Page 61 of Wrangling Hearts
For a moment, all I could hear was his quick breathing. “I…I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and then, softer, “Keep an eye on her for me.” Then he hung up.
The rest of the night dragged on in what I could only equate to a slow form of torture. So many tears, so many ‘I’m sorry foryour losses’, so much devastation. I was just glad Claire slept through it all.
I tried to be as helpful as I could, but I just felt like a nuisance and an intruder. I couldn’t bring myself to leave them, though. Today had dragged up my own grief in ways I hadn’t expected, memories of when my own mother died fresh in my mind. I didn’t want to be alone with them, probably as much as the Hayes family didn’t want to be alone right now, either.
We were in the living room, the house too quiet, too still. There was a warmth missing now that Charlotte was no longer here. “Have you heard from Tess?” I asked no one in particular, unable to take the silence anymore.
“I called her from Claire’s phone right after,” Savannah said, staring at the TV that wasn’t even on, her voice emotionless. “She didn’t answer.”
“Maybe she’ll call back soon,” I said, trying to be optimistic. What could have been keeping her away from her family at a time like this? I didn’t understand it.
“I doubt it,” Delilah snapped, scowling at the ground, her chin quivering. “Hasn’t come home in eight fucking years. Only really speaks to Claire. She can stay gone as far as I’m concerned. I’m more a member of this family than she is.”
Leave it to Delilah Chase to be about as subtle as a bomb, regardless of the circumstances.
“I can’t do this,” Savannah whimpered, springing up from the couch and racing up the stairs. Delilah ran after her, a worried look on her face. The muffled sounds of sobbing flowed down the stairs, making my chest tighten.
It was just Emmett and me now, sitting in weighted silence that made me feel like I was drowning. He was stoic, calm. It was unsettling, but then again, he was well acquainted with death. More so than any of us. I found myself wishing I had even a fraction of that strength right now.
“You’re a good man, Beau.” His words cut right through me; it felt like I was failing miserably at this. But who the hell wanted to be a pro at grieving? “I’m glad my sister has you.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m the lucky one,” I replied.
He stared down at the carpet, his mind far off. “When our dad died, Claire held us all together through sheer will; Tess was the one who lost it and ran away. But Tess was our father’s daughter, the epitome of a daddy’s girl.”
The muscles in his jaw ticked as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He looked over at me, his eyes had that same haunting look they had the last time we talked about death. “Claire was our mother’s. This…this might ruin her, Beau. And I think you might be the only one to stop that from happening.”
I swallowed roughly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I promised him. I’d told Claire the same sentiment repeatedly, and I realized in this moment that I meant it as much about her family as I did her. As far as I was concerned, they were my family now, too.
I joltedawake to the broken wail of Claire beside me while she tossed and turned in her sleep. I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. “Claire,” I whispered, stroking her face as she cried out for Charlotte. “Claire, wake up.”
She woke up with a gasp, searching around frantically until her eyes met mine. “Beau?”
“I’m here, baby.” I brushed her hair off her forehead. She was drenched in sweat, her eyes bloodshot.
Her chin quivered, eyes flooding with tears. “My mom—” her face crumpled, and she flung herself at me.
She cried even harder now than she had earlier. Cried to the point of hyperventilating, to the point that I was crying right along with her.
“You’ve got to slow down or you’ll make yourself sick.” I cupped her face in my hands. “Take a deep breath,” I said, but she didn’t listen. Her face was beet-red, her body shaking.
“I c-can’t,” she sobbed. “I don’t w-want to.” Her head fell into my chest. “I just want my mama.”
Bright light flooded the room, and Savannah stood in the doorway, watching her sister fall apart in my arms. “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed, panicked, my voice shaking.
“Get her in the bath.”
Together, Savannah and I stripped Claire and got her in the shower while she cried, the water like ice at first. She jolted when it hit her, the shock enough to calm her down slightly. I stood behind her, fully clothed, taking her weight as the water beat down on her and heated up slowly. Eventually, she settled more, only little hiccuping whimpers leaving her.
I reached for her shampoo and massaged it into her scalp, her body loosening as I went. “Turn around, baby,” I instructed softly, and she listened, although it was slow. The kind of slowness that came with bone-deep exhaustion.
I rinsed the soap out of her hair and washed her body while Savannah conditioned her hair, scrunching it into her curls. We worked together in silence, focused on Claire, who had gone quiet, too. I could hardly stand to look at her, at the vacancy in her eyes that were usually so full of life.
When we got her out, I dried her off and wrapped a towel around her. I looked to Savannah. “What about her hair?” It was dripping wet, even though Savannah had wrung out all the water. It was like a sponge, having soaked up every drop.
“You should braid it,” Savannah said.
“I don’t know how.”
