Forever Loved (The Forever Series) (13 page)

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Rotheford said.

“Of course. I understand the other grandparents are here?” He looked around.

“Not if I have anything to do about it.” My voice was a growl, and Corabelle lifted her head to gaze at me.

“Family is the most important part at times like these,” the minister said.

“Not mine.”

“There’s Alaina and sweet June,” Mrs. Rotheford said, turning to the back of the room.

My sister ran forward and crashed into Corabelle’s mother. “Daddy says I’m not an auntie anymore.”

This seemed to make Corabelle waver, and I steadied her as her body swayed.

“Of course you’re an auntie,” Mrs. Rotheford said, looking at my mother questioningly.

Mom waved her handkerchief. “You know Robert.”

“Can you see Finn?” Mrs. Rotheford asked June. “Do you want to?”

June shook her head, still buried in the folds of the dress.

Mrs. Rotheford patted her back. “That’s okay.” She looked past me, then tensed. I knew before I turned around what she was seeing.

“Robert,” she said. “Good to see you.”

He didn’t answer, stopping at the end of the rows of chairs. If he said something nasty about Finn, he would be dead. I would kill him. I would not spare a single blow.

“Don’t you have a jacket, boy?” he said. “You’re running around such a solemn occasion looking like a bum.”

“Robert,” Mom said. “Don’t start.”

He took off his own jacket and tossed it at me. I would have let it hit the floor, but Corabelle watched with such wounded eyes that I caught it in one hand.

“Well, put it on,” he said.

I looked to Corabelle for what to do. She just stared up at me, worried, I knew, about my father’s explosive moods.

“It’ll be nice, Gavin,” Mrs. Rotheford said, her hand still on my sister’s dark head.

I shoved an arm into one of the sleeves, repulsed by the smell of my father’s cologne on the collar. He smirked at me as I shrugged it on. “Looks like you need to grow into it, son.”

The shoulders were too wide, making me look like a kid playing dress-up.

“Now, now,” the minister said. “Let’s go over the parts of the service.”

He droned on, but I didn’t pay the least bit of attention. Corabelle focused on his every word, concentrating, I knew, because it was easier than thinking.

The room had no windows, just partitions between sections to make the chapel bigger or smaller to match the crowd. We didn’t expect many people to be here for Finn, just a few neighbors and classmates maybe.

The minister closed his book with a snap. “And that’s when we’ll do the slide show,” he said. “The soundman will play the song you picked out, and the parents and grandparents will leave first.”

My father sat on one of the chairs, popping his knuckles.

“Let’s go find a cookie,” Mom said, tugging June along. “Robert, you could probably use something to drink.”

“I’ll say,” he said, jumping up out of the chair.

Mom flashed him a look that said, “Don’t start.”

At least he never knocked her or June around. If he did, I would have buried him before I was twelve or died trying. Mom always accepted his explanations for my
discipline
, as he called it. She preferred patching me up to trying to get in his way.

When they were gone, I sank onto one of the seats, not sure I was up for comforting anyone, deep in my own hole.

Mrs. Rotheford tried to lead Corabelle away from the casket, but she refused, saying, “When they close the lid, I will never see him again!”

The minister patted her back. Mr. Rotheford stepped forward from his spot by the podium and pulled his wife close. I knew I should go up there, do something, be there for her, but the familiar buzz was coursing through me, anger simmering, trying to spew out.

I was not meant to be a father. The world didn’t need another asshole hothead.

I realized that if I followed that line of thought, I was saying Finn would have been like me, another kid with a bad-tempered dad who fucked him up. And then he’d be one.

The world had broken the chain, chosen for us.

One of the black suits came down the aisle. “Guests are arriving,” he said. “Shall we begin seating them?”

Mrs. Rotheford nodded.

“If you’d like to follow me, I can take you to a family room,” he said, gesturing toward a side door.

“I am NOT leaving Finn.” Corabelle clutched the side of the coffin like she was never going to let go.

Time for me to help. I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist. “Let’s go wait.”

