Grace, Lucy, Ricky, and Sid were all there. They never left. Not during either of the viewings and not during the Mass the next morning. I was grateful for their attendance, but not once did I speak to any of them. The quiet consistency of their presence was enough to set balance to the verbal assault I was receiving from Laura’s angry, bitter, heartbroken family and friends, and I held on to that in moments when I thought I’d snap—and there were many.
My father came only to the church service.
I hadn’t known until I was carrying the casket of my unborn son out of the church and passed Dad, wearing his Sunday best. My eyes met his, and for the briefest moment, my heart wrenched with the desperation to throw myself into his arms and cry like a little boy might withhis father. I’d never experienced that, not that I could remember, but the urge was overwhelming in that moment.
But there was no affection or sympathy to be found in his glare. No invitation to grieve at his bosom. Only disappointment and hatred.
And all I could think was,There’s the dad I remember.
The only person I hadn’t seen at all was Brett, and that was strange when I’d expected to. He knew when the services were—Laura’s mom had told me she’d gotten in touch with him after I told her I couldn’t—and for him to not attend at all was odd and confusing. I worried for him, I worried for the girls, and while standing by Laura’s gravesite, I thought I should stop by his place and at least make sure they were okay. As okay as they could be. But then, when all was said and done, I reluctantly tore my eyes from the grave, wanting nothing more than to throw myself in with them. I was about to walk toward Sid’s car when I raised my eyes … and I saw him.
Brett.
He was leaning against a tree, standing off in the distance. He wore a black suit and tie and a stony, unmoving expression on his face. I didn’t waste a moment on hesitation as I approached him, thinking only of the girls.
I needed to know if they were okay, if they needed anything, if I could do anything, and as I came closer, I opened my mouth to say, “Brett, how are L—”
He didn’t let me finish before punching me square in the jaw.
God, it hurt, and, oh, it felt amazing. It felt so good tofeelsomething.
“Hit me again,” I said, looking into his eyes.Begging. “Do it. Hit me.”
And he did. He threw another punch at my nose so hard that the world was set off-balance and my feet stumbled over the spinning ground.
Before I could beg him to hit me again, he grabbed the lapels of my jacket, pulled my bleeding nose up to his, and hissed, “Don’t youevertalk to me again. Don’t come near me. And don’t eventhinkabout reaching out to my daughters. You will not speak to them, you will notseethem, and if I find out that you eventhinkof them, I will kill you. Do you understand me? Their mother is dead because of you, and now you are dead tothem.”
I said nothing as he thrust me away, tossing me back like I was no better than a piece of dirty trash. I bumped into Sid—always just a few steps behind me—before I lost my footing on the ground. I stumbled onto my ass, and Sid came to stand between me and Brett, both of us heartbroken and mourning the woman we loved.
“Maybe you should think about what’s best for yourdaughtersand not what’s best foryou,” Sid suggested, his voice soft and kind when I knew he wanted to be anything but.
We were all grieving. It was important to remember that, even if it was hard.
Brett tipped his head and stared at my friend for a moment, a sneer forming on his lips. Then he replied, “What would’ve beenbest for themis to not have to say goodbye to their mother at eight fucking years old! Do youknow what it’s like to lose a parent that young? Do you even understand—"
“Actually,” Sid replied gently, “I do.”
That seemed to catch Brett off guard for a split second, his face falling with surprise, before he straightened his jacket and turned his glare on me.
“Then you’ll understand why I don’t think it’s best for them to be forced to face their mother’s killer.”
“Oh, come on, Brett. That’s not fair, and you know it,” Sid said. “We’ve all lost someone here, okay? There’s no reason to be an asshole. Walk away. Cool off.”
He looked at Sid and nodded, seeming to listen. But then, before he did walk away—whether to cool off or not was a different matter—he said, “Yeah, well, she never should’ve been his to lose in the first place. And if she had stayed withme, she’d still be here. Remember that.She’d be here.”
He turned and hurried through the graveyard, dodging stones and finding his way back to the path. We watched as he retreated, hands clenched at his sides. Sid waited until he was gone before turning to look at me. He sighed at the sight of my face, blood catching in my beard and dripping off my chin, then crouched in front of me.
He shook his head as he dug in his pockets. “Fuck. You’d think I’d have some napkins or something, but of course not.”
“It’s fine,” I muttered, wiping my coat sleeve beneath my nose.
“Why the hell didn’t you hit him back, man?”
I shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“Uh, the point is, the asshole fucking assaulted you, and you stood there and took it.”
“He lost her too, Sid. He’s allowed to be pissed.”
