Cillian hadn’t said there was danger. Not explicitly. But I had read his order to stay in the relative safety of the car as a warning all the same. A warning that his mom and aunt hadn’t received.
I don’t hesitate to get out of the car, figuringa broken promise is better than a potentially worse outcome. Before the two women manage to cross the postage stamp of a lawn, I intercept them.
“Hi!” I say, attempting something like a smile. “Cillian went in a few minutes ago. I think he wants to check things out first. Just give him?—”
“Who the fuck are you?” The petite woman asks, trying to push past me.
“Toni, I'm Cillian's friend.” I move to block her as her sister lays her hands on her shoulders.
“Tina, why don’t we give Cillian a minute? No one wants their family barging in?—”
“Get off me!” She tries to shrug Kitty off but whirls on her instead. She flings a finger back at the house, barely missing my face in the process. “If it was Cillian?—”
“I know,” Kitty says, grabbing for her sister's hand. Her tone is even and soothing, “If it were, you'd be telling me the same thing. Give them a minute and then we’ll go in and?—”
Behind me, the door opens, drawing our attention to Cillian as he steps out onto the small porch.
His face is white, his expression stoic.
“Cillian...” Tina's voice is crystalline, sharp, and strangely delicate. She pulls from her sister's grip, shouldering past me, moving toward him. “Is...Is Joey home?”
His mouth opens, then closes, eyes moving from his aunt to his mom, looking for a moment like a lost boy.
Kitty sucks in a breath, her hand flying to her mouth.
The storm I’d felt in the car makes landfall.
“I . . . I'm sorry.” He shakes his head. “Tina, I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” Tina asks. She sounds confused, as if she doesn't understand, or refuses to understand, what Cillian’s words imply. “Get out of my way.” She makes a shooing motion, trying to move past him. He grabs her arm, drawing her short. “Excuse—Don’t you fucking touch—” She tries to pull free. “Joseph! Get your ass out here! Joey!”
“Tina, honey...” Kitty says, taking a step toward her sister.
Tina throws her a wild glare. Her eyes are wide and shining with fear, fury, and something deeper. She jerks her arm painfully hard, but Cillian doesn't budge.
“I can’t let you go in there, Tina,” he says, his voice rough. She looks up at him. Cillian shakes his head. “He’s not...He's gone. I’m sorry.”
“No,” she says so quietly, I almost miss it. “No,” she declares louder. “No. He's...” She looks over at me and Kitty, frozen in place on the lawn. “He can't. No.” The word feels heavy.
Tina takes a step back, away from the house, and Cillian releases his hold on her. Taking advantage of the moment, she tries to bolt for the door, but Cillian catches her once more, wrapping her tightly in his arms as she fights until her back is pressed against his chest.
“I'm sorry,” Cillian says again.
“Let me go!” she howls. “Let me see my son.” The final word is anguished.
“He wouldn't want you to see him like this. I can’t?—”
“You don't know!” she cries, fighting like a trapped animal.
“I do,” Cillian's voice cracks, his eyes finding his own mother. The implication makes me shiver. “I do.”
Something about this breaks Tina’s fight. She goes limp in Cillian's arms, and he guides them both to their knees in the grass, finally letting her go.
Kitty unfreezes, moving with almost shocking speed toward her sister and son. She lays a hand on her sister’s back while cupping her son’s cheek, trying to be what they both need, pulled in two impossible directions.
Tina howls a sob, a guttural, near-primal sound that vibrates somewhere in my bones. The unnatural sound of a parent mourning their child.
It's the worst thing I've ever heard.
