Hannah

Jet is always calm. He’s the voice of reason when I struggle to hear my own voice, much less express my emotions out loud. Unless he hides his worries in other ways. Does he keep them locked down tight in a place he visits when he’s alone?

I’d understand.

I’d become adept at that myself until I met him. I’m not sure how long I can hold onto the darker memories when he’s so insistent on me being free from them.

What about him?

The eldest brother.

The kid who stepped in as a dad to his younger siblings when his father left.

The man who had to bury his mother because his family looked at him to handle the arrangements.

Nineteen.

He was a kid himself.

We’ve not talked about that time too much. He’s a master at glossing over the details of the dark parts of life he doesn’t like to think about. But there are stress lines carved into his forehead. He’s too young so they won’t stay for long.

Jet is punishing his poor knuckles—pulling and popping—one by one. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I ask, “What did your hands do to you to make you so mad?” I’m teasing, but curious what’s going on with him.

His dark eyes do a onceover on me before he appears to catch himself from getting too deep. But I caught it. A look. A feeling. Anguish. It was only a flicker, but it was there for one split second. “Nothing.” He reaches for the remote. Such a guy move. I thought he knew better than to try to tune women out when they wanted answers.

I sit down next to him, click off the TV, and take his hand between mine. Wanting to relieve his stress, his worries, and him, I start massaging it. “I feel like nothing means everything is on your mind right now.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to. We can just sit here in awkward silence with me staring at you if you prefer.”

My joke is rewarded with a smile. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sometimes my hands hurt. A bad side effect of playing so much.”

“Are you still going to play tonight?”

Leaning back into the cushions, he starts to relax. “The show must go on.”

“You have a kid relying on you. Don’t do too much damage to yourself.”

“Is the kid the only one . . .?” He leaves the question hanging out there, letting the words fade off as he closes his eyes.

I take his other hand, and he looks at me briefly before closing them again. His breath evens, and the lines of his forehead soften. I run my thumb up the main vein on his hand and then turn it over and rub his wrist until he falls asleep. No. The kid isn’t the only one. But he should know that by now.

Tonight is the last show before the band flies out tomorrow morning at dawn. Alfie and I fly out tomorrow after school. The packing is basically done except the few items we’ll need before we leave, but I still wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Our relationship went from zero to sixty as if the cops were going to catch us if we didn’t speed ahead.

I set his hand down gently on his leg and cuddle against him. His arm comes around me and he plants a kiss on my head. But soon enough, he’s asleep again. We’ve all been through a lot, all in different ways.

The broken pieces of me fit together so nicely with his that I sometimes wonder if this is the way it was always supposed to be. I’m learning that out of tragedy can come joy. Months ago, I felt trapped, in agony that I was going to lose my cousin, and fearful for the future. Yet somehow, here I am. With Alfie, who is the sugar to our tea, the sweetest boy. And with Jet, a man who’s carried an anvil on his shoulders for years yet is still ready and willing to carry even more in Alfie and in me. How did I get so lucky?

A hand squeezes my shoulder, and Jet asks with a raspy voice, “What are you thinking about?”

I haven’t told Jet about some of the things he missed because I don’t want to upset him, but I’ve started to realize that if I share my memories, he can live them through me. “Jet, I know you’re tired, but do you want to hear about the day Alfie was born? I was there. I saw him kicking and screaming into the world.”

“Yes. I’m so pissed I didn’t get to see him, Hannah. I still don’t understand why Cassie didn’t let me know.”

I can see he really is hurt about that. Will I ever really know why? “I held him just an hour after he was born.” And he was so adorable.

“Did he have a lot of hair or was he born bald like Tulsa?” He chuckles, but the question is sincere.

“He had a head of dark hair, just like yours, and the bluest eyes that turned green like Cassie’s.”

“Why did she name him Alfred?”

“Cassie hated the name Alfred, but she loved Alfie. Eileen told her that he needed a proper name, a lawyer or a doctor name. When the nurse asked what name, Eileen told her Alfred. But Cassie sat up and added Jet. She said, ‘I want Jet to be his middle name,’ so Alfred Jet it was, much to Eileen’s chagrin.”

“I’m surprised she let that slide.”

“Cassie could be as stubborn as Eileen when she chose to be.” Angling so I can see his face, I ask, “I once asked what happened to you, to Alfie’s father. I remember it so clearly. Cassie glanced toward the door and then started to whisper, but Eileen came in with her lunch, and we never seemed to get back to a moment of freedom to talk candidly.”

“Does it make sense to you that a woman who supposedly hated me named her son after me?”

“No. It never did, but if I’d bring it up, hellfire would be the price to pay.” I lift just enough to kiss his cheek. When I pull back, I say, “Do you want to know what I always thought deep down?”

Rubbing my arm, he says, “Of course, I do. I always want to know what you think.”

“I think Cassie was scared of her mom. Don’t get me wrong. They were super close, and I don’t discount the fact that she had to care for her dying daughter. I can’t imagine the pain she’s endured.”

“That’s something no parent should ever have to experience.”

“I still always had a weird feeling in my gut. Sometimes, I felt like Cassie was trying to reach out to me, but then Eileen would come in. It was odd. I could sit in her room and talk for hours about nothing, but if Alfie’s father came up, whether I was asking his name or about their relationship, anything to do with you, Eileen was suddenly there. A busybody with food or medicine, drinks or wanting to sit with us. She wasn’t so bad then. She got worse as Cassie got sicker. The thing is, Cassie would shut down and talk would turn to nothing important—the house hunting show or a recipe or somewhere Cassie wished she could be instead of in that bed.”

