Chapter 5
ELIZABETH
“I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to wear this dress again.
” I slid my hands down the black lace and presumably cotton, before looking into the mirror.
I couldn’t even remember why I had bought this dress.
We were a small town, and there weren’t that many funerals, but I had been to enough of them that this was my funeral dress.
It hadn’t started out that way; it just turned into one over time.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do about it now, though. Didn’t my parents deserve a special dress that was only theirs? Should I have gone out and bought one just for this occasion? One I would throw away eventually because there was no way I’d ever be able to wear it again.
“You don’t have to wear it. You can wear whatever you want.” Teagan came up to me, the soft black of her dress near-identical to mine. She pulled her hair back, wore minimal makeup, and the depth of sadness in her eyes made me want to reach out and hold her. Because she cared. She truly cared.
And I knew so many others did in this town.
My family wasn’t part of the founding families. We weren’t into politics or into every little bit of news and life that some town members were. My parents had once been integral. They had lived here their entire lives here and had died here.
My throat tightened, and I put my hand against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
“Elizabeth,” Teagan began, but stopped her train of thought.
I shook my head, annoyed with myself for breaking. I didn’t have time to break. My parents deserved a day without it being about me. They didn’t need a day where the town was so worried about how I would take it that they forgot about who was the most important on this day.
After all, this was the last of it. After we said our goodbyes today, people would move on.
Because that’s how grief worked. You focused on the person or persons that you lost, and then you were forced to move on.
But how was I supposed to move on when the two people who had taken care of me, who loved me for who I was and not what I could do for them, and never judged me for any mistakes I might make, were now gone?
Gone forever, and I was supposed to somehow navigate this world without them.
Ashford Creek was my parents’ in my mind. How was I supposed to move on? Or was I supposed to at all?
“No, this is what I’ll wear. It’s time to retire it anyway. I was just thinking that it’s become my funeral dress, even though it’s not kind to the dress itself.”
Teagan squeezed my hand, and I closed my eyes, telling myself I needed to breathe. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
“I’ll be okay. At least they went together, right?”
I met Teagan’s gaze in the mirror, and she gave me a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Because I was only repeating what countless others had already said.
As if it were a blessing that I was now an orphan. All in one swoop. I had no family left. No grandparents, no cousins. No aunts or uncles. Maybe a distant fifth cousin who had never set foot in Colorado, but no one I could call home. And wasn’t that a sad excuse for a connection?
“I’m here if you need me. If you want to talk. Or if you just want to scream. I’m good at screaming too.”
I smiled, knowing that Teagan was just as much out of her depth as I was. After all, she was an orphan too, but for far different circumstances than I.
Her father had been a terrible person, and the town—the world—was better off now that he was gone. A horrible thing to say, perhaps, but the truth.
I barely remembered Teagan’s mother, and I had to wonder if she did either. But that wasn’t something I would ask today. There was no point in adding to my grief with Teagan’s. That would just be rude, mean.
“I’m going to take a minute, if that’s okay?” I asked, knowing that if Teagan stayed longer, I would break. And I couldn’t break. Not yet.
“Of course. Do you want me to send anyone in later?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll see everybody at the funeral.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes. But you’re never alone, Elizabeth. I hope you realize that.”
I tried to smile, but it hurt. “I know.” Not quite a lie.
Teagan studied my face before she let out a breath and left me alone in my room.
The past couple of days had felt as if I were walking through quicksand, with each step deeper within the darkness than the last.
Finnian had come over soon after my breakdown and had dealt with my broken window. I had been sieving through a fog, trying to comprehend what Thatcher had explained to me, and it felt as if I blinked, and my window had been replaced and looked better than new.
The man hadn’t even said a word. Just done it and walked away. I know he had spoken to Atlas about it, and I would worry about what that meant later, but they had taken care of everything, so I didn’t have to.
Just like I had tried to do for them when they had lost everything. It was what Ashford Creek did for each other. And yet why did it feel as if we were losing everything?
