Cruise

She hovers.

I don’t mind.

In fact, I like it.

Clara stops pacing around the hospital bed and puts her hands on her hips. “You could have been shot.”

“I wasn’t, but I guess in some alternate universe I would be the one who got shot.” I wink at her. “In that universe, I’m king.”

“Who says?”

Shit. Looking over my dove’s shoulder, I see my best friend walking in, and laugh. “Perfectly bad timing, Alex.”

“Maybe I should go by King.”

Sara Jane comes around the corner with a fruit basket in hand. “King’s not happening. I like you exactly how you are.” When her eyes land on me, they sharpen and her mouth twists to the side. “What are you doing, Cruise? Get up. Up. Up. Up.” Holding the basket in front of her, she turns her attention to Clara and her expression softens. “I hope you like fruit.”

Clara smiles. “I love fruit. Thank you.”

“We almost brought flowers, but this has chocolate tucked in there. I love chocolate and thought you might, too. I’m Sara Jane.”

I stand quickly. “Sorry.” Slipping my hand around Clara’s back, I say, “Clara, this is Sara Jane and Alex.”

As if she doesn’t have a swollen eye and bandages hiding a cut on the side of her head, she holds out her hand. Sara Jane hands the basket to Alex, takes Clara’s hand, and quickly ushers her to the bed. “You should be resting. Trust me. Get the rest now so you heal quicker.”

Clara sits on the edge, and says, “Thank you for the basket. That’s very thoughtful of you and I love chocolate and fruit.”

Moving to her side, I help her settle back against the raised mattress and remain by her side. “What brings you by?”

Alex finds a seat under the window, and replies, “You didn’t give us much choice. The call with no details was keeping my Firefly awake.”

Clara’s eyes find mine. “Firefly?”

“That’s Alex’s name for Sara Jane.”

“You call me Dove. I love those nicknames.”

Holding her hand in mine, I nod. “I do, too, my little peacemaker.”

“I wasn’t so peaceful tonight.”

“That’s why it’s not worse. You fought back.”

“From now on, I will always fight back.”

I look at Sara Jane, who’s beaming, and Alex with a raised eyebrow, who seems to have had his curiosity piqued. “Clara’s gone through a lot in life, but man, she’s a badass with a pointy elbow. She took him down with one jab.”

Clara’s laughing, and rolls her eyes. “You showed up right on time.”

Alex jokes, “He always did like a good entrance. This one time . . . well, now’s not the time for stories. You should probably get some rest. Sara Jane’s right. You’ll heal quicker.” He stands and reaches behind him without even turning.

Sara Jane’s hand connects with his and she comes around to the end of the bed. “We just wanted to say hi. See if you’re okay. When you’re up for it, we’d love to get together with you.”

Clara glances to me and I give her a smile. “We’d love that.”

As they walk to the door, I say, “Thanks for coming by.” When they leave, I tell Clara, “We don’t say goodbye.” I don’t explain why, but she gets that life is tenuous at best. Why spend time with goodbyes when there are better hellos to be had.

A nurse pops in to tell us that a doctor will be by soon, but as soon as she leaves, Clara asks, “Why’d you have a gun?”

“Yeah, about that. I tend to carry one.”

“Tend? Or do?”

“I didn’t have one on me when I was kidnapped. That was a mistake.”

“Do you always carry it?”

“No, but it’s always accessible.”

Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t ask anything, and then it closes. We sit there a minute before she finally says, “You didn’t kill my father.”

Looking toward the door to make sure we’re alone, I reply, “I was a part of it.” I’m not going to tell her who did because it doesn’t matter. In the end, I’m glad he’s dead.

“My heart. It sees deep inside you. When you hurt, I feel your pain. Your joy becomes mine. I’m not just in your head, I’m in your heart.”

“You are my heart.”

Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she brings my hand up to her mouth to kiss it as we lie in the bed together, side by side. “I don’t know who killed my father, but I know you carried the weight of it. I also know when you try to hide the truth it’s because you can’t lie. You can’t lie to me. It’s not that you don’t like to lie. It’s that you can’t. Not to me. Not to them.”

“Them?”

“Alex and Sara Jane. They’re more than friends. They’re your family.”

“They are.” I like her voice and the way she looks at me, the way her lips feel on mine and closing my eyes and lying next to her feels like heaven. The light in her eyes reminds me of summer and the estate where the bushes weren’t as pristine and wildflowers grew. When I bring her to my parents’ home, that’s what I want to show her. “Tell me more about what you see in me.”

Her head rests on my shoulder, her chest rising with each breath, falling as she sets it free. “I’m rethinking my position on the lying. I think you’re like me. You can lie when it protects the ones you love.”

“You might be right, Ms. Eckerd. Why did you choose sacred as your last name?”

“Life is sacred.”

I love the simplicity of the answer. She’s right. I was beaten, but not beaten down. A lot like her. She’s my dove not just because she seeks peace in a war-torn world but also because she soars above us, her wings as expansive as her dreams.

She adds, “I don’t need blue skies to see the beauty each day. Sometimes the rain suits my mood. But every day I’m given makes it a gift.” Rolling to her side, her body snuggled into mine while her hand rests on my stomach.

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, pressures of the life I was leading before her releasing, freeing me from the pain. “What happens now?”

As she starts to fall asleep, she murmurs, “We survive. We live. We love.”

“Irrevocably.”

One Year Later . . .

Not four and his adopted son. Five.

In the wake of my father’s death, I am finally accepted as one of his own.

I stand in front of the casket with one of my hands in my pocket and the other holding Clara’s. My head remains down as the eulogy is read. The words are almost believable as they’re delivered with award-winning performances.

For as hard and cold as the Senator was to me, he was patient and encouraging to his youngest, most carefree daughter, who brought sunlight to a stuffy man and brightened his day. It’s good to hear nice things being said, a reminder to look back and dig through the dark to shed some light on the past.

Maybe those TV interviews weren’t always staged. Maybe he actually liked to play ball with me. When we were watching the home videos we provided during our last interview in New York, he looked happy. I was busy watching the camera crews, but he was busy watching me with what looked like pride. So maybe things aren’t always as they seem, or feel.

And maybe they are . . .

Fredrick would have made the Senator proud this week. Between the public tribute broadcasted across the news three days ago to the private service today, he made sure our father was honored befitting the level of office he held.

Tears are shed under an unseasonably hot sun. The loudest sobs at the Senator’s funeral come from the fifth row of mourners on the opposite side of family and close friends.

Celeste wore red.

My father’s favorite color.

My mother is keeping her emotions hidden under large sunglasses and a barely transparent, short black veil. She doesn’t cry, but she sees the woman in red. It’s probably best to face things we like to deny, but I hate that Celeste chose this day to put the knife into my mother’s back. She is so unbelievably cruel.

I know now that I have always underestimated my mother. Maybe the blatant truth of the Senator’s betrayal will be the catalyst to heal her broken heart.

She wasn’t just a mom, and wife of a senator, but a woman with dreams, and a heart that bleeds for those whose sadness has overcome them.

Fredrick holds his head high when he speaks, managing to hint that his reign as the eldest son, and heir to the Cristley dynasty is just beginning. I laugh, and then get dirty looks. Mainly from Fredrick.

But we stop what we are doing to watch my mother as she gets up from her chair and walks around the casket as it’s lowered into the ground. She doesn’t stop to pay respects. She did that enough in life. She doesn’t even glance at it. She keeps her eyes forward, cutting through the crowd, and stands right in front of Celeste.

Celeste looks up, her red leather-gloved hand bringing a white handkerchief to dab her eyes.

My mother leans down and hugs her, appearing to console her. When she stands up, she says, “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with my husband. You deserved each other.” She turns, but stops to add, “He didn’t leave you anything in his will. The executor confirmed that for me this morning. Oh, and your mascara’s running.”

A gasp is heard across the crowd, and then Alex starts laughing, breaking the tension for me to do the same. I step forward and grab a shovel, toss some dirt onto the casket, and hand it to Matty.

Lowering my sunglasses, I then take hold of my girl’s hand, and start back for the car. Alex and Sara Jane follow right behind. I guide Clara around a gaggle of reporters kept at bay behind a barricade, and tuck her safely inside from the glare of the cameras.

My mom is escorted by Matty and Paige, my sister, Liza walks alone behind them, her husband making a statement by not making an appearance today.

Like the champ of a son he is, Fredrick holds court in front of the barricade, fielding questions from reporters while the rest of us avoid them the best we can. Right before I get inside the car, Fredrick throws his hat into the political ring, announcing he will be running to win back his father’s seat.

Good for him. Asshole.

He’s finally found his people and a place to call home where he’ll fit right in.

In one of many black limos of the funeral processional, I sit in the back and stare out a darkened window. My foot is kicked. “Hey.”

My eyes slide to the right to see Alex leaning forward on his knees. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Looking to my girl, the concern in Clara’s eyes is hard to hide. I lightly squeeze the top of her knee. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

She says, “I know you’ll be fine. I want to know if you’ll be okay.”

I smile, keeping it uncomplicated despite how I feel inside. “I never felt like I was enough. I was the black sheep beyond my darker hair, skin, and eye color. Today, I feel at peace with how things have played out. Not because he’s passed. I sort of think we might have gotten along better as I’ve gotten older. Just have a new perspective about my role in this life. It’s up to me to make my own happiness.” I catch a glimpse of my dove’s smile. “So yeah, I’ll be okay.”