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Blake runs to me, looking at the chaos in the bathroom before crouching in front of me. “What happened?” he asks, masking the panic.
My throat dries as I try to explain. “It was my stepfather … in the mirror,” I answer, my hands trembling as I tug on the hem of my shirt.
He pulls me into a hug before whispering gently, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” He runs his fingers through my hair in a reassuring manner. “Let’s get these wounds patched up.”
As he helps me to my feet and leads me away from the bathroom, I feel myself drifting away. My body is moving. But it feels like I’m not in control, like I’m watching myself from a distance, like a movie.
All at once, the colors of the world return and I find myself back on the couch. Blake finishes bandaging me up, his fingers brushing against mine. Gazing at me, his stormy blue eyes full of affection, he kisses me on the forehead, and I take comfort in his touch.
As long as Blake is with me, I know I will be okay.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
HER
Itake a drag of my cigarette and slowly exhale, the smoke curling around me like a blanket. Inhaling another puff, I feel a sudden emptiness as I watch the fiery embers at my fingertips, wishing it could burn away all my problems.
I stub out the cigarette on the concrete stoop just as Nancy exits her car. She comes toward me, an ashtray in her hand. “Honey, you know smoking will solve nothing,” she chastises gently.
“I know,” I say, my voice soft and defeated.
She makes herself comfortable beside me, offering the ashtray. I drop the butt inside as she pats my knee in a comforting gesture. “Grief is a heavy burden to bear. I’ve experienced my share of it over my lifetime. Friends, family, my husband …” She trails off, lost in the past.
I glance at her, pondering how she coped with everything. When death follows you like a shadow, how do you find solace? The silence between us stretches on, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. A heavy weight presses on my chest like sadness is seeping through my skin.
“But one thing I’ve learned is that time never stands still. And usually what seems unbearable today will be manageable tomorrow.” She turns to me and smiles warmly. “If you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, eventually you’ll get through this. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it’s true.”
I nod, managing a small smile. “Thanks, Nancy.”
She stands up, extending her hand to me, and I take it. Thankfully, my hand is uninjured; I only suffered a few scrapes on my arm from the broken mirror. She helps me up off the stoop. “After I’m done here, would you like to have tea with me and chat, Ms. Underwood?”
“It’s Mia,” I correct. “And I’d love that, thanks. But I’ll have to take a rain check. As you can see”—I nod down at my all-black attire—“I’m heading off to my friend’s funeral.”
“Oh Mia,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I said this before, but I’m so sorry.”
I swallow hard and try to keep my emotions in check. “It’s alright. I just wish … I wish I could have done something more for her in this life.”
“I’m sure you did your best, honey.” As a car pulls up to the curb, she notices my gaze being drawn towards it. “Looks like your ride is here.” She hugs me. “We can have tea anytime you like. And if you need someone to talk to, you have my number.”
I take a deep breath before reluctantly pulling away from her. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You take care of yourself now, okay?” she says, giving me a wave before collecting the ashtray and disappearing into the apartment building.
Blake rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “Ready to go?”
I circle the car and slide into the passenger seat, seeing his tailored black suit and tie. “You already changed?” I ask, shutting the door.
“Yeah, I came to work prepared,” he answers as I buckle my seatbelt. “The boss let me off early. I’m his best employee, after all.” I’m unable to muster a smile at his joke, and he looks at me, his expression going somber. “It’s going to be alright, Mia.”
“Let’s just get this over with, okay?”
I caress the necklace I wear, the one Jen made especially for me, stroking the crystal pendant as we drive into the late morning fog that covers Fallbank.
When the funeral home doors swing open, a wave of floral fragrance and cloying perfume assaults my senses. As I step inside, my chest tightens, my eyes darting around the room to take in the solemn expressions of those in attendance. Soft music plays in the background, and people murmur to each other in hushed tones.
The minister who will lead the service greets us, his hair gray and his face weathered. “We’re glad you could make it,” he says, shaking Blake’s hand before moving on to mine. “What is your relationship to the deceased, may I ask?”
