Page 76 of Repluse

“Yeah. Nah. Weird. Call Frankie; tell him theplan.” I use air quotes when I say the last word, then turn, grab my bag, kiss my mum’s cheek, and follow Sam out the door.

I waketo the sound of voices, and it takes me a long moment to get my bearings.

After our swift getaway from the care home, we drove to Sam’s place on the peninsula this morning. I don’t remember arriving or coming to bed, but here I am. Panic hits me as I search for my phone, wondering what the time is.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hiss as I climb out of bed, run to use the bathroom, then out of the bedroom, and up the stairs to the kitchen.

Frankie’s sitting on a stool at the island bench. Sam has his back to me and looks to be cooking something.

“What’s the time?” I ask in a rush.

“Afternoon,” the boys say in unison, more casual than ever.

“Afternoon? What’s the time? Where’s my phone? I was supposed to meet my sister at the funeral home.” I feel tingly everywhere as I try not to panic about letting my sister down and leaving her to deal with the funeral arrangements on her own.

“Phone’s here.” Frankie holds it up. “We spoke to your sister. Rearranged the funeral home for Monday.”

I draw in as much oxygen as I can. “Thank fuck,” I say on an exhale, my hand pressing into my chest as I attempt to slow my racing heart. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I admit when I turn to face them fully.

“Come and eat, then you can shower. After that, we’ll tell you our plan, and hopefully you’ll feel better,” Sam says before opening the oven and pulling out a stack of toast.

I move to the island, pull out a stool, and sit. “Anotherplan?” I ask him wearily.

“The final plan, and I promise, you’re gonna love it,” Frankie tells me as he slides his coffee mug my way and I take a mouthful.

Sam sets down plates, cutlery, a French butter crock, the toast, and a pan full of scrambled eggs next to the salt, pepper, and hot sauce already sitting there.

“Well… most of it,” Frankie adds.

I pause, midway through buttering my second slice of toast. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

“Eat, shower, then, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll talk,” he continues, his tone now gentle.

He’s worried about me and instead of my walls going up, I embrace the way that makes me feel.

“I know it’s probably a really stupid question given the circumstances, but are you feeling okay?” Sam asks as he slides me my own cup of coffee and returns Frankie’s.

I take a moment to once again allow the knowledge these two genuinely care to fill my chest to the point I can barely breathe. But it’s good. It feels good.

Scary!

But good.

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly once I get my emotions in check. “I’ve barely had time to process.” I look up from the food in front of me and meet both their gazes. “I’m not sure yet what I’m grieving for. It hurts that I didn’t know her. It hurts that I never will now.”

I don’t cry as I admit my feelings, yet tears roll down my cheeks anyway. Is that still crying, I wonder?

Sam reaches across the island and laces his fingers through mine. Frankie wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulls me into him, and kisses the top of my head.

“Whatever you need, Mils. Whatever is going to make this easier for you and your sