Page 56 of A Lifetime of Afters
The anguish of seeing him with his arms around her.
The loss of my mother.
Leaving my family.
The lonely silence of my self-imposed isolation.
And losing him again after learning just how beautiful it was to hold him.
My heartache, so deeply buried, erupted with a wail.
I tried to step back, to turn away, to hide, but Lou held firm.
“I’ve loved him for so long,” I blubbered, batting away my tears. “I told him, but he didn’t want me,” I confessed, my words garbled and broken. “And then Hunter died, and it hurt, and everyone fell apart.”
“Yes, lamb. I hear you, sweetheart,” she murmured at intervals, as she took it all from me.
“I couldn’t see him with her,” I gulped, my stomach working to physically expel the wretched images of him and Diane burned into my brain.
I gagged, choking on the mucous in my throat.
I pressed the back of my wrist to my mouth.
My tears fell faster.
My voice rose.
“Then my mom got sick and… and… she left us. I wanted to stay home. I wanted to, but I couldn’t stay. And I’m so sorry, Dad,” I spluttered to Lou, unable to face my father. “I’m so sorry!” I cried. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it up to everyone.”
“Nothing to make up for, lamb,” she assured me, drawing my face into her neck.
The dam broke. With my fingers drilling bruises into her shoulders, I hid inside her strength and let the tears fall. Tears that drained and cleansed, leaving me both hollow and lighter.
I breathed in her familiar perfume, let it fill my senses, calm me, taking the place of the rancid sorrow I’d held inside for so long.
Behind me, my father bowed his gray head over mine and put his arms around Lou and me.
And Dan.
With his bearlike chest and his massive reach, he wrapped his arms around all of us.
Heavy with fatigue, I sagged between them.
Only then did they take me home.
Chapter Twenty-One - Love Him
Back at home in my childhood bedroom, I woke slowly to the sound of a soft knock at my door. My heart leapt in my chest.
Hawk.
Sitting up quickly, I called out, “Come in!”
Dad opened the door and winced at the look on my face. “I’m sorry, honey.” A cup of coffee in his hand, he crossed to my bed and sat on the side.
“How many times have you sat in this exact spot?” I asked, my voice gritty from the night before. “I bet you didn’t think you’d still be doing this at thirty-five years old, did you?”
He shook his head sadly. “I’ll do it when you’re eighty-five.”