Her head fell forward, her back starting to shake as she sobbed. “Don’t let them close it until I’m ready. Promise you won’t let them close it.”

“I won’t,” I said. “You’ll get to be the last one to say good-bye.”

She turned around to me, her forehead resting on my collarbone. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Relief washed over me. I had envisioned her refusing to leave, standing by the casket the whole service. I led her out the door behind the funeral home employee.

Behind us, mournful music started playing over speakers. The organ dirge faded as we walked down the hall, and I thought we had escaped it, but when we arrived in the small room lined with sofas, I realized the same song was piped in.

Corabelle and I sat on a flowered loveseat.

“Should I locate the other family members?” the man asked.

“No,” I said. “No way.”

The man’s face didn’t register any change of expression. “I’ll come for you when it’s time.” He nodded solemnly and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Despite what I’d said about my family, I did wish for June, a happy distraction, as we sat there and stared at the floor.

Corabelle made whimpering noises, trying to hold in her sobs. I felt my heart was disintegrating, piece by piece.

After an eternity of silence, one organ song blending into the next, the black suit returned and said, “It is time.”

Corabelle seemed numb by then, standing as she was told, letting me hold her shoulders and direct her through the door, down the hall, and up the aisle. When we got to the front, she didn’t turn toward the chairs, walking as though she were going to go stand by the casket again.

I led her gently to the front row. I wished we had long benches like in churches rather than separate chairs, as I couldn’t keep her as close as I wanted.

My parents were seated on the other side of the aisle, my father with his arm on the back of Mom’s chair, casual, like they were at a concert. My anger bubbled up again at his smug expression. He clearly didn’t give a shit that we were burying my son, his grandson.

I tried to think back to his father, my grandfather, but I couldn’t pull up any memories. He’d died of cirrhosis of the liver when I was four. My grandfather on my mother’s side was more typical, kind and funny and always bringing me little gifts like the geode we’d split in half.

Maybe my father had a bad father, and maybe he thought he would do better, then didn’t. Mom didn’t talk much about their courtship, but there had to be something to him that made her marry him. And I guess he was different with her, and with June, more funny, lighthearted. Something about me was always what triggered him.

I tried to imagine what I’d do if Finn had done something bad, broken a window or stolen a pack of gum from the grocer. As much as I didn’t think I’d blow, clearly it was in me, that slow burn that just ignited.

The world knew what it was doing.

The minister droned on. Corabelle watched the coffin, probably not registering any more than I was. I tried to focus in. This was all Finn would get, his baptism, his funeral. I should pay attention.

“God’s will is a mystery to all of us.” The minister looked over the smattering of people in the chairs. “But we know Finn rests safely in the hands of the Almighty, and will know no pain or suffering in this world.”

He’d just said all the things I was thinking. Finn had been spared. Been saved from me. I glanced at Corabelle again, so pale and fragile, barely sitting up in her chair. Her dress was damp, I could see. I hadn’t even helped with that. I’d been useless. Pointless. And quite possibly, a threat to the well-being of her children.

“God speaks to us on the matter of death and sin in Romans 6, verse 23.” The minister laid his finger on the open book in his hand. “The wages of sin is death.”

His words crashed over me like the walls had collapsed. He went on, but I couldn’t hear any more of the verse. The wages of sin is death.

Finn’s death was the wages of sin.

Not Corabelle’s sin. She was his mother. She had done nothing wrong. She was innocent of everything.

But I was not. I had a family history. A black mark. And I’d tempted her, over and over again, until we’d hit disaster. It was right that I was the one to sign the papers taking him off life support. I was the one who would have ruined him, like my father clearly had ruined me.

The minister bowed his head to pray but I kept my head up and turned to my old man. He didn’t look down either and rolled his eyes when he caught my gaze. The burn began again. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to be in pain. This was no way to live around anyone I could harm, and certainly not for children. I would never have any. I would not do that.

Corabelle reached for my hand and clutched it. I bowed then with her, knowing she needed me to assimilate, to do what was expected.

The minister raised his hands. “And now for a final blessing for Finn Mays as he makes his way to Our Father.”

