CHAPTER 16

SKYLAR

Returning to Chicago had been one of those things I’d never even considered. There are far too many bad memories tied to my childhood home, and I’m not just referring to my breakup with Scott. While I had reservations about coming home, I never questioned the need for my being here. I needed closure.

Despite leaving on bad terms, over the last two years, Mom and I had finally reached a point where we could have a civil conversation on the phone. We tried speaking once every six months, though neither of us seemed to care if we went longer than that. Most of the time, the conversations felt forced, with nothing personal being shared. She never once asked how I’d been getting along. Never asked if I’d gone to college or if I had met someone new. Likewise, I never asked her if she’d met someone new or how she’d been spending her days. We treated one another the exact same way but for the exact opposite reasons. I never asked those things, because I was afraid of the answers. I was afraid to learn of a new boyfriend, because then I’d worry he was abusing her, the way her previous boyfriends had done. And I didn’t want to hear she’d been spending her days at the bar, because I’d always worried she would end up drinking herself to death. Which is exactly what ended up happening. But for Mom, there was only one reason she never asked. She simply didn’t care.

“Thank you so much for coming. I know it was short notice.” I shake hands with one of her co-workers and turn to greet the next person in line.

One by one, they keep coming. Each giving their own shortened eulogy as they pat my hand.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Your mother was a fine woman.”

“I’ve known your mom since we were old enough to legally order our first beer.”

“Your mother was my best friend. It’s been so hard to watch her wasting away. Things just won’t be the same without her around. I hope you knew how proud she was of you.”

I roll my eyes inwardly and stifle a laugh. Proud? Yeah, I don’t think so.

The funeral director comes over and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Take all the time you need to say your final good-byes, then we’ll head over to the graveside service. Is there anything you need, Miss Dennison?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you so much. I appreciate how quickly you pulled all of this together. I only need a few minutes, and then I’ll be right out.” I watch him close the double doors, draw a deep breath, then take my first steps toward the open casket.

“Hey, Mom.” My fingers curl into the satin lining surrounding her as I lean forward and peer into the casket. She looks so small lying there. Small and old. Much older than her forty-five years. But I guess that’s what liver disease will do to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I start, voice trembling as I struggle to find the words. “If only you’d told me you were sick, I would have come home. At the very least, I would have been able to say good-bye.” My voice shakes with every word as emotions long since buried make their way to the surface. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls last week. I was busy and I—shit, that’s not entirely true—the truth is, I was in the middle of something and didn’t feel like talking to you. I didn’t feel like having one more pointless conversation.” My gaze shifts left, and a large bouquet of blue flowers commands my attention, reminding me of times long ago. I turn back to her lifeless form and begin demanding answers to questions that have plagued me for so long. Even though I know she can’t answer, I have to ask.

“Why were you so cruel? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?” By now I’m crying freely, but not because of what I’ve lost. After all, you can’t lose something you never truly had. Right? “I’ve spent most of my life thinking I wasn’t good enough. Worried I would end up just like you. Alone and bitter. For years, you made me feel as if I was the reason you were so unhappy. It took me leaving Chicago to realize I wasn’t the reason. I was merely the victim. And despite all you ever did to tear me down, if you’d told me you needed me, I would have been here for you.” I smack my hand against the casket. “Dammit, I would have been here.”

I straighten, drying my face with the pads of my fingers “If you were proud of me, you sure had a funny way of showing it.” I take one final look at her frail body, and my eyes come to rest on the small silver flask that one of her bar buddies must have placed between her folded hands. No doubt, it’s probably full of alcohol, you know, just in case the dead need one more drink. I can’t help shaking my head in disgust. “You know what, Mom? I hope it was worth it.”

I move to the end of the casket and pause to admire the beautiful arrangement. I don’t recall seeing them before the service started. Upon further inspection, I realize the card is addressed to me. I check the other arrangements and note they all have my mother’s name on them. When I reach for the card, the handwritten note I find inside rocks me to the core.

As beautiful as they may be,

They pale in comparison to you.

P.S. I’m here for you if you need me. Always, S.

My throat tightens, and I let out a choking sob. After all these years, he remembered that calla lilies are my favorite. I lower my head and grip the small card between my trembling fingers, allowing my tears to freely fall once more. I know it shouldn’t matter that he was thinking of me. It shouldn’t matter that he remembered calla lilies make me smile. It shouldn’t matter that the words on this card are the same words he spoke to me the night of our winter formal. The night he slipped the very same flower onto my wrist and followed the act with a tender kiss on my lips.

It shouldn’t matter. But it does. In fact, it matters a whole hell of a lot.

I hear a door close behind me and assume it’s the funeral director coming to see if I’m okay. That’s a good question. Am I? Clutching the card in one hand, I reach over and pluck a flower from the vase before turning to let him know I’m finished in here. But to my surprise, it’s not the funeral director standing before me.

It’s Scott Rivers.

“Scott? How did you—” I start, but he quickly answers. “Cassie.” I merely nod and continue staring at him in utter disbelief.

“T-thank you,” I stammer. “For being here”—I gesture toward the bouquet—“and the flowers. They’re beautiful. But you didn’t have to do any of it.”

“I know that, Sky. I came, because I wanted to be here for you. As far as the flowers go… Well, those were simply because I wanted to make you smile. I hope that’s okay.” His eyes plead with me to let it be okay, and it takes everything I have within me not to wrap my arms around him and show him just how okay it really is. It’s more than okay. Right now, it’s everything.

But I refrain, keeping my hands clenched tightly in front of me until the moment passes.

“I’m sorry about your mom. How are you? You holding up okay?” He offers an understanding smile. One that says It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend with me.

“Oh, yeah. I’m good. It’s just strange coming back here. You know?” A small smile forms on my lips, and I hope it somehow conveys what I’m feeling right at this moment. I can’t do this. Please, get me out of here.

Scott steps forward and takes my hand in both of his. “You want to get out here? ‘Cause I have an idea.” He gives my fingers a squeeze, and I feel a jolt of electricity clear down to my toes. I don’t say anything; I just nod and follow him out the door. The only stop we make is for him to grab the vase of calla lilies, because I can’t bring myself to leave them behind. We reach the parking lot but don’t bother stopping to tell anyone where I’m going; my grandparents will understand my reasons for leaving.

“I should probably drop these off at the house and change.” I tug at the dress I’m wearing. “If you want, I can just meet you somewhere.”

“No way. I’ll just follow you there and wait for you. I don’t want you to get there and suddenly change your mind.” He cups the back of my head in his hand and drops a kiss on my forehead. “Besides, you look like someone who doesn’t want to face going back there alone.”

“How do you do that? How do you always know what I need to hear? Even after all this time,” I whisper into his chest as his arms circle my waist.

He clears his throat before speaking in a softer voice. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because when I’m near you, you’re all I see.”

Nothing more is said while we remain standing with his arms around me, my face snuggled in the familiar crook of his neck. My thoughts drift back to the many times I’ve found myself in his arms. Out of all the things I missed about Scott Rivers, his warm hugs had been at the very top of that list. I’m sure everyone is staring at us. Probably even gossiping. I know I should care about what they may be saying, but right now I don’t. Call me crazy, but to me this feels like much more than a simple hug. Right now, this hug offers comfort, but it also holds the potential promise of something more. Could it be, after all this time, there is something still present between us? I want so badly to ask him that very question, but I’m terrified of what his answer may be. So, for now, I’ll take what he’s quietly offering, because this is better than nothing.

It feels wrong, but at the same time it feels… So. Very. Right.