Page 61 of Sing For Me

Will

It’s a typical Sunday for the Ransome family. Which means my Uncle Reed’s backyard is filled with aunts, uncles, siblings, and cousins here for the weekly family lunch.

Five or six of my younger cousins are participating in a very noisy game of water volleyball in the pool. Cade, Vega, and Ash are playing a rousing game of lawn Jenga a few feet away. My dad and uncles are on the patio, arguing over who’s running the grill. And Rose and I are stretched out under a tree, enjoying our little pocket of quiet within all the crazy.

“What’s going on with them?” I ask her, gesturing my beer bottle toward Alex, Everly, and Fox, who are huddled together over one of the picnic tables, shooing away any of the kids who come near them.

“They’re working on some project,” Rose tells me, wrinkling her nose. “Everly won’t tell me what it is, which is very much not like her.”

“Not at all like her,” I mutter, studying my cousins. Everly is a gossip lover and can’t keep a secret to save her life. “Did you ask Fox?” Besides for Everly, he’s probably the biggest gossip in the family.

“Apparently, they’re all sworn to secrecy,” she says, and I can tell from her tone she doesn’t like it at all. Rose is the cousin everyone else comes to when they need a listening ear. She’s one of the most empathetic people I’ve ever met and she gives great advice—and great hugs. It’s rare to find her at a family event like this without a little kid or two cuddling up to her.

“You’re going to start snooping through their things if they don’t confide in you soon, aren’t you?” I ask, grinning.

She narrows her eyes. “While we’re on the subject of people keeping secrets, you gonna tell me about your date sometime this century?”

“It was last night, Rosie.”

“Yes, and I’ve been waiting to ask you about it all morning!”

“You’re getting as bad as Everly and Fox.” I tug on one of her curls and she scowls, batting my hand away.

“It’s not gossip,” she insists. “It’s conversation with my favorite cousin.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Favorite cousin, huh? You think you’re going to get me to spill my guts by getting on my good side?”

“It can’t hurt,” she grumbles. When I don’t start talking, she groans, flopping back against the blanket. “Will,” she whines and I laugh, relenting.

“It went…okay. I guess.”

She braces herself on her elbows and looks over at me. “You sound real sure about that.”

“It’s complicated, Rosie.”

“Did you tell her about Skye?”

“Kind of?” I blow out a breath, frustrated. “I mentioned her, but we didn’t get all that far. She told me a little bit about what happened with the fire. Her recovery hasn’t been easy. She, uh, isn’t so sure she’s in a good place for dating.”

“So you guys have that in common,” Rose says drily, and I let out a snort of laughter.

“That’s kind of the consensus we came to,” I tell her. “We’re both a little fucked up.”

Rose is quiet for a moment. “When you say she’s fucked up…”

“Sounds like PTSD.” I wouldn’t share that guess with anyone except Rose. I know she won’t say a word, not about something like this.

I also know that Rose won’t judge. All of our parents have always been very open with us kids about mental health issues. I let my eyes wander across the lawn until I catch sight of Rose’s mom, my Aunt Daisy, over on the patio. It looks like she’s teasing my dad about something at the grill, her expression set in a familiar laugh.

That’s how I always picture Aunt Daisy’s face when I think of her—green eyes flashing with amusement, a grin on her face. But I know it wasn’t always like that for her. The bullying she went through as a teenager got so bad that she attempted suicide before finally getting treatment.

My family doesn’t treat her experience as some dirty secret to cover up. When we were old enough to understand it, Aunt Daisy sat down with each of us, making sure we knew what she’d been through and how she healed from it. I’m sure it’s that openness that led Rose to her decision to study psychology at a local university.

Aunt Daisy isn’t the only one of the adults who struggled with something like that. My own mother had a debilitating bout of depression after her first husband died. All of our parents talked very frankly about their personal experiences—and always encouraged us to do the same.

Not that I did a great job taking that advice after Skye.

“That’s understandable,” Rose is saying and I pull my attention back to her. “Everything I’ve read about that fire sounds horrific.”