Page 4 of His to Cherish
“He’ll need some comfort,” one woman said, a predatory gleam in her eye that lacked genuine sympathy.
“Yeah, and I’ll be the one giving it to him.”
“I bet he can give it real good.”
They chuckled.
I felt like vomiting on all of them.
Their conversation was revolting and crass. My stomach churned with disgust and I glared at them, wanting to dump my lemonade all over their fake blond hair extensions and scold them for their inappropriate behavior.
Instead, I inhaled a large calming breath and headed out the back door. I wanted distance from the crowd before I said my own goodbyes and headed home.
—
The late afternoon had a cool breeze, typical for March in Michigan. I looked to the cloudless sky and breathed in the fresh air, when I heard a sound.
I turned my head toward it and saw Aidan at the edge of the patio. He was sitting on a wood bench, elbows on knees, and a light plume of smoke billowed from a cigarette in his left hand.
He didn’t look my way. I didn’t want to intrude on his quiet time. He looked vulnerable and so incredibly pained that my heart hurt to look at him. I turned to leave, my hand on the door handle, when his voice stopped me.
“I never do this.” He still didn’t look at me. I wasn’t sure if he was speaking to me or was trying to break the heavy, mournful silence. It was thick with tension, choking me.
Aidan brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. The paper turned red and sizzled as it burned bright.
I should have gone inside. I should have gone home. Instead, I took a step toward him. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He looked away. “There’s no one to tell.”
His sorrow reached out to enfold me, and I was paralyzed in the wake of his sadness. I watched as he dropped his head, shook it once, and took another puff from his cigarette.
I longed to comfort him, to find a way to ease his burden, but I stayed silent and unmoving.
I had absolutely nothing helpful to do or say in this situation.
“What about Derrick’s mom?” Immediately, heat flooded my cheeks. I shook my head and held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
Aidan stared out at the empty backyard. “She left when we were eighteen. We were young and she decided she wanted to be free and unattached.”
I knew that, but I was still surprised to hear him speak so simply about it. He said the words as if they meant nothing. As if he had spent years perfecting the lack of emotion.
He continued talking, not looking at me, and I had a feeling the words were more for himself than for me.
“We were sixteen when she got pregnant.” He paused, shook his head, and I saw a hint of a sad smile on his lips. The deep lines around the corners of his eyes crinkled, making him seem older than I knew he was.
“Kids ourselves, really. We tried to make it work. At least, I did. When Derrick turned two, she decided she didn’t want to be held down anymore.”
I said nothing. There was nothing to say. I couldn’t claim to understand a woman who would abandon her child because she couldn’t handle the responsibility. A bitter taste grew in my mouth for a woman I’d never met. Over the years, I had learned several things about Aidan and Derrick, even if it was from a greater distance than I truly wanted. The first one being that they were both honorable men. Derrick was a great kid—one of the best. He had to have learned his manners and compassion and values from someone. It certainly couldn’t have been from the woman who had walked away from him.
It wasn’t hard to feel disgust toward the mother who hadn’t come to her own son’s funeral.
“She’s not here,” I observed.
He laughed. It was sad and harsh and sent a shiver down my spine. He didn’t look at me when he answered. “No, I have no way to reach her.”
He turned to me with his eyes narrowed and eyebrows raised. He took another drag from the cigarette as if he just remembered he had it in his hand, and I watched the smoke plume and drift into the air as he exhaled.
“And what about you, Chelsea? You still talk to your ex?”
