Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT | TARYN
My palms flatten over the fabric draping over my body.
The halter top hugs my neck tightly, and I wrap my arms around myself.
I drop my head, my eyes gliding over the silk, which resembles black water cascading down my body.
The bottom rests on the blades of grass as if it could soak into the ground.
I’ve never stood in a cemetery.
I’ve never attended a funeral.
I fiddle with my hands, exhaling a weighted breath, my ears tuning into the buzz of a lawnmower off in the distance as the silent hum of birds drifts through the air. A gentle breeze whips through the tree above us, rattling the red-tinted leaves and coating my bare arms in a layer of goosebumps.
I want to do more. Find a way to help Colten and his siblings process the loss of their mother.
In reality, they lost Jane five years ago.
They have lived every day not knowing what happened until Colten visited their father.
Cameron, Brennan, and Jessica know the harsh details of her death—that they lost their mother to the depression that quietly took hold of her.
But Tristan and Elena… God, those poor kids, their young minds can’t process the truth.
I’m twenty-four, and I’m still struggling to process it.
They know their mom was in an accident five years ago, when Jane’s car went off the cliff and ended up at the bottom of the river. Everything beyond that, though, will be revealed with time.
In a way, I know Colten, Cameron, Brennan, and Jessica feel responsible for not noticing the signs of Jane’s depression sooner. Their guilt is palpable, and it’s easy to imagine them wondering if they could’ve done something.
I’m sure the what-ifs haunt them, and I feel so protective of this family that I wish I could take away their pain.
Now, whatever condition they found Jane’s body in is prepared to be buried six feet underground, with only the Lindenvale kids and me to pay respects to the woman who raised them. A mother who felt completely alone at the end of her life. A woman who should still be here.
Blank faces in black formal wear stare down into the hole as Elena throws a handful of dirt at the mother she never knew.
It sprinkles down onto the shiny oak casket, littered with other handfuls each Lindenvale child has taken turns tossing below.
She turns away, nuzzling her face into the curve of Colten’s neck.
His arms are wrapped tightly around her, holding her to him.
For the last several days, Colten has barely left Elena’s side unless he’s at work or we’re sleeping.
She has become his everything. I mean, she already was, but it’s different now.
I’ve seen it in his eyes. His admiration for her was beautiful before, but now it’s a cosmic kind of love.
She may have been an accident, but she will never be that to him.
“Do you think she’s in heaven?” Tristan asks, staring at the damp dirt caked on his hand.
Cameron places his arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer. “She’s somewhere beautiful.”
“And I’m sure wherever she is, she misses you,” Brennan adds.
My heart splinters, sending a dull ache through my still-tender ribs.
Colten glances at me. Even though this day is about them and their movement toward healing, he has still made me feel seen, stealing looks here and there throughout the small ceremony.
I’m unsure if his glimpses are to make him feel more comfortable or to make me feel like I belong here, even though I feel like I should be anywhere other than intruding on this last intimate moment they have with their mother.
He gives me a single nod to move closer, and I move toward him.
One hand drifts around my waist and pulls my body against him while his other arm holds Elena.
His soft black suit melts into my skin, and my head leans against his muscular shoulder, accepting his comfort the same way I’m trying to comfort him.
He holds me. I grasp onto him.
Nodding, Tristan whispers, “I miss you too, Mom.”
We stay there for a few more minutes, letting the natural buzzing and chirping sounds in the cemetery fill the void.
Tears cascade down Jessica’s flushed cheeks. Using the long sleeves of her dress, she lets them soak into the material, blowing out a breath. “Well, I think we need something to lighten the day.” Her siblings look at her with melancholy faces. “You guys want to go to The Honey Hut?”
Elena turns, the side of her head finding comfort against Colten’s chest. He peers down at her while she gazes at the plot, and a faint grin pulls at his mouth. He tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Nothing sounds better.”
“I miss you,” “I love you, Mom,” and “We’ll visit you soon” are murmured as goodbyes.
And together—a storm of black on a cloudless day coasting through the quiet cemetery—we all walk toward the car.
A young family, leaving their mother to rest peacefully below the maple tree her children chose for her.
A short drive from the cemetery later, the bell on the door of The Honey Hut rings, notifying everyone of our presence. Only a few patrons lounge around the café, some sipping on late afternoon coffees and others chewing on pastries. Eyes settle on us, their questioning gazes heating the room.
Sometimes, I wonder how long it’s been since all the Lindenvale children were seen together, as they mostly keep to themselves on the hill.
We all match in black attire, so it’s expected that people will stare, form theories, and contemplate why we look the way we do.
But if they soak in the expressions on the Lindenvale kids’ faces, the answer is simple.
“Can I go look and see what I want?” Tristan asks, eyeing the case of pastries picked over since it’s late afternoon and the weekend.
Brennan ruffles his hair. “Pick something good, so I can steal a bite.”
“I’m going with him!” Elena drops Jess’s hand and runs to the counter with him, her short black dress with a bow rippling behind her like water and her matching flats clapping on the floor.
My eyes scan the room as the guests return to their computers or conversations.
Behind the counter is vacant. Adelaide must be in the back.
We all move forward, Cameron parting from us.
He walks around to the side and opens the door to slip behind the counter as if it’s where he belongs.
