Page 90 of Beautifully Shattered
“No!” I wail, feeling like my heart is being torn from my chest all over again. “I can’t. I just can’t!”
The door opens, and the chilly May air hits us, making me curl into Ringo’s chest even more, wishing I could burrow under his skin and disappear forever.
“Give us a few minutes,” Ringo says to someone outside, and the door closes again, taking away the chill.
For the longest time, Ringo holds me. Never pushing me to move. Never rushing me through my grief.
I don’t know how long we sit there like that, but eventually, his steady strength anchors me, and my sobs subside.
I realise then that even though I’m not ready, I know I never will be.
Because what mother is ever ready to bury her child?
I willneverbe ready.
Using the tissues tucked into the back of the seat, Ringo wipes my face, and my sorrow hardens into cold acceptance thatthishas to be done.
I have to get out of this car and bury my daughter.
And then, I have to slaughter everyone who had a hand in her death.
When I’m finally ready to get out of the car, Ringo steps out first, offering me his hand as I rise on shaky legs to face a group of people who mean the world to me, all wearing yellow, just as I’d asked.
The moment my eyes land on Lexi, we stumble towards each other. My beautiful friend folds me into her arms as my knees nearly give way beneath the crushing pain in my chest.
“I have to bury my little girl today,” I sob into her hair, and she shudders with her own tears as she nods.
“I know. I’m so sorry, Abs.”
I feel Ringo at my back, and when we pull apart, I see Ayden at hers, ready to give her the support she needs.
God, I’m so glad she found him.
With Ringo on one side, and Lexi on the other, I face the crowd gathered. Some are my friends. Others are new acquaintances, members of the Southern Sadists, yet not a cut is in sight.
The Doxies are dressed in yellow sundresses, despite the cold air swirling around us.
The Southern Sadists are in their usual jeans and boots, but up top they have on yellow collared shirts, pressed and buttoned all the way up. A sight I never thought I’d see.
A week ago today, I attended the funeral of eight of their men, wearing the leather they all wear, and today, they are here looking like civilians, all for me.
For my little Bobbi.
Each of them holds a yellow rose in one hand, and a small gift for my little girl in the other.
“You ready?” Ringo asks softly, and even though I’m not ready, I nod.
We pass by the crowd, my friends and Ringo’s mum and sisters amongst them, and we start walking towards the small orchard. Its path has been lined with small vases of yellow roses on the grass, and small wind chimes hang from some of the shrubs, tinkling gently in the breeze.
The crowd follows behind us, and with each step, my knees nearly buckle, but Ringo and Lexi keep me upright.
Keep me strong.
Keep me moving.
Halfway down the hill, the Jacaranda tree comes into view, most of the leaves already shed, and the few remaining are a bright, glowing yellow, as if the tree somehow knew what was coming before I did.
The closer we get, the harder it is for my legs to move as a small white casket resting above an open grave comes into view. Right next to Hope’s.
