Page 66 of The Grumpy Vet
"Mate." He pulls me into a long, deep hug. "I'm so sorry. How you holdin' up?"
"Good. Better now. I was a bit of a mess in the immediate aftermath."
"Death is a tricky one," he says before giving Dario a hug, too. "But you'll get through it."
"Yeah, I will." I look at each of the men standing in my living room and work my cheek muscles up to a small smile. "I know I will."
Dario
I hate funerals.
Even when I don't know the person being farewelled, they still suck. They're morbid and depressing because, well, dying is morbid and depressing. There's no two ways about it.
And this one sucks especially hard because someone I love is hurting.
After his initial show of emotion right after his father's passing, Linus has been putting on a brave face these past few days. But he's going through it. He may have had a complicated relationship with his dad, and the guy had lived a good, long life, but it's still his dad. It's still a loss. It still brings up a ton of emotions and existential questions.
And the worst thing about Oakey arriving yesterday is that it's meant Ryde and I have had to pull back on how much we've been supporting him. It's one thing to be there for your boss and friend in his time of grief, it's another when you're in loveand together. Ryde and I had to spend the night at Ryde's while Oakey is staying with Linus to make it all seem normal. Except, this normal doesn't feel so normal anymore. It's notournormal.
I know there's a good chance Oakey will go ballistic when he finds out what's going on, but it's killing me having to withdraw and pretend that Linus is just our boss when he needs us now more than ever.
The outback sun glares through the stained glass of the small country church, casting coloured light across the worn floor. I shift uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew, fanning myself with the program Ryde and I helped Linus put together.
Linus is sitting directly in front of me, flanked by Oakey and Ryde to his left, and Wilby, Col, Fitz, and Muir on his right. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, comfort him, let him know that despite having to take a smaller role, I'm still here with him.
We'rewith him.
Ryde tosses a quick look over his shoulder, his face pale and his blue eyes filled with pain. This is killing him just as much as it's affecting me, but it'd raise way too many suspicions if we did something stupid like insist on sitting next to Linus.
This isn't the time to be thinking about what we want anyway. Linus is grieving, and if holding the ruse and pretending nothing is going on is what's required, then so be it. He knows we're thinking of him, he knows we love him, and he knows we wish we could be doing more, saying more, holding him more. The text thread between us is filled with countless messages that say exactly that because while we can't act on our feelings in public, nothing is going to stop us from bombarding him with words of love and support in private.
Despite his father not being a popular man, the church is filled. A couple of people get up to deliver eulogies. They're short. Direct. Respectful.
It kills me that I can't see Linus's face, that the only view I have of the man I love is the back of his head, his thick brown hair neatly styled and gelled, and his broad shoulders under his navy-blue button-up. He texted before the ceremony asking if he should wear a suit. With the stifling heat, we told him he'd be boiling and urged him to skip it. No one else is wearing one either.
The minister asks Linus to step up. My chest pinches with secondhand nerves. We've been texting about this, too, and I know Linus is torn. On the one hand, of course he has to eulogise his father. On the other hand, hereallydoesn't want to. It's not even the public speaking that bothers him as much as it is having to share such a private part of himself with basically the whole town.
He makes his way to the podium, moving stiffly. Slowly. When he reaches it, his eyes drift to Ryde, then to me. I give a discreet, encouraging nod, willing him to stay strong and get through this.
He runs a hand through his hair before realising it's slick with gel and pulls it back down quickly. Curling his fingers around the edges of the podium, he clears his throat and begins, "Dad wasn't a perfect man. In fact, he was a hard, difficult, and complex man. I think many of you gathered here today may feel the same way."
A low murmur breaks out amongst the congregation.
"We didn't always see eye to eye. We had our moments, good and bad. While he was alive, I paid more attention to the bad. Since his passing, several good memories I'd long forgotten have come back to me." He clears his throat to keep going. "I guess what I'm saying is don't wait until someone's gone to remember the good. No one's perfect. We're all doing what we can to survive. And if you love someone…" His eyes land squarely on me then shift to Ryde. And then to Oakey. "Tell them."
He mutters a quiet thanks, dips his head, and returns to his seat. As soon as he sits down, I run my hand over his shoulder and give it a squeeze. I don't care who's looking. After his beautiful words, I can't hold back anymore.
The reception takes place at the Scuttlebutt Pub, which is apparently a tradition around here. Ryde and I have only had a few all too brief moments with Linus, but Oakey is glued to his side like the annoyingly awesome best friend that he is.
I'm leaning against the bar, on my third drink, when Ryde walks up. "Hey. How are you feeling?"
I drain the last of my gin and tonic. "Not great. You?"
"Same. A diet Coke, please," Ryde requests from the bartender. "Do you want anything else?"
"Nah." I turn around and lean my back against the counter. "Should probably stop. Don't want to get too pissed."
Ryde gets his drink and spins around, too. No guesses as to who we're looking at. A bunch of people have circled around Linus and Oakey, no doubt offering their condolences, which is the right thing to do, but it's clear from the expression on his face that Linus is counting down the seconds until he can retreat to the safety of his house.
