Page 8 of Hold You Close
Christopher lifts his head, his brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “They’ll find them,” he says with conviction.
“Okay,” I reply. We both know it’s a lie, but it’s one he has to tell himself. I remember being fifteen; there was no telling me I was wrong.
“Dad wouldn’t . . .” he starts, and then stops as his lip quivers.
My own tears start to fall, as Morgan grabs my hand. “What do we do now?”
I have no fucking clue. How do I tell these kids how to survive? I’m the last person in the world equipped to give this advice. I look to London. Her hand touches my shoulder and she wipes the tears that fall silently down her cheeks.
“We hold each other close,” she says.
Our eyes meet and I’m transported back to a time when London and I weren’t always at each other’s throats. A time when we had feelings for each other. Even though we’re both aching, there’s something keeping us from breaking completely—a trust that even in the deepest pain, we can still come together and offer comfort.
London kneels beside me. She looks like she’s on the verge of falling apart, but won’t allow it to happen. “Did you call my parents?” I ask.
“They’re getting on a plane.”
The five of us huddle together and soothe each other, as we all realize our lives will never be the same
again.
Two
Ian
Today, we buried two empty caskets in the Las Vegas desert. It’s been two weeks and no survivors have been found. Neither my brother-in-law’s nor my sister’s body has been recovered. But my parents thought it would be best to give the kids some sense of closure and have the services.
Whatever that means.
How do you close a door to your parents?
“Uncle Ian?” Christopher calls for my attention.
“How are you holding up, man?”
At fifteen, I wouldn’t have been able to act the way he has. He’s been a pillar of strength for his sisters.
For the first time, I see a crack in his armor. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “I don’t know how to go back to the house today. They’re really not coming back.”
The first night, we all stayed at London’s. No one slept, and all of us were lost in a sea of grief. When Mom and Dad got here, they took the kids back to their own house so they could sleep in their beds.
“One day at a time, Chris. That’s all any of us can do, but I’m always here, you know that.” I tell him.
He nods. “I keep waiting for Dad to walk in the door. But now . . .”
I know the feeling. Each day, Sabrina would text me, telling me something I needed to do better with my time or telling me to stop torturing London with the backyard parties. I keep checking my phone, looking for her sarcastic yet loving messages. Logically, I know they won’t arrive, but emotionally, I can’t stop myself from hoping.
“I hope you know how much they loved you,” I tell him.
Christopher looks at me and a tear falls. “I know, it’s why this hurts so bad.”
“You’re going to get through this,” I say to both him and myself.
I miss my sister.
Sabrina was the best person I knew. She picked my sorry ass up when Jolene fucked with my head. Even David, who I fucking hated for knocking up my sister in college, became a brother to me.
He did right by her, took care of her, provided a life for her and their kids. I admired him, and I don’t know that I ever told him that.
