Page 91 of Sweeper
Sometimes I fear
I’ll never know
But I know you want for me
To be happy
Breezes feel so sweet
But they can pack a sting
Like in a storm
Every now and then
It’s a salty breeze
And it burns.
All I wish, is to know
If you’re happy?
All I wish, is to know
Are you happy?
I strum the last line and look up, shocked to see tears falling down Zander’s face. I gasp and swing my guitar off my body and place it on the bed before crawling over to him. “Are you okay?” I ask, wrapping my hands around his arm.
He nods, his body trembling beneath the sheet. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. What is it?” I drag my thumb along his tearstained cheeks. “Is it your dad?”
He expels a garbled noise and shakes his head. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I inwardly chastise myself for selecting that song of all my songs. So stupid of me when it hasn’t been that long since he lost his father. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have played that one.”
“No, Daphney. It was beautiful,” he says, grabbing my hands and gripping them between us. “I actually…” He clears his throat harshly. “It made me think about my dad a lot.” He wipes away the tears in his eyes but more dampen his cheeks. “This is a weird thing to say, but…I never cried after he died.”
I frown, staring at him in the dark. “What?”
He inhales a deep breath. “I was too busy planning the funeral and taking care of my mom. And then I was playing soccer in Seattle still, and fuck, I don’t know. Somewhere in dealing with all that shit, I just…blocked out the pain.”
I swallow the knot in my throat as his tormented face tears through me. “I know how you feel.”
“You do?” Zander asks, his voice guttural as he gazes at me with questions I’m not entirely sure I have the answers to.
But maybe it’s not answers he needs. Maybe he just needs understanding.
I steel myself before I continue, “As the youngest of my family, I was so protected when Marisa died that I was literally shielded from so much of the pain everyone was going through in the aftermath. It was like they couldn’t trust that I could handle Theo’s PTSD or Hayden’s thoughts of suicide because he couldn’t stop blaming himself for Marisa’s death. My mum and my dad surrounded me with quietness, and it made me crazy because I wanted to sit in the pain. Wallow in it. I wanted to talk about her, remember her. Acknowledge the loss of her. It’s been ten years, and they still try not to bring up Marisa’s name around me because they don’t want to upset me.”
“It sounds like they love you,” Zander says, his voice wobbly.
“I know they do,” I reply honestly. “And I respect that they are grieving in their own unique way. But I also needed to grieve in my own way. Phoebe and I talk about Marisa a lot. Sometimes it’s sad, but usually, it’s funny. Talking about her helps preserve my memories. I want her to still be a part of my life.” I lace my fingers through Zander’s and ask, “Can you tell me more about him?”
“About my dad?” Zander croaks, his voice rising in surprise.
I nod slowly. “Yeah, why not?”
