“Well, it cut twenty off mine,” she said against his throat. Her shoulders relaxed as she pressed into him. “I still can’t believe you laughed at me,” she said, pinching his pec hard.
“Ow.” He flinched back and looked at her still-fuming face. “Okay, I shouldn’t have laughed. But a dead alligator in a funeral home, come on, it’s funny.”
“Maybe a little.” Her mouth quirked and then all of sudden she was laughing too. When she snorted Brendan lost it again. God, he’d missed her laugh, the way it warmed his heart and settled in his stomach.
“What is all this commotion about?”
Brendan turned to see Verna standing on the bottom step, her arms folded across her bony chest and her lips pursed.
“Juris needed to use the embalming room to store an alligator, and when Paige saw it she got scared,” Tara explained.
“That man shouldn’t be allowed to use this place to store those creatures. It’s disgusting.”
“It’s really none of your business,” Tara said.
“I’m going to report this to Mr. Adams,” Verna said as her glasses slid down her nose.
“You go on ahead and do that,” Tara said.
“I will. And while I’m at it, I’m going to report this ruckus that she’s caused,” Verna said, pointing at Paige. “Her and all of her troublesome ways. She’s been a vexation ever since she stepped foot in this town.”
A fresh does of anger flared up in Brendan. They’d been laughing a second ago. For one glorious moment the world hadn’t been a sad, dark place. It’d been bright again, and then Verna the Vulture had ruined it.
“Her name is Paige, and I’d appreciate it if you’d show some respect to my wife. And just so you know, the only vexation around here is
you
. So why don’t you flap your wings and go bother someone else.”
“Well, I never…you rude, disrespectful, ingrate,” Verna fumed.
“I’m only respectful to people who deserve it, and
you
have never deserved my respect.”
“Hmmph,” she grumbled as she turned around and went back up the stairs.
“Bitter old hag,” Brendan muttered under his breath.
When he turned back to Paige she was grinning at him, biting her bottom lip. “Defending my honor?”
“Always.”
* * *
On Saturday, during the first week of September, Paige’s father had a couple of hours of lucidity. Paige was in the living room with him when he grabbed her hand, his long fingers wrapping around hers.
“Little Miss,” he whispered while he struggled to breathe. “I’m so proud of you.”
Paige’s heart flew up into her throat because she knew. She knew her father was about to say good-bye to her.
“You’re painting and selling your art. I’ve…” He paused as he swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I’ve always thought that you were one of the most talented painters. And now you’re living your dream. My beautiful, smart, talented little girl.”
“Daddy,” Paige said as her throat tightened.
“Sometimes life gives you challenges. When it does, all people can see is the difficult path in front of them and not the reward at the end. When you first came down here, I’d…I’d never seen you so sad. You weren’t…” His breathing was becoming more and more labored. “You weren’t happy and you had…hadn’t been for a long time, long before you…you’d lost your job, and before Dylan. You weren’t happy,” he repeated.
Paige blinked hard and tears started streaming down her face.
“But you
are
happy now. And I got to witness one of the greatest things a father can witness. I…I got to watch my baby girl fall in love with a good man. A man who’s worthy of you be-because he loves you and sees just how…how much you’re…you’re worth. I can die knowing that Brendan’s going t-to take care of you and your mother, and that’s a great comfort.”
Trevor let go of Paige’s hand and reached up to touch her cheek.
“I love you, Daddy,” Paige said before she put her head down on his chest and started sobbing. He smelled like he always did, like laundry detergent and the soap he’d used as far back as she could remember.
His hand was on her head, stroking her hair for a couple of minutes before it stilled. Paige sat up and looked at her now-sleeping father. Her head was throbbing and she was struggling to breathe properly. She stood up and walked to the kitchen. Brendan was making lunch and he looked up as she walked through the doorway.
“Come here,” he whispered, putting down the knife in his hand. She made her way into his arms and started sobbing again.
“He said good-bye,” she said thickly. “He said good-bye.”
Brendan didn’t say anything. He just held her in that sure, calm way of his.
* * *
It happened four days later. Paige’s cell phone rang at exactly 4:39 in the morning. Brendan watched her in their dark bedroom as a stillness came over her body.
Trevor was gone.
Denise had fallen asleep around eleven o’clock and sometime after that he’d died. Brendan could hear Denise’s sobs from the other side of the phone. He reached up and touched Paige’s shoulder, and she leaned into him for a second before she got out of bed. She switched on the light as she walked across the room.
“I’m getting dressed now, Mom. I’ll be there soon. I love you,” Paige said before she hit a button on her phone and placed it on the dresser.
Brendan got out of bed and walked up behind her as she riffled through a drawer. He placed his hands on her shoulders, but when she went to pull away he held on and turned her around.
“Brendan, I have to get over there,” she said, staring over his shoulder.
“Look at me, Paige,” he said, touching her chin and gently pushing it up.
Her eyes focused on his and there was so much pain there that Brendan felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“Just don’t push me away, okay. You’re not in this alone. I’m right here.”
“I know,” she said and nodded, looking away before she disentangled herself from his arms and started getting dressed.
* * *
The next day, while Paige and Denise went down to the funeral home to start making arrangements, Brendan and Shep went and cleaned up the living room at Trevor and Denise’s house.
Well, Denise’s house now.
The hospital bed sat in the middle of the living room. All of the machines that Trevor had been hooked up to stood to the side of it. His slippers were on the floor, his sweater lay across the back of a chair, and his glasses sat on top of a book on the coffee table.
