Page 5 of When I Come Back
His face flashes with surprise when his eyes land on me, probably because my presence here not only wasn’t the plan, but no one in this town has seen me in thirteen years. “Mr. Grant, Ms. Ashford. I’m so sorry for your loss. Please, follow me right this way.” He motions for us to follow him into a sitting room with a prominent fireplace.
The decor matches that of the foyer, with a navy couch facing two plush, off-white chairs, a stone fireplace off to the left, and a coffee table in the middle. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner. There’s a box of tissues on the coffee table, and my eyes catch on it and can’t seem to let go. How many boxes does he go through in a month? Does he buy them in bulk? Are they one-ply or the soft, premium kind? He seems like he would spring for the expensive brand name.
I look over to Thea, who has taken a seat in one of the chairs, and she shoots me a quick, curious look, snapping me out of my daze. I’m doing it again. Dr. Ferris would tell me I’mdissociating. Anything to avoid thinking about why I’m here. Back in my hometown. In this room. Standing in front of the sweet man with the kind eyes who will be responsible for putting my parents six feet in the ground.
Fuck.I can’t do this. The short reprieve Mr. Goldfinch’s presence brought me has disappeared, and I’m now seconds away from hyperventilating. I didn’t get to talk to them again. I have barely even thought about them in years after the blow up that drove us apart. Just fleeting half-thoughts, mostly in the background of memories when my mind drifted to my childhood.To her.
Both Thea and Mr. Goldfinch are now seated and looking at me expectantly. I’ve barely taken two steps into the room, and I am seriously considering turning around, running out of the building, jumping into my rental car, driving the 3,000 miles back to Seattle, and pretending this isn’t happening. My lungs feel like they’re seizing. I clench my fists where they hide in the pockets of my jeans. I can’t do this.
“Where’s Brooks?” My even tone surprises me. It doesn’t betray any of what’s going on in my chest. I can’t take a full breath, but I sound as if I’m asking about the weather. Thea glances up at me with a look I can’t decipher. Huh, I guess I’ve lost the ability to read her.
“I don’t know. He… took off on his motorcycle shortly after we got the call. I’ve been trying to reach him, but he won’t answer my calls or texts. That’s… why I called you.”
That doesn’t surprise me. It’s what Brooks does when shit gets hard. Rides off on his bike—motorcycle now—blows off steam God-knows-where, and reappears like nothing ever happened. He’s been that way since we were kids. Not sure he’ll be able to pretend this one away though. And if he’s not answering Thea’s calls or texts, he’s certainly not going to pick up for me.
There’s a long pause, and Mr. Goldfinch clears his throat. “Would you like to have a seat, Cary? You can stand if you’re more comfortable, but we do have a few things to discuss.” After another hesitant second, I take my hands out of my pockets, sit in the other chair, and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I know this was very sudden,” he continues. “Have you given any thought to the kind of service you’d like for them? Did your parents ever discuss their wishes in the event of their passing?”
Thea sniffles, but I don’t dare look. If I see her crying I’m going to lose it, and I don’t know what that would even look like. I shake my head in answer to Mr. Goldfinch’s question without making eye contact with either of them. Honestly, Thea would probably know more than I do if they had any wishes in that regard. Maybe I should have just let her handle this alone.
Mr. Goldfinch nods in understanding. He pulls a brochure from a pile on the table and opens it to an array of pictures featuring different colored wood and fabric. “We have several options for caskets. Thankfully, we have your family plot reserved, they will lie with your grandparents…” His voice fades out. I’m watching his lips move, but all I hear is the same buzzing sound from last night. That and the tick-tock of the clock behind me. The seconds pass, minutes, hours maybe. I can’t tell anymore.
“Can I just take this with me and look it over tonight?” I blurt out. Again, my voice is much calmer than my thoughts. I sound bored even to my own ears. The room falls silent—I guess I cut him off mid-sentence.
“Certainly.” Mr. Goldfinch’s tone is as kind as ever. “Let me go grab a few more from my office so you can make decisions about flowers and headstones as well. Excuse me.” He stands and quietly shuffles out of the room, leaving Thea and me alone. We both stare ahead where Mr.Goldfinch sat just a moment ago.