The door opened behind me, and I turned to tell Teagan I needed just a few more moments and stiffened, my mind whirling, when I realized it wasn’t her.
Atlas stood there, his tailored suit dark and perfectly sculpted to his body.
It probably cost more than I made in a month.
But it looked so good on him, I couldn’t really complain.
Not that I would ever complain. Not about him. Not now.
“I sent Teagan to the church. She’ll handle everything. You know her.”
I pressed my lips together, tears threatening, and hated myself that he would be the one I would break in front of. Of course, it was Atlas. It was always Atlas.
Within two large steps, he was there, holding me to his chest, and I let out a shaky breath, the soft tears finally falling and soaking into his thousand-dollar suit.
“I’ll ruin this fabric.”
“You can burn everything that I own for all I care,” he mumbled against the top of my head.
I wrapped my arms around him, needing the solace, even though it couldn’t be forever. It was never forever, but of all people I could break down in front of, I didn’t know why it could be him. And why it should be.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie.”
I should tell him to stop calling me Lizzie. To walk away so people would stop talking about us. And so when he left again, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But the numbness settling in meant maybe it wouldn’t hurt at all. How could anything hurt more than this?
“You want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, reassuring. My parents had once loved him. Honestly, they had until the end. They had hated the fact that they’d thought Atlas had broken my heart, but Atlas had been theirs. Not in the same way he had been mine, but he had been theirs.
“People keep telling me that they’re relieved that my parents went together, and I don’t understand why that’s supposed to be comforting?” I pulled away and began to wipe my face, annoyed with myself for even saying the words aloud.
“I don’t think people know how to deal with grief and then end up saying words that hurt.”
“I loved my parents. I loved my parents, and I always will, but I wish they would’ve stayed. At least one of them.”
“I know. It’s not fair.”
That seemed to be the understatement of the year. Because no, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.
“I feel terrible for Thatcher, though,” I said after a moment, knowing there wasn’t much more to say.
My father had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up.
Just like that, he had left this world, leaving me behind.
My mother, in a panic, had called Thatcher, confused and worried.
I would never know if she didn’t called me because she hadn’t wanted to worry me, thought she already had, or had merely forgotten me.
Because she hadn’t had a chance to call and tell me that my father was gone, until Thatcher, along with his team, had been there.
And then my mother had held Thatcher’s arm, her eyes had widened, and she’d had a heart attack in my friend’s arms. I didn’t know all of the details, and I wasn’t sure if Thatcher would ever tell me, but my mother had died in my friend’s arms, and I would forever be grateful that she wasn’t alone, and part of me had wondered if it would’ve been better if it had been me.
If my mother could have held me to her during that time.
Then again, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to have survived that.
“Thatcher is strong. He’s seen so much. You know that he was grateful that he was there for your mother.”
I swallowed hard but wiped another tear. “I feel like I should bake him a cake or something. What does one give a friend who held your dying mother when you couldn’t?”
“A cinnamon mug cake, of course,” he said so deadpan that it didn’t seem real.
I just blinked up at him before my lips twitched. “I burned one cinnamon mug cake, and you’re never going to let me live that down?”
Atlas reached out and wiped a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “Never, Lizzie. Never.”
In that moment, the memory of our kiss slammed into me, but I pushed it away, knowing this wasn’t the time. Maybe it was never going to be the time.
“I need to go.”
“Okay. I’ll get you there.”
“I should drug myself.”
“You will not drug yourself. I’m not going to let you get hurt because you’re afraid of what the town is going to say.”
“Atlas, you never worry about what the town is going to say.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, but for now, you’re going to let me be your friend. For once, we’re going to walk together, as friends, and I’m not going to let you down.”
“Atlas—”
He put his finger to my mouth, quieting me, and I let out a deep breath. I wanted to hate him, but how could I? Everything this man did was to take care of me while I was around him. And maybe that’s why I could hate him just a little bit.
With a sigh, I grabbed my bag and let Atlas lead me to his truck.