Page 5 of Love Resurrected
“No,” I say. “We cremated her.”
“Like ice cream?”
“Like fire.”
“I not understand.”
“Hey, Mathews, you mind not introducing my kid to D-E-A-D things?”
“You’re the one who flushed her turtle.”
“It was a fish,” he grunts as one of the boys, I’m not sure which one, jumps on his back while he’s leaning over to pour cement from the bucket into the hole. “Brian, off my back or I’ll bury you in cement.”
“I Braden!”
Chance straightens and looks at the boy. “No, you’re Brian.” Brian/Braden slides down his back to the ground.
“Braden!” Brian/Braden stomps his foot.
“Well then, where’s Brian?” Chance asks.
Brian/Braden shrugs his shoulders.
The two boys, Brian and Braden, are identical twin balls of energy zipping around, chattering constantly, and forever underfoot. Brianna, the girl, is softer spoken, but sure minded as hell. I’ve tried my best to ignore the kids while we’ve been working, but Brianna, the only fraternal triplet, has taken a liking to me. And by liking, I mean she won’t leave my side and insists on asking me hundreds of questions.
“Which one is he?” I ask Brianna, keeping my voice low, in case Chance wants to cheat.
“Is Brian. They trick Daddy all time.” She sighs.
We finish the final anchor hole and sit back to wait for the cement to dry. Chance tosses me a cold beer and we take a seat on the patio furniture with Brianna in tow.
I’ve only recently started hanging out with friends again. And by recently, I mean today. Kat’s death hit me hard. Harder than I ever imagined it would.
I took a leave of absence from work for almost a year, locked myself in the house with a fuck-ton of booze, and didn’t leave or talk to anyone for months. Didn’t shower, barely ate, just laid on the couch, watching everything that came on channel nine, because I couldn’t find the remote. Can’t say my social interactions were much better when I went back to work. But that’s a story for another time.
The best thing I’ve done for myself lately is working out multiple times a day to make up for all the muscle I lost during my pity party. I’m in better shape now than I’ve ever been.
This is in part because our friends staged an intervention to get me off booze and out of the house. And in part because I promised Kat, before she died, that I would continue to live my life. For a long time, I wasn’t doing that. Not even close. So, after three years, it’s what I’m trying to do now.
I hate every fucking minute of it.
Remi comes out to sit with us and watch as the two boys run around. “Brad, what do I have to do to get you to sign up for the auction?”
“What auction?”
“The law enforcement bachelor auction. It’s to raise money for the families of the fallen fund.”
“No.”
“Brad—”
“Fuck no.”
“What if I let you drink something stronger than beer?”
“Let me?”
She looks at me, eyebrows raised. I try to return the look, only sterner than she, and fail. I’m in the wrong here anyway. I’m the one who was drinking too much. The one who said he would stick to beer and wine from then on out. But Remi is the one who keeps me on track and makes sure I stick to it. She’s the one who checks in with me every day to gauge my emotional well-being versus my alcohol consumption. Between her and Ethan, not a day goes by where I don’t get a phone call with a pep talk. Not that I’m complaining, I am appreciative to have friends who love me so much.
