Chapter Three
One Year Later
Two never-ending hours inched by as Liam stayed in the same spot on the Nymans’ couch and waited. It was the same position he’d manned after the funeral when the Nymans’ house had been full of mourners.
After the funeral, he’d waited for his mind to go numb. Mostly, he’d waited for an alarm clock to ring and wake him from his nightmare.
Somehow, the time had passed. Slow days and lonely nights crept by. The weeks changed to months. The seasons rolled their usual paces with falling leaves, snowstorms, then slips of green turned into spring and summer.
Fall had returned, and after more than a year, Linda planned a celebration of life where friends and family could smile instead of cry at Julia’s memory. Liam wasn’t sure what to feel, but if her parents needed him there, then that’s where he would be. They were the closest thing he had to family.
Everywhere he looked, family and friends huddled as they had after the funeral.
But today, laughter and reminiscent grins mixed with hugs and favorite stories.
But Liam didn’t move, just as he didn’t the year prior.
Guilt pinned him down, shining a neon sign as the reason Julia had been killed to anyone who looked his way.
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder.
Pain knotted in his throat, but he cleared it. “Linda, do you need something?”
She kept her hand on his arm as he stood. Few dared to talk to him, much less touch him, and he didn’t blame them for staying away. But Linda gave a soft smile. “I’m fine.”
How could anyone in this house be fine? “Are you hungry?” he offered.
Casseroles decorated the dining room table. He wasn’t sure what to expect for a celebration of life, but it involved large pans of food to go with smiling pictures. He didn’t know when they arrived, but he hadn’t been paying much attention.
“Can I join you?” She took a seat next to where he’d been most of the afternoon then gestured toward the couch. “Sit.”
“Of course.” The cushion was still warm when he eased back down.
His new suit dug into the folds at his elbows and arms, and the waist bunched at his back.
He hadn’t thought to buy a new suit after the shooting, and he had to go shopping that morning.
Off-the-rack suits could never accommodate the bulk of his muscles.
Either his thighs threatened to rip the inseam, or the waist was too large.
His resentment for the day grew every time he repositioned uncomfortably.
“You holding up all right?” he asked.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” She glanced about the room. “You haven’t spent much time talking with others.”
“I’m having a hard time celebrating.”
“No one’s celebrating her death,” Linda said as though he were one of her kindergarten students. “We’re rejoicing and remembering everything we loved about her.”
Liam grumbled. A year ago, he spent most days trying to forget so that the pain would stop.
Weeks passed, and his grief evolved. He wanted to cling to every memory.
But as the seasons changed, he didn’t know what the hole in his chest meant.
Sadness? Solitude? No matter what feelings were there, he would always feel the guilt.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen,” Linda said.
He nodded.
“Have you ever heard of Swedish death cleaning?”
His eyebrows arched. “Uh, no.”
“It’s a gift parents give their children and loved ones.”
“When they die?”
Slowly, she nodded. “At a certain age, you clean. You rid yourself of what you do not need, and when it comes time for your death, you’ve helped to prepare your family.”
“I wasn’t prepared. That’s for damn sure.” He drew a deep breath. “I’m not sure what I am, to be honest.”
“I wasn’t either.” She paused, and he could only offer a sympathetic nod. Linda continued, “But I’m grateful for every moment I had. I know you are too.”
Guilt seared his throat. For a year, he hadn’t been able to find the words to ask for her forgiveness, and now, she was trying to comfort him. He didn’t need comfort—he needed… He didn’t know. “Don’t worry about me,” he finally managed. “I celebrate her in my own way.”
They sat quietly, and he noticed the celebration had thinned. Frank and Chelsea cleaned discarded plates and cups from a nearby hutch.
“Have you talked to Chelsea?” Linda asked.
He wondered how so many people could stomach the idea of eating. Celebration or not. They’d gathered because someone had died. No matter how much time had passed.
“Liam?”
He jerked out of his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. Chelsea?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Nothing other than a wave hello.”
“You should ask her to tell you one of her stories from when they were kids. Most are hysterical.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Those girls were a handful.”
Linda evaluated the quieting living room. “I’m worried about you.”
He turned to Linda. “Don’t.”
She gave a motherly smile. “That’s what I do.”
