The light smirk on his face warred with his red-rimmed eyes as he explained, “Bree and Cody. They’re with Ari.”
Oh. Good. That was good.
“You played well,” I said. “Beautifully.”
I did remember that part. Vinh playing the piano during the service. Looking down at my clenched fist, I recalled the feel of Cody’s warm hand in mine. Aunt Ari’s ice-cold one in the other.
And… Ireland.
Looking over my shoulder, I looked toward the doorway as if she’d still be there, hovering, her face void of emotion, not meeting my gaze.
It’d been so brief that I had to wonder if I’d imagined it.
Vinh rose from the pew and offered me his hand. “Come on. It’s time.”
I stared at his hand, at the faint burn scars above his wrist, and then took it.
“I thought it would be Dad,” I confessed with a whisper, and not for the first time.
Vinh pulled me to my feet and into a hug. “I know,” he whispered. “So did I.”
The fact that I didn’t have to finish that sentence out loud—that I didn’t have to say those horrid words for Vinh to understand my meaning—lifted a small weight from me.
Because what I’d intended to say was that I thought it would be Dad who had a medical emergency in the night. That it would be Dad who took an unexpected turn and shattered us.
He released me from the hug, and I met his gaze, my lip trembling as I spoke. “I don’t think I ever worried about Uncle Gil. That wasn’t on my radar.Thiswasn’t.”
A cardiac event in his sleep. So quick and, according to the paramedics, peaceful. Painless.
Devastating.
“I know,” he repeated, but not unkindly, and my trembling escalated so badly that I clamped my lips together to try to ward it off.
Vinh gripped my upper arm and instructed softly, “Tell me three things, little brother.”
I recognized his grounding technique, but my mind was a void. “Can you start?” The question was little more than a whisper.
He dipped his chin in agreement. “My ass is numb from the pew. It’s a terrible seat.”
I tried to laugh, I really did, but it was wobbly at best, so I abandoned the attempt. Blinking rapidly to ward off tears, I lifted my chin to the tall, steepled ceiling and grasped at my muted senses. “The air in here smells like dust,” I started, then traced the colors of the stained glass before adding, “though the windows are probably considered quite beautiful.”
Vinh nodded, eyeing the church’s stained-glass windows. Uncle Gil and Aunt Ari hadn’t been members here, but it was the largest one in the area, and with how long Gil had been part of the Bay Springs community before their retirement and how many people he’d known, it’d been necessary.
I drew in a deep breath and pulled out lip balm—one of Cody’s that he’d snuck into my pocket before leaving the pew—and found the third thing as I applied some, tasting cherries. “My boyfriend is nearby.”
Vinh’s smile was warm as he guided me through the chapel. “I’m happy for you, Liem. Despite everything, I really am.”
I swallowed thickly. The balm had done nothing for my terribly dry throat. “As I am for you,” I replied, a bit hoarsely. “And I’m looking forward to when we can both mean it and feel it again.” I glanced up at him as we walked to the church’s fellowship hall, where the reception was being held. “The joy, I mean.”
Despite everything, I remembered the edges of joy again just seventeen steps later.
It was in the way Cody’s eyes found mine the minute Vinh and I entered the hall.
The way he kissed Aunt Ari so sweetly on her temple and whispered something in her ear before walking straight to me, swiping a bottled water from a table on the way.
When he watched me drink it and then threw it away before grabbing me another.
Those edges were the keenest when I reached for the bottle, but he moved it out of my reach, planting a kiss to my lips instead.
