Page 22 of The Other Side of Green

I blocked the word. Exhausted by thoughts of siblings and things you shouldn’t do with them.

Luca and I had received so many kind words. People that actually seemed to care that we’d been left by ourselves now. Funny that no one mentioned Mom. She hadn’t turned up. I wondered if she even remembered the three-day calling tradition.

“I’ve got some things of your Grammy’s you’ll need to get.”

“Things?” I cracked open an eye, not even realizing I’d closed them in my exhausted slump. “What sort of things?”

Patience shrugged, but I didn’t believe an inch of it—the deflective shrug that Gram always used. “I don’t know. Things she wanted kept out of the house, if you know what I mean.”

I pulled a face. We both knew why Grams would want things out of the house.

“Sure, I’ll come by for them.” I’m not going anywhere for a while—or perhaps ever. All bridges to escape currently burned in a light breeze of destruction. I still hadn’t considered the Collins family and what I wanted to do about their racist disposition.

Did I even want to do anything? Couldn’t I just leave it?

I remembered what Alex told me when he’d dropped me off at Evan’s just a few days ago when I’d gone to find Jack.

Alex Collins should have won the scholarship award, but they’d given it to me purely because of my skin.

Ironic now that it turned out my dad was Latino, and not a particularly nice one at that.

Block it, Lyra.

“Now you kids are going to want help organizing the funeral, otherwise you know Pastor Clarke will be railroading you into all sorts.”

My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even thought about the funeral. Just cooking and getting through today had been trauma enough.

“I guess I’ll speak to the undertakers tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it.” Luca walked in the room, his gaze wary. We’d managed to dodge around one another since my outburst, but we couldn’t avoid one another for much longer.

“Now you know she would have wanted jazz.” Patience sucked her teeth and nodded to herself. “She would have loved that. She did love standing out on the porch and listening to the processions go by.”

Luca and I smirked at one another, a slight softening in our anger. We used to laugh at Grams when she’d rush out onto the porch and shout and call, whooping to the music as the odd funeral ran past the end of our street.

“She did love traditions,” I agreed, and Patience tutted in agreement.

“Always had, ever since she was a lil’ girl. You young folk, you’ve forgotten the ways we used to have.”

“I know, nights quilting, making jams.” I laughed but Patience shot me down with a hard stare. She hadn’t lost any skill in that department.

“And you’ll sing, and play,” she carried on her side of the conversation, oblivious to the stutter in my heart.

“No, I won’t be able to.” I turned my face so she couldn’t read it.

“You won’t play for your Grammy?”

“It’s not won’t. It’s can’t.” I fiddled with the hem of my black t-shirt.

Patience sucked her teeth.

“I left my violin in Boston.” Forever I added in my head.

I had to look at her. She almost silently demanded it, using some form of Jedi force I couldn’t resist.

“It will find its way back,’ she stated and then she pushed down on the armrests of Grams’ chair. No-one else had dared to sit in it all day, but Patience had looked right at home there. “Now,” she waved a finger at Luca, “Luca, look after your sister.”

We both shifted uncomfortably but nodded in unison.