“She liked live music.”

“She liked corny jokes and P. Terry’s burgers with jalapenos and onions.”

“She liked prairie dogs and candy canes.” We both turn to the sound of Alfie’s voice.

I sit up and put space between Jet and me. “She did. She loved those peppermints you get at restaurants. All things peppermint.”

Alfie says, “I gave her a candy cane I saved from my Christmas stocking for Valentines.”

Patting the couch next to me, I call him over. When he does, he snuggles into my side.

We both look at Jet when he says, “She loved Trident original gum. When I’d run into the store, I’d buy spearmint for me and Trident for her.”

I think I’m supposed to be jealous hearing about him and someone who was important enough to remember the gum he bought for her, but I’m not. We all lost when she lost her life too young to really live it fully.

Alfie starts crying, and I pull him closer, wrapping myself over him as he leans down, looking smaller than his usual small form. We lift when Jet shifts, and he opens himself for us sit on his lap. With his arms wrapped around us, the weight of her loss bears down, my tears falling with Alfie’s.

This sweet little guy cries for the mother he’ll never see again except in pictures. “I want my mommy.” His arms fly out as he pushes off us and runs to the bookcase. Grabbing a frame from the middle shelf, he stares down at the photo.

I look at Jet, looking for answers. He says, “It’s a photo of him and Cassie.”

How had I never noticed? Just when I thought he couldn’t amaze me more, he does. The bookcase next to the TV is full, but I never saw the photo in the slim silver frame. Jet adds, “Alfie picked that frame out.”

I cross in front of the TV and peer over Alfie’s shoulder to look at the photo. Amazement morphs into shock. Why would he have this one in a frame? Why would he display a photo of her at her weakest, near death, at her worst?

Trying to calm down, I take a breath before I speak, knowing if I don’t only anger will come out. “Why this photo?” I ask, looking back at Jet.

I’m about to tell him that this isn’t how she should be remembered, but Alfie answers, “What’s wrong with this pitcher?”

When I see the sincerity in his eyes, I had it all wrong. “Did you choose this photo, Alfie?”

He nods and then looks down at it again. “We were giggling when Grandma took it. Mommy was the best tickler.”

“She was. She used to tickle me when we were little.”

He may be a kid, but he’s her kid. He sees through the illness and only sees his mom. My heart just melted for both of these guys. I say, “She loved you so much. On her worst days, you would climb into bed with her, and she would read you a story. I remember hearing you both laugh at Curious George and her telling you how much she loved you. I would come to take you to bed, and you’d be holding the book and turning the pages. You would always have this big happy grin on your face.” I exhale and rub his back gently, bringing him against me.

He says, “I remember. Will you read that book to me tonight, Hannah?”

“I don’t have that book here.”

“Can we get it?”

“Not tonight and we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Tears fill his eyes, and his arms wrap around me. “I want the monkey book.”

“We can buy you a new one when we get to California.”

“I want the one Mommy gave me. Can we go to Grandma’s and get it?”

I doubt I’ll ever be able to get that actual book for him. I’m not sure Eileen will let me back in the house. Not that I want to go back. Kneeling in front of him, I say, “I can go over there to get it when we return, but not before we leave. Do you want to get another copy in California or wait?”

“I’ll wait. Can we read the bear book tonight?”

“Yep, the bear book it is.” I steer him toward the hall. “Let’s get you in the bath, buddy. It’s getting late.”

He’s about to dash off, but I glance at Jet again. He sits up. “Hey Alfie, come here.”

Alfie goes without asking twice. Jet says, “You can talk about Mommy anytime you need, anytime you want. Okay?”

“Okay.” He climbs back into Jet’s arms and says, “I don’t like that Mommy went to heaven. I wanted her to stay here with me.”

My heart is breaking, watching this precious boy try to work out life without his mom.

“I know, buddy. I didn’t like it when my mommy went to heaven without me either. I still don’t like it, but I feel a little better now.”

“Why?”

“Because now my mommy has your mommy to keep her company while she watches over us.”

Who is this incredible man? How does he do that?

“She’s not sick anymore in heaven, is she?”

“No. She’s not sick at all.”

“I’m glad she doesn’t have hurting anymore, Jet.”

“Me too, buddy.”

“And I’m glad you’re my daddy.”

At that, Jet looks up at me with what looks like awe in his eyes. He takes a deep breath and squeezes Alfie closer to him.

“I’m the luckiest daddy in the whole world, Alfie. Because I’ve got you.” He kisses his hair and then sniffs loudly. “But you stink. You really need that bath.”

When he then tickles Alfie, we both hear the best sound of the day. Alfie’s giggles.

I come over and take his hand. “I’ll start the water. You grab the toys you want to play with in the tub.”

He runs off and I walk to the hall. Leaning against the corner of the wall, I take him in, admiring not just his good looks, but him, the man inside. “You’re a good dad, Crow. You’re good for him.”

“You’re . . .” He leans his head down with a smile on his face like he just lost a friendly bet. When he looks back up, he says, “You’re good for all of us, Nichols.”

“Charmer.”

“You know it.”

“Boy, do I know it,” I flirt and give him a wink for good measure.