Page 113 of Shattered Souls
Grayson shifts beside her, his hand coming up to rest on her small shoulder. I see the pain in his eyes as he struggles to find the words. How do you explain death to a three-year-old? She might not have known Gran—never met her—but that doesn’t make it any easier to explain to her the permanence of death.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. “Gran... Gran is in a special place now, sweetie,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “She’s up in the sky, like a star. Watching over us.”
Aurora’s brow furrows, and I can tell she’s trying to process this. “Like the stars we see at night?” she asks, her voice full of wonder.
“Yes, exactly like that.” I force a small smile. “She’s up there, watching us, making sure we’re okay.”
Aurora nods, her little mind accepting this explanation for now. She turns her attention back to the straps on her seat, her fingers fiddling with them absentmindedly. Grayson’s hand tightens just a bit on her shoulder, and I can see the struggle in his eyes. This isn’t just about explaining something complicated to a child—it’s about dealing with his own grief, his own loss.
Logan releases a long breath, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. We share a look, one that says so much without saying anything at all. We’re all feeling it, the sadness, the loss. The car feels like it’s filled with it, suffocating in a way that’s hard to escape.
The trees blur past as we drive, the world outside moving while everything inside feels like it’s standing still. We’re heading to the cemetery to say goodbye to someone who meant so much to Grayson, someone who was there for him. Theonlyperson who was ever truly there for him.
While Grayson needs today to say goodbye, I’m attending the funeral to thank this incredible woman who gave Grayson a perspective he would never have had. A woman without whoseinfluence I shudder to think what Grayson would have become. Just like his father, I imagine.
As we pull up to the cemetery, the car slows down, and I see the people gathered, dressed in black, standing in small groups. They’re waiting, murmuring amongst themselves, the somber mood evident in their mannerisms.
The cemetery is a mix of old and new, with weathered tombstones standing alongside freshly dug graves. The sight of it all sends a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the finality of today. Grayson shifts beside me, his gaze fixed on the gathering crowd, his face unreadable, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
Logan turns off the engine, and the sudden silence inside the car is somehow even more deafening. Royce finally tears his gaze away from the window, glancing back at us with a look that mirrors how we’re all feeling—heavy, tired, not quite ready, but knowing we have to be.
Aurora’s small hand reaches for mine, her fingers curling around my own. “Mommy?” she asks softly, almost whispering, “Will Gran be okay up there?”
I squeeze her hand gently, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Yes, baby,” I whisper back, my voice catching in my throat. “Gran will be okay.”
As we step out of the car, the weight of what’s ahead of us settles in fully—the reality of it all. We join the others, making our way toward the small gathering. Each step is heavier than the last, and as we approach the crowd, I feel Grayson’s hand brush against mine, a silent reassurance that we’re in this together, that we’ll get through it, no matter how hard it feels right now.
31
GRAYSON
The day we bury Gran is a beautiful spring day. It’s early March, so there’s still a bite to the air, but the transition from winter to spring is palpable. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the otherwise quiet cemetery. The snow has mostly melted, and patches of green grass are coming back to life, although there’s still the odd clump of white stacked against a headstone or lying beneath the shade of a tree.
Spring was Gran’s favorite time of year. She loved watching the bare trees return to life, tiny buds blooming beneath the sun’s rays. Bird song fills the air with a strangely cheerful symphony despite the mournful day. The priest rambles on as I watch a pair of robins flit from tree to tree, their vibrant red breasts a stark contrast against the pale sky.
Gran will be happy resting here amongst the plants and birds she used to enjoy watching from the large bay window in the nursing home. With Riley’s warm hand tucked in mine, her presence a strength at my side, the world feels strangely peaceful, wrapped in a quiet serenity that’s hard to describe.
The chirping of birds mixed with the crisp breeze that has chilled my nose and fingertips reminds me that no matter howharsh the winter, spring always follows, bringing a sense of hope and possibility. I cling to that hope as they lower Gran into the ground, and I say a final goodbye to the last happy link to my childhood.
As dirt is thrown on top of her coffin, my gaze slides to the headstone beside her. My mother’s. There’s not that same grief as I linger on her grave, but that aching emptiness of loss resonates.
Riley squeezes my hand, her voice low as she leans in. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m hanging in there.” For a moment, I fall into those hazel eyes. Today, the green in them is sharper. Perhaps it’s the spring weather bringing her back to life, too. Now that we have Aurora back, it feels like all of us are trudging out of the frozen tundra. It doesn’t need to be said that we were all starting to lose hope despite our efforts. Fear had crept into our systems, slowly paralyzing us. None of us wanted to be the one to admit it. To put that out in the universe, but we were all thinking it.
However, having Aurora back does not mean that she is entirely safe. Even now, I can feel the probing of my father’s gaze on us. Specifically onthem—Riley and Aurora.
When Aurora started to become restless, and Logan bundled her into his arms, murmuring quietly to her, I noticed from the corner of my eye how my father’s jaw ticked. Admittedly, the way he has possessively watched them since we arrived has dampened some of the smugness I felt when we walked in—the five of us striding down the aisle as one. As a family.
Iknowmy father. He won’t be an easy nemesis to best, although we do have the upper hand now. Not to mention the fact that Iknowhim—better than he would probably like to admit.
“Grayson.” My name is nothing more than a whisper on the light breeze: a wariness, a warning. Blinking, I realize I’vebeen staring into Riley’s eyes for an inappropriately long time. Wrenching my gaze away, I focus instead on the pile of dirt now marking Gran’s grave. My chest pinches painfully. I still can’t believe she’s not here. How many times in the past week have I grabbed my keys to go to the nursing home only to remember that she’s not there?
Riley’s hand squeezes mine, and I tear my gaze away from the grave, noticing that guests have begun to file out of the rows. I keep one eye on my father, who lingers nearby, while I accept condolences and thank people for coming. Quite a few of the older employees from the office attended, along with a few residents and staff from the nursing home.
As the last of the guests walk away, my father finally steps up. “Son.” He claps a hand on my shoulder, his face the picture of polite grief. Except that’s where it stops. That grief, that pain… it doesn’t bleed into his eyes the way I know it has spilled into mine. Since discovering the truth, I’ve noticed the cold calculation in my father’s eyes, the falseness of his actions, especially at that fucking dinner. Still, for the first time, I see howfakeit all is. How fakeheis. Does he even know what genuine emotion is? Is he capable of feelinganything? He’s perfected the facial expressions, the right things to say, the correct way to behave in any given situation, but I highly suspect that’s where it ends.
By the time I respond with a forced, “Dad,” his focus has already slithered away, lingering on Riley for longer than is appropriate before skipping over Logan and Royce to land on Aurora. Wide-eyed, Aurora burrows herself deeper into Logan’s chest. The action makes Riley stiffen, and I rub my thumb over the back of her hand in an attempt to soothe her.