“How’s your mom?” I finally say when I don’t hear the funeral director coming back anytime soon.
Thea scoffs. She shakes her head and looks down at her hands in her lap. Her fingers fidget with her many rings, a habit she’s had since we were kids. Since I started finding rings left behind by tourists and giving them to her. I recognize a few, but she has several new ones. Including one on the ring finger of her left hand. I can’t drag my eyes away from it.Is she married? Engaged? She can’t be. Brooks would have told me. Right?
“Did I say something wrong?” My voice is calm despite the turmoil I feel inside. I know I sound put-together. I know this isn’t how people outwardly react when someone close to them dies.
“Do you even care?” Her words are angry, and the outburst catches me off-guard. “It certainly doesn’t seem like it, so why are you even here, Carrington? I’m sorry this is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I think your parents deserve a lit—” She’s cut off by Mr. Goldfinch entering the room again. He looks us over and can clearly feel the tension. With a sympathetic smile, he hands over the pamphlets, then we say our thanks and make our way outside.
As soon as we’re on the sidewalk, Thea pulls out her phone and starts dialing. She puts the phone to her ear and a few feet of space between us.
“Hey,” she says quietly to whomever is on the other end, her back to me. “Yeah, just finished.” Her tone is different to the one she used with me inside. It’s full of warmth and something else I can’t quite put a name to. There’s a pause while she listens. “I ran into Carrington… yeah, he’s here.” A pause. “Mhm, he’s going to take me back to RED to grab my car now… no, I’m okay. I’m going to head home. Can I see you in the morning?”
I finally identify her tone.Tenderness. She’s speaking to someone she cares for. I can’t remember the last time I heard hersound this way toward me. Long before I stopped hearing from her entirely, that’s for sure.
I start walking toward the car and stop in my tracks when I hear, “Yeah, okay. Love you, babe.” My heart stops mid-beat. My eyes snap to her as she turns around. I’m not sure what my face is doing, but the small smile the phone call pulled out of her quickly falls, replaced by… sadness? Anger? Worse yet, could it be indifference? She’s so guarded, I can’t read her anymore.
Love you, babe.Of course she has someone. They’re probably engaged judging by the ring on her finger. I don’t know why the thought tightens my chest. It’s not like I haven’t moved on. And if…thishadn’t happened, I would probably be with my own “babe” right now.
Shit, I promised I’d call her when I got here.
We break eye contact and get in the car. The ride back to the restaurant is silent, and for once, I can’t stand it.
Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult to find a last minute hotel room. The town gets a huge influx of tourists and vacationers during the summer months drawn by the lake, but in the off season, it’s just the locals.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the pamphlets from the funeral home lie beside me. I tossed them there when I got back, right before I ran to the bathroom and emptied the bile from my stomach. I don’t think I ate anything today. There may have been coffee at the airport before I boarded, but the memory is hazy.
My thumb trembles as it hovers over Brooks’ name on my contact list. I run my other hand through my hair a few times, down my face, and over the scruff I keep trimmed short. It’s been three… no, four months since we spoke. Maybe more. We dial each other a few times a year, exchange a few words, and wrap up each call in under ten minutes. I thought he was keeping me updated on what was going on here. He always told me, “Same shit, different day.” And on the rare occasion when I got up the nerve to ask about Thea, he always told me she was fine. I’ve clearly missed so much.
Before I get a chance to click on Brooks’ name, my phone rings in my hand.That Girl From That Barflashes across the screen. An image of the flirty face she directed my way when she handed my phone back to me after programming her number in it six years ago flashes through my mind. I was hooked right then and there.
“What’s up, Arizona? How you likin’ the rain, girl?” I say automatically and cringe. I’m running on fumes and apparently just falling back on habit. It’s how I’ve greeted her pretty much daily since our first date where we stumbled upon an outdoor showing ofTwilightat a local park and stayed to watch as a joke.I know it’s not appropriate, but my brain has completely checked out.
“Bear? Baby, how’s it going out there? Are you okay?” Her concern for me is evident in her words.
