ‘ I can’t forgive myself. So, I won’t ask you to. ’ I spent years convinced that she did it because she felt like a shitty parent. Because being a single mom had taken too much of a toll on her. She’d constantly apologize and tell us she wished she could’ve given us a better life. I could see her holding back tears whenever she couldn’t afford to put food on the table. Or when we needed new clothes and she couldn’t take us shopping. Vera always offered to help, but my mom felt awful about taking her younger sister’s money. I guess that’s why I thought… it was Daniel’s fault. I convinced myself it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t left.”
I only realize I’m crying when the crisp evening breeze sweeps against my face, and the tears gliding down my cheeks create a hot and cold contrast.
“H-How did it happen?” I choke out, gripping his hand so tight it probably hurts.
He doesn’t seem to mind, matching my grip like my hand is the only thing holding him together.
“She tried to hang herself. She failed.”
My heart cracks down the middle.
She inflicted this on herself.
This is why his mother doesn’t speak. It’s also why she doesn’t react or move.
“The lack of oxygen to her brain caused severe brain damage. I was fourteen at the time. Kelsea was ten.”
The words slip from my mouth before I even know what’s happening. “Who found her?”
I’ve never prayed harder in my life than I do in this very moment. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says he or Kelsea had to see her like that.
“Vera did.”
I wouldn’t wish this upon my worst enemy, but I am glad it was an adult and not one of the kids.
“If you ask me, she did it on purpose. She waited for us to go to school. And she knew Vera would be stopping by that day.”
Questions flood my mind, the taste of the salt from my tears reminding me that I am, in fact, still bawling, even through the shock.
“Does that mean you and Kelsea have been on your own since you were fourteen?” I ask.
“No, Vera took care of us. She moved in, became our legal guardian. She thought about selling the house, but it was her childhood home. It had been passed down to my mom after my grandparents died. Not to mention, it was all Kelsea and I had ever known, so she couldn’t bring herself to do it.”
After meeting his mom, I figured the reason he moved back home last semester was to take care of Kelsea, but that doesn’t make much sense if Vera was there to do that.
“Then why did you move back? If Vera lives with you? You used to live on campus. It was much closer to school.”
“She doesn’t. She moved out last year when she got married. She put so much of her life on hold when she agreed to take care of us. She didn’t have kids of her own, for one. So, once I turned twenty, I told her to do something for herself. That I’d be okay to take care of Kelsea.
“It’s one of the reasons why I told Aaron that I’d changed my mind about messing with you in the beginning. As soon as I found out you were taking care of your siblings, which is not so different from what Vera did for us, I couldn’t deny that you were a good person. No matter how badly I wanted to hate you.”
I’ve found out so many things since the revenge scheme was revealed, it’s almost like it happened years ago. And yes, I’m still hurt. Saying otherwise would be a lie. But now, it seems like a small part of a much bigger picture.
“How’s Kelsea handling all this?”
TJ releases a bitter scoff. “She’s not. She’s never even visited. She says there’s no point. That Mom’s not in there anymore.”
“Is she?” I croak.
Only then does he turn to look at me.
His bloodshot, dark brown eyes stab me in the chest. He’s been trying to hold it together with everything he has.
“What did the doctors say? How much is she aware of, exactly?”
“Most probable answer is not much. But they can’t know for sure. They’ve run tests that displayed some brain activity when we speak to her, but not enough to confirm that she actually understands any of it. We’ve been told to just keep trying and speak gently. That she could improve over time. But it’s been six years.”
God .
“Can I ask… how? Six years is a long time to be paying for your mother’s care. How did you do it?”
He was just a teenager at the time. And nothing in this life is free. Especially not around-the-clock care.
“Vera sold her house. She made some money off that. She also had some money from her parents’ inheritance. Top it off with insurance and government programs, we’ve been able to make do. But it won’t last forever. That’s why I have to get into the NBA, so I can move her back home and get her full-time care.”
I can’t imagine how heavy this must be to carry. Does he even like basketball? Or is going pro the only way he’ll be able to support his mother?
You’d think he read my mind, because he adds, “I used to love basketball. And I still do. It’s just… different now. Now, it’s an obligation rather than something I enjoy. Like playing guitar, for example. It’s always been fun to me, but I’d probably feel differently if I had to spend every day of my life with a guitar in my hand.”
I remember a time when TJ didn’t go anywhere without his guitar. Freshman year, he’d bring it to every party and serenade the ladies. It was his signature move. Until he moved out of the party house. Then, I never heard him play again.
And that’s just one of the changes he’s gone through since I met him. TJ used to have dirty blonde hair. His natural color is dark brown, but he dyed it temporarily after losing a bet to Chance last summer.
“You never told me what happened to your guitar. I never see you play anymore.”
He shrugs. “After I moved out of the party house, I started pitching in to help Vera with expenses for the house. Plus, I went from living right on campus to having to drive to school every day. I needed money. So, I sold it.”
Knowing he had to make that sacrifice hurts my already fragile heart.
“I hope one day you’ll play again.”
His lips curve into a sad smile. “I hope so, too.”
I’m about to say something else when I feel something wet touch my face—something other than the river of tears coating my cheeks—and glance up.
Dark clouds have gathered in the sky, a downpour right around the corner. TJ’s noticed, too, but neither of us moves a muscle.
“My mom was the one who encouraged me to play guitar in the first place. She’d say me playing for her gave her the strength to keep going on hard days. I tried not to let that taint my passion for it, but over time, it got a little heavy.”
How could it not? It must be strange playing guitar, knowing the person who loved listening to you isn’t able to enjoy it anymore.
“There are so many things I want to ask her. But I can’t. Because even though her body is alive, her mind is gone. It’s so weird. Grieving someone who’s still breathing.”
It’s raining now.
“I’m so sorry, TJ,” I manage to say.
He nods. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you the truth.”
His brown eyes lock with mine, and in that moment, all I find myself thinking about is how much I want to hug him. Romantic relationship aside, I care for him.
And no matter what happens between us after this, I want to be there for him right now.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I throw my arms around his shoulders and trap him into a body-tight hug. He immediately welcomes my touch, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me in as close as possible.
He releases a long sigh of relief when one of my hands climbs into his hair and I begin to massage his scalp. He responds by nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck and breathing me in deeply.
A low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance, and the rain picks up in intensity, but we don’t care.
Because right now, we’re just two kids, hugging in the middle of a cemetery, praying for the storm to end once and for all.