Neither Shep nor Brendan said anything as they moved the medical equipment out of the room and into Brendan’s truck. Brendan grabbed an empty box from one of the closets and filled it with Trevor’s stuff while Shep moved the room back around to normal.
Except there was no more normal. Trevor was dead.
He’d been a good husband to Denise and a good father to Paige. He’d been kind and generous, loving and selfless. He would’ve laid his life on the line for his family and he never would’ve abandoned them. He’d been a good man, one of the best that Brendan had ever met, and now he was gone.
It was bullshit.
It was bullshit that Brendan and Grace had worthless fathers who didn’t give a damn about them. It was bullshit that Claire had died at the age of thirty-four. It was bullshit that she missed out on so much of Brendan and Grace’s lives. She’d never seen them graduate high school. She’d never gotten to meet Paige and watch Brendan fall in love. She wasn’t there when Brendan got married and she wouldn’t be there when Grace did either. Neither Trevor nor Claire would ever get to meet their grandchildren. And it was all bullshit.
Brendan grabbed a glass full of water on the coffee table and threw it against the wall. It smashed and water and glass spilled out over the hardwood floors.
“Feel better?” Shep asked from behind him.
“No,” he said, staring at the wet patch on the wall.
“Good. I’m glad we discussed that. Now go clean it up.”
* * *
The next couple of days were an out-of-body experience for Paige. She was going through the motions of everything. She had to, because if she let her brain and her emotions connect with her body she was going to fall into a black hole that she wouldn’t be able to crawl out of. She couldn’t let herself stop for a moment, which meant that at the end of the day she was so exhausted she would pass out before she had a chance to think.
Abby had flown down and she was helping Denise while Paige did everything she needed to do at the funeral home.
She was still working on the tribute two days before the funeral. It was long, way too long. She’d picked almost double the amount of pictures, but she couldn’t eliminate any of them. She was flipping through the pictures on her screen when she came across one of her on her father’s shoulders when she was about five years old. She had a cherry snow cone in one hand, her lips were bright red from the juice, and a stuffed elephant was clutched in her other fist. Paige was smiling at the camera while her father looked up at her with adoration in his eyes.
Paige lost it.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there sobbing, but at some point she felt hands on her shoulders and she looked up to find Brendan pulling her to her feet.
“We’re going home,” he said, grabbing her purse.
“I—I haven’t finished,” she said and sniffled. “I have to finish this.”
“You can’t finish this, Paige,” he said, shaking his head. “Shep and Grace are going to do it. I’ve also talked to Mr. Adams and you aren’t working tomorrow.”
“I have—”
“No,” he said firmly. “You’re running on empty. I know what you’re doing. You think you can prevent yourself from feeling all of this pain. But you can’t, baby. You can’t.”
He was right. She couldn’t fight against it anymore. The pain was stronger than she was, so she let him take her home.
* * *
Paige would not be comforted. She didn’t want to be touched or held. She didn’t want to talk to anybody. At night, she curled up in a small ball on her side of the bed, as far away from Brendan as possible. The only time he’d seen her break down since Trevor had died was when she’d been working on the tribute, and the only reason he’d been there for that was because Tara had called him. Paige wouldn’t let him in.
Brendan had no idea what to do. There was nothing he could do, because the only thing Paige wanted was her father back.
On the day of the funeral, Brendan woke up alone. He went out into the kitchen to find Abby making coffee.
“Is Paige out here?” he asked.
“No,” Abby said, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen her all morning.”
Sydney wasn’t in the house either, so Brendan went outside and walked down to Paige’s art studio. The sun had only just come up, so it hadn’t had a chance to warm up yet. The door to the studio was open, and Sydney’s head stuck out past the threshold. She opened her eyes and then closed them when she saw it was only Brendan.
He came up and leaned against the doorjamb. Paige had earbuds stuck in her ears, so she hadn’t heard him walk up. She was sitting down in front of her easel, wearing one of his old shirts that was covered in paint. Her hair was piled up on top of her head, her neck completely bare. He wanted so badly to stick his face in her throat and inhale. To kiss her skin. To wrap his arms around her and just hold her.
But she didn’t want that. Didn’t want
him
at the moment. So instead he leaned back and watched her. Since Trevor died, it was one of the few times they’d been in a room together, just the two of them, and not been asleep.
He looked at the canvas in front of her. It was a black-and-white painting of a couple embracing, but the man was fading away. The woman’s grasp on him was desperate. Both of their faces were filled with pain, longing, love.
It was beautiful.
Brendan watched Paige paint for a couple of minutes. When she went to dip her brush again he leaned forward and pulled one of the buds out of her ear.
She jumped back, startled.
“Sorry,” he said nervously.
When did he get nervous around his wife?
“What time is it?” she asked, putting down her brush and coming back to the moment. She’d most definitely been in a zone, and he wouldn’t have pulled her out of it, but it was time to start getting ready for Trevor’s funeral.
“Almost eight. How long have you been out here?”
“Since two,” she said, rubbing her tired eyes.
“Two?” Brendan asked.
He was shocked he hadn’t heard her get up. Hadn’t known his wife wasn’t in bed with him for almost six hours. But truth be told, she hadn’t been with him at all the last week. He was so used to holding her at night, having his body pressed against hers. They’d never had space between them. They were always touching in at least some way or another. And now that space between them felt like miles. Miles he had no idea how to cross.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, standing up. Her shoulders were slumped and she looked exhausted. Defeated.