“We should save those Disney figurines,” Sam said quietly. “Mom collected them.”
“Okay,” Slider said. “Let’s box them up and figure out where to put them.” Nodding, Sam grabbed a box and wrapped each figurine like it was priceless.
“I . . . I know it’s girls’ stuff, but could I . . . can I keep Mom’s jewelry box?” Ben asked, tracing the flying blackbirds carved into the top.
Slider crouched down and looked his son in the eye. “You can have absolutely anything you want.”
“Okay, Dad,” he whispered, peering back at him with suddenly glassy eyes. Then his little face absolutely crumpled.
“Aw, B, come here,” he said, hauling Ben into his chest. The kid burst into tears, tears like he hadn’t cried since the long-ago conversation when he’d finally understood that Kim was never coming home again. If Slider thought he was a wreck now, it was nothing compared to how trashed he’d been back then—from the rawness of her death, from the pain of watching her deteriorate, from the bitter poison of having to keep her infidelity secret, from the acidic curiosity of never having learned the name of the man she’d cheated with. In the midst of all that, had he been there enough for his boys in their grief?
Damnit, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to that question.
But maybe it wasn’t too late to be there now.
“Just let it out, Benji. It’s okay to be sad that Mom’s gone. It’s okay to miss her. And it’s okay to talk about her and want her things nearby,” he managed around the lump in his throat. He peered up at Sam, but his older son was too studiously ignoring them as he picked up Cinderella and wrapped her in paper.
Finally, Ben pulled away, and Slider had to help him dry his face because the cast prevented him from reaching both eyes. “Your whiskers are scratchy,” he said.
Slider gave the kid a smile and tugged at his beard. “Not a fan, are you?”
He shook his head. “You look like one of those Duck Dynasty men.”
Sam snorted. “Oh, my God, he’s right.”
Slider peered up at his older son. “Now you’re just ganging up on me.”
“Deal with it, old man,” Sam said with a smirk. And just then, Sam reminded him of Cora. Trying to squirm out of his questions with humor. Except Sam’s defense wasn’t humor, it was sarcasm and feigned apathy.
Still, Slider barked out a laugh at the comment. And, damn, it felt good. Just joking around with them the way he used to. A million years ago . . . “Why don’t we break for lunch. And then we can run to the store and buy a new mattress set for the bed in here.”
Sam fingered a scratch on the pale yellow wall near the light switch. “Maybe we should paint, too.”
“Yeah!” Ben said, struggling to carry the jewelry box under one arm. “Wonder what Cora’s favorite color is? Maybe it’s blue. ’Member she thought that was the coolest color for my case?”
Standing in the doorway, Slider peered back into the clean room, now empty of its ghosts. Or, at least, most of them. “I don’t know,” he said, “but that’s a good idea.”
Over a lunch of cold-cuts sandwiches, chips, and some of Haven’s cookies that Cora had brought over for them, the boys were abuzz with ideas of things they should do for Cora’s room. They didn’t just want fresh paint, they wanted to raid Target for every pretty, girly thing they could find.
“Maybe we should get throw pillows for her bed, too. Don’t girls like that stuff?” Sam asked.
“I think she needs a pink beanbag chair,” Ben said.
“You’re the one who wants a beanbag chair, doofus,” Sam said. “Besides, what if she doesn’t like pink?”
“What if she doesn’t like throw pillows?” Ben shot back.
“Okay,” Slider said, chuckling. “We’ll pick up some new stuff at Target. But maybe we should let Cora do the actual decorating. It’s her room, after all.” That seemed to satisfy them. But there was still the question of what color this theoretical new stuff should be.
Debating, he pulled out his phone and texted Dare. Can you ask Haven what Cora’s favorite color is?
He might as well have typed, Hey Dare, I know I barely talk to you anymore, but can you do me a solid and play go-between with your girlfriend to answer a completely ridiculous question for me?
Three little dots appeared, evidence that Dare was replying. And then they disappeared. Reappeared, then disappeared again. His cell rang.
“That complicated, huh?” Slider said by way of answering.
“Slider, it’s Haven,” she said, amusement plain in her voice. “And, yes, it’s a little complicated, which is why I’m calling.”
“Tell him I wasn’t typing all that shit out,” Dare called out in the background loud enough for Slider to hear.