One of the black suits walked toward the casket. I thought at first he was just stepping up to escort us out as soon as the minister finished his rousing finale, but instead he moved toward the coffin. Before I realized his intention, he had lowered the rod holding up the lid of the coffin and dropped it down.

Corabelle gasped, turning to me, her face so white I could not imagine she still had blood in her veins. I jumped up, but the man was latching the sides down. The minister paused as he saw me.

Corabelle jerked her hand from me. I had failed her. She had only asked this one thing, and I hadn’t followed up, hadn’t spoken to the staff.

“Sit down, boy,” my father bellowed.

But the roar in my ears drowned out everything but the fact that I didn’t belong here, didn’t deserve that boy, or Corabelle. I had nothing to offer anyone but incompetence or rage. The minister tried to go on with his blessing, but I couldn’t listen to another word. I took off down the aisle, stripping off the foul jacket and leaving it on the floor. The tie was so tight on my neck that I jerked it off, discarding it by the door as I pushed through.

I needed to get away. I couldn’t bear Corabelle’s distress over the coffin, my father’s condescension.

The Camaro sat waiting for me, firing up with an easy twist of the ignition. I squealed out of the spot, no idea where I was going, but the clanging in my head didn’t start to ease until I was outside the city, the desert stretching in every direction. The blankness of the scenery and the long stretch of empty road suited me. Nobody to piss me off. Nobody to let down. Nobody anywhere near me at all.

~*´♥`*~

I’d lost control that day. Control of my temper. My actions. My responsibilities.

The ICU was quiet except for the humming of machines, soft beeps, and the whir of Corabelle’s ventilator by my head. It didn’t sound like Finn’s, I remembered that now. His had been more metallic, like the choppy blades of a helicopter. Hers was a soft wheeze in and out.

The sheet beneath her arm was wet. I had been crying. Stupid.

No, not stupid. Normal. It was normal and fine, and I shouldn’t hear my father’s words, “Don’t be a damn sissy,” as he smacked me across the top of the head. I should forget his lessons, his ridicule, no longer let it penetrate.

He had rarely actually hurt me. I don’t think the town would have stood for beatings, black eyes, or real injuries. His form of discipline had been a hard shove or a hearty backhand, enough to knock me around but just light enough for witnesses to shrug it off as “family business” rather than “call the cops.”

Maybe it was the attitude that hurt more, the indication that I was a failure in everything, that even if something was going right, I’d eventually screw it up.

I had given him too much power. As a little kid, maybe it made sense. He was my father, big and important and in a position to tell me what to do and when to do it.

But now, he was nothing. I didn’t see him, talk to him. I had no reason to be like him at all. I didn’t even have to know him.

How much could we escape our past? Corabelle and I had been trying, ever since that first day on the beach when I drew that line in the sand and she stepped away from our history and into our future. Now here we were, and everything about this place we’d landed in was so much like where we’d been that I could scarcely bear it.

At least the business with Rosa was behind me. Her cousin was surely right. Rosa needed a champion, and I’d simply been the easiest target. I’d figure out a way to block her number. Tijuana was in my past, like my father. I’d spend the rest of my life trying to fix all the screwups I’d made in the first eighteen years. The disappearing act. The vasectomy. The father rage.

I had to believe I could do it.

The sheet had already begun to dry. I laid my head back down, shifting so that I leaned against the bed frame, still mostly hidden if someone just glanced over. Weariness began to take over everything else.

16: Corabelle

The second time to awaken in the hospital was far worse than the first. My mouth hurt, lips bruised, like I’d been struck in the face.

My lungs were cement blocks, heavy and stiff. Every breath was a struggle but the air was strange, sweet almost, and cold. Something tickled my nose and I lifted my hand, feeling the tube running inside my nostrils. I was on oxygen.

“She’s coming around,” a voice said, female but low, and I pictured Large Marge from
Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure
. My eyes seemed glued together. I blinked, trying to clear them.

“Here, honey, let me get a cloth,” another female voice said, this one lighter and higher, and I envisioned a perky young nurse in a white cap and starched uniform.