“I’m fine.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Unable to take the scrutiny, he shifted. Does she want me to apologize? Does she hate that I didn’t save Julia? He tugged at the dress shirt collar. “Are you sure you don’t need something? A glass of wine?”
He glanced at Chelsea, who stood in the corner, appraising what else she might need to clean or tidy. He could see a tinge of sadness and exhaustion shadow her face. Even if Chelsea had shared funny memories, he could recognize someone haunted by the same demons.
Linda wrapped her arm behind his stiff shoulders and offered a concerned hug, and then, stood. “Oh, I forgot to mention. You had a package delivered here earlier today.” She held up a hand as someone waved goodbye to her. “I asked Chelsea to put it in Frank’s study.”
“Thanks.” His curiosity piqued.
Linda walked away, and Chelsea caught his gaze. The corners of her eyes tightened, making her seem as if she was glaring. He wouldn’t blame her if she were. He hadn’t protected her best friend nor mingled today while offering his memories.
But she lasered in on a rogue plate with a crumpled napkin and crossed the living room to retrieve it. She searched the living room again for missed trash then headed to the kitchen.
Not wanting to risk another conversation about Julia, he slipped from the living room and escaped to the study.
The murmur of guests down the hall was dulling. He wanted the event to end so he could go back to the numbness.
A manila envelope was propped on the base of a desk lamp. The scrawl across the front only listed his name, no recipient or sender address.
Liam sat at Frank’s desk and picked up the envelope, noticing a framed family picture.
He closed his eyes and wanted to fade from the house.
But wishing to disappear made him feel empty.
Damn it! He wanted to celebrate Julia. But not in the same way as most of those people who arrived hours ago.
He didn’t know half of them, and nothing about the gathering seemed to honor her.
Or maybe he was just an asshole.
Liam unbuttoned his collar and took a deep breath. He pushed from Frank’s desk and left the study, heading upstairs. He didn’t know where he was going until the door to Julia’s old bedroom waited in front of him.
This was what he needed. He’d said goodbye a year ago. Mourned and struggled with grief and guilt. But he somehow hadn’t returned to this room.
Carefully, he turned the doorknob as though moving too fast might disturb the time that had been frozen on the other side.
Nothing had changed. It wasn’t as if Julia still lived there, but her bedroom was the same from the day she left for college, and Linda hadn’t touched a thing since Julia had died.
The bulletin board held pictures and cards.
The bedroom had a cotton-candy air about it.
Soft and sweet, as though if he touched anything, it might melt away.
Liam remembered. He felt. And he knew that life was moving on, but he didn’t know how to get beyond the bleakness that shadowed each day. He dropped onto the side of the bed and waited to feel less hollow.
But he didn’t feel anything—not even the guilt that he always clung too. Liam squeezed his hands into fists, crumpling the envelope he’d still held, and flung it across the room. The impact barely smacked the wall, and it dropped. The unfulfilling throw agitated his frustration. “Fucking hell.”
Liam reached for the pillow and launched it. Hints of Julia’s scent clung to the linens. The pillow crashed into the window. The blinds clattered, then her desk lamp crashed over the edge. Finally! That was what he needed. Noise. Damage. Not a damn celebration!
A knock sounded on the bedroom room, and his irritation flared at the interruption. He sucked in a deep breath and held it until his lungs burned.
“Liam?” Chelsea called quietly.
“Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She rapped softly again, and he pinched his eyes shut.
“What?”
“If I missed the invitation to throw things, I’d like to invite myself anyway.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m coming in whether you like it or not.” The knob twisted, and the door cracked.
“Be my guest.” As if he had a choice.
Chelsea passed him and righted the lamp and drapes. She swept the pillow off the ground and tossed it back on to the bed. “Could’ve done better.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “Two out of ten.”
He didn’t have a clue. “For what?”
Chelsea glanced about the room. “Aftermath?” She shrugged again. “Though I missed your technique.”
He frowned. “Did you need something?”
She crossed her arms. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the rainbow today.”
“Go away, Chelsea.”
She sighed and shook her head. “We’re supposed to be full of joy and life today. Didn’t you know?”
Maybe everyone could find a happy place today because they weren’t the one to blame for Julia’s death. “I missed the memo.”
Chelsea turned and nearly left but stopped. “My partner says that when people are too deep in pain, it’s impossible to realize they’re not alone.”
Ha. Today proved he was alone on a dreary island. “Got it.”