Page 16 of If You Were Mine
“Good morning, dear boy.” She shook his paw, despite wearing cream-colored gloves, and I warmed towards the older woman.
She loved gossip. She didn’t thrive on it like some people, but she always wanted to know what was going on. The mayor’s wife was also kind enough to back away if someone truly didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t dig deep. Didn’t play with lives in a callous way. She was the queen of all things Cage Lake news and knew everything that went on in Cage Lake. Including as much as she could about the Cages themselves.
That hollow feeling echoed inside, but I ignored it. I didn’t see much of the Cages these days. It wasn’t that I was actively avoiding them, it was just easier if I did. Now that Isabella had moved to town, I saw her often enough, but she and Weston had spent most of the winter down in Denver with the other Cages, so I hadn’t seen her too much recently.
And Hudson liked hiding in his cabin. He still came into the bakery every once in a while to check on me. I wanted to think it was because he liked me, but with the scowl on his face, I had a feeling he was doing it because of Joshua.
Because somebody had to do it. It wasn’t as if Dorian was doing it anymore. He hadn’t been back to town since the accident. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral. Just a few texts here and there to make sure I was where I was supposed to be, and then the person who had mattered more to me in my life than anyone other than my brother had ghosted me.
But that was fine. I needed to learn how to be alone. I was getting better at it.
“How are you feeling, Harper?”
Ms. Patty reached out and gripped my forearm gently before patting it, bringing me out of my reverie.
I hated that question. What kind of answer were they looking for? If I wasn’t doing okay and I told them, they wouldn’t know what to say. Nobody wanted true honesty when they asked you how you were doing. You were just supposed to say you were doing fine so they could either believe you or see through your lies and pity you. Nobody had any answers.
What were you supposed to say when your brother died in a fucking plane crash?
My brother had only reached thirty a couple of months before he died and hadn’t even settled in on who he wanted to be in his life. And now he was gone, and I was just supposed to move on and pretend like I knew what the hell I was doing.
“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? As long as I have the sun on my face, and this guy right here, it’s going to be a good day.”
Not quite a lie, and not quite an answer. And Ms. Patty saw through it all. But thankfully she let me off with just a smile.
“It’s good to see you. I’ll stop by later. I want to get Mr. Mayor something special for his birthday. And you know how he loves that fudge cake of yours.”
I held back a smile at that, because I loved how she called him Mr. Mayor. I had a feeling that when the man finally stepped down from his position and somebody else took his place, he would always be Mr. Mayor to her.
The two loved each other more than anything, and though sometimes the cloying and closed-in feeling of living in a small town was almost too much for me, I did love Ms. Patty.
“Well, you know me and fudge. I can’t say no.”
“Same here, but I try not to overindulge.”
“There’s no such thing as overindulging. Not when it comes to fudge cake. You can have as much as you want and never feel guilty.”
“I like that. What a great concept.”
“Food is food. Not bad, only food. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you both happy with fudge.”
“Now, that’s what I like to hear. I’ll let you finish your run. I know we’re going to get a couple flurries later, so I will see you soon.”
“Sounds good.”
“And take care of yourself, Harper. We’re all here for you. You are not alone. Not in Cage Lake. We’re always here for each other.”
I hadn’t been prepared for the blow. I should have been, because Ms. Patty was truly trying. She wasn’t being cruel, just being herself. A caring person who wanted me to know I wasn’t alone.
Only I was.
When death broke through the darkness and stole life from the young, people crowded in, ensuring that you were never truly alone for the first moments. They had phone trees and casseroles. There was always a covered dish ready for me to dive into so I wouldn’t have to cook. Only cooking and baking was how I focused, how I was able to push through my own thoughts.
Eventually the visits ended and they went back to their own business. Their own lives. People moved on, because life continued. Even when death lied.
Part of me wanted to scream at the world and ask why it kept moving on. Why it kept trudging through as if my world hadn’t ended.
But that would just be selfish.