Grabbing a white paper coffee cup, he wanders over to the three carafes of coffee next to the espresso machine and pours himself one.
He jumps up onto the back countertop and sways his legs, sipping at the hot drink, steam billowing in front of his face. I watch in amusement.
Chuckling, I glance at Jess. “Does he usually act like he owns the place?”
She rolls her eyes. “Considering he spends most of his time here, if he’s not on the hill, yes.”
“If he’s late to work or missing, he makes it pretty easy to find him.” Colten grins.
“Yep,” Brennan pops the P, “wherever she is, he is usually somewhere near.”
She. Meaning Adelaide.
As if on cue, she strolls out of the back kitchen in her usual black apron.
Her hair is curled with a gold claw clip, keeping half of it out of her face.
The long pieces drape over her purple knit fall sweater.
The cozy look is topped off with dark skinny jeans and knee-high brown boots that I would kill to pull off the way her toned legs can.
Her eyes zero in on Cameron, and she snaps her fingers, her index finger pointing downward as a command. “Get off my counter, Cameron Scott.”
He hides his smirk behind the rim of the paper cup. “I love it when you boss me around.”
I observe her snatching a white towel off the countertop and rolling the material. She whips it at his legs, and he sets down his cup, seizing her wrist when she goes for another blow. He tugs her toward him, and she giggles, pushing away from him.
For some reason, I can’t pull my attention away from them.
Their fondness for each other is evident in their movements and flushed faces.
Evident in the way their eyes cling to each other like there’s nobody else in the room.
It’s a look I’ve only seen Cameron wear once before.
I sift through the files in my head, trying to locate the exact moment I first saw this expression on his face.
Then, the memory whips out of the box and straight into my hands.
It’s when we were in Cameron’s studio, staring at a painting of a young girl alone on a dirt road winding through the woods.
Colten’s palm presses into the small of my back. “Let’s go grab a seat, Little Ghost.”
I smile up at him, nodding, letting him direct me away from the front of the café and toward the back, where Brennan is lounging on the antique couches, watching Elena and Tristan indecisively figure out what they want.
Jess points to something in the case, and Elena eagerly bobs her head up and down in approval.
Brennan places an arm over the back of the couch. “So, what happens now?”
Colten raises a brow, taking a seat on a couch opposite him. I lower myself beside him.
He rubs a hand over his jawline. “Like, is Dad going to try and get out of prison now that we know—you know…that mom had been struggling when she died?”
Colten exhales a breath, leaning back with his arms crossed.
“He said he was going to leave it alone. He feels responsible. But it wouldn’t surprise me if, one day, he decides to challenge the charges.
But he would need to hire a defense attorney.
There would be more trials; they would pull up her mental health history with the therapist, look for inconsistencies with the case and forensics, and probably drag Gram and Gramps back in it.
So much shit would have to happen again.
” A heavy sigh parts from his lips. “We’ll deal with it when or if that time ever comes.
He made his choice. It won’t be easy, but we all deserve time to heal. ”
Flipping his head toward me, he places his hand on my thigh, his fingers pulsing into my flesh. “You still haven’t told me what my father said to you before we left the prison.”
A faint smile tugs at my mouth.
“You have two minutes left,” the correctional officer tells Christian, and he nods.
“Colten, can you hand the phone to Taryn?” he asks from the other side of the glass barrier.
Colten’s eyes shift into little slits, scrutinizing his father. Placing my hand on his bicep, I run my thumb up and down on his skin. His attention shifts to me.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’ll talk to him.”
He lifts his frame from the chair, handing me the phone. Tugging his fingers anxiously through his hair, he paces toward the door to wait for me, leaving me alone with a man I’ve never spoken to—a man I’ve only seen in articles and on the news. But here he is in the flesh, asking to speak with me.
My pulse beats wildly. What could he possibly want to say to me?
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. My skin prickles in response to Colten’s eyes boring into me from behind.
“I don’t have much time, but I want to thank you.
” Opening my mouth to speak and ask why he’s thanking me, he quickly cuts me off.
“You don’t need to say anything. The rest of my children have sent me letters for years, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for a particular letter every week since I’ve been in here. ”
My heart drops, and Christian’s intense gaze hooks on to mine.
He rubs his red eyes with his fingers before looking back up.
But his focus isn’t on me. His attention is on his son.
“I can’t tell you how happy I was when six letters arrived a few weeks ago instead of five.
I knew whatever was in Colten’s letter would hurt like hell, but I needed to hear it. ”
Colten sent him a letter? Why, after all this time?
“He told me my failures have made him a better man—that my failures have made him the man his family needed when I couldn’t step up as a father.
” I focus on a part of the glass where I can see Colten’s reflection toward the back of the room.
“I have failed a lot in my lifetime, Taryn. But the one thing I’ll never forgive myself for is that my son said he hasn’t believed in love for the last five years. ”
He rolls out his shoulders, swallowing. “But then he said he met someone who changed his mind…I think you and I both know who that is.”
The breath in my lungs evaporates. My heart batters against my ribs, and I have the overwhelming urge to reach up and clench my chest.
The officer steps up behind him. “Time is up.”
Christian holds my gaze for a moment, silence passing between us.
He flattens his lips, taking one last look at Colten. “Take care of them.”
My reply to his plea is effortless. “I will.”