“I promise you won’t be putting us out. We have a guest room and everything.”
“I know y’all do, Mags, but I need to learn to be on my own.”
My cousin stares at me for a beat before rising back to her full height. “If you change your mind, the offer stands, ‘kay?”
The bells over the door tinkle, saving me from having to reply.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Myla Rose says, hopping up from the chair next to me to go to her husband.
“Glad to see you, too, darlin’,” Cash says, wrapping his muscled arms around her. He holds her to his chest with his face pressed into the space between her neck and shoulder. It’s such a tender moment that it makes my heart ache a little more, knowing there’s no one out there to hold me like that.
After he releases her, Cash turns to me. “I’m sorry for your loss, Seraphine. Dave’ll be missed.”
“Thanks,” is all I can squeak out without breaking down again.
“Why don’t we get you home?” Cash holds his hand out, presumably for my keys, which I pass him. He pockets them and extends his arm down again. I stare at it dumbly before Azalea clues me in.
“He’s trying to help you up, girl.”
“Oh.” I feel my cheeks heat to nuclear levels.
I place my hand in his, and he hauls me to standing with ease. And, the gentleman that he is, Cash walks us out to Bertha, Myla’s mint-green Land Cruiser. He opens the passenger door for me before walking his wife around to the driver’s side.
He presses his lips to hers in a completely-indecent-for-public kiss, breaking it only when a random catcall from across the street rings out. “I love you, darlin’. I’ll follow behind.”
“Love you, too,” she replies breathlessly as she joins me in the cab.
A wistful sigh escapes me as she cranks the engine. I hope the sound of the crankshaft turning and the pistons firing is enough to cover it, but luck’s not on my side.
“What’s the sigh for?”
“I don’t know. Nothing… everything?” I shrug and rest my head against the cool glass of the window.
“Talk to me, Seraphine. It’s not healthy to hold it all in.”
“It’s just… between the salon and taking care of Dad, I never really dated or anything. When Dad was healthy, the boys were all scared of him, and when he started getting ill, I just didn’t have the time for it. And now, it’s just… me.”
God, could I sound any more pathetic?
“I’m gonna give you a little tough love, ‘kay?”
“Sure.”
“I was your age when I got pregnant with Brody. I was single and alone and scared shitless. I remember sobbing when I saw those two pink lines. And then I did what Grams would’ve told me to do—I put on my big girl panties, pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and dealt with it.”
“I remember.” I roll my head against the back of the seat to look at her. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“You need to pull yourself up, sister. I know your daddy’s death is fresh and that you’re hurting something fierce. I get it—I do. But I also know Dave wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
I turn back to the window, not wanting to hear her, even though she’s right. If Dad was here, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell me what an idiot I was being.
“Look, I know you don’t wanna hear this. You’re hurting and angry, and you have every right to be.” She turns into my driveway and throws Bertha into park. “But you need to hear it all the same. It is okay to grieve, to mourn, to miss him. It is not okay to throw your life away. You said it yourself at his funeral, that your daddy always said ‘it’s what you do while you’re alive that matters.’ Well, Seraphine, you’re still alive—act like it.”
In my heart of hearts, I know she is right and speaking from a place of love. Unfortunately, my brain and heart aren’t on the same page. “Thanks for the ride.”
She sighs. “You’re welcome. Take the week off and we’ll go from there.”
“Sure thing.” I unbuckle and throw open the door. “Bye.”
Myla Rose gives me a long, sad look before backing out of the driveway so Cash can park my car. He drops my keys into my waiting hand before climbing into his wife’s car.
They don’t drive away until I’m safely inside, alone once again.Chapter TwoSeraphine“Five.” The pungent liquid splashes into my mouth, but I no longer taste it.
“Six.” Another glug brings me that much closer to sweet oblivion.
“Seven.” A bead of amber liquid drips down my chin with my final swallow—one for each day that’s passed since they lowered my dad’s body into the ground.
Once Dad’s beer ran out, I started in on the liquor cabinet. Whatever’s in this bottle—I didn’t even bother to look—makes the beer seem like water. This is my first taste of straight-up alcohol; the first sip had me coughing and sputtering with tears in my eyes. But now, the bottle’s nearly empty, my taste buds are numb, and I’m all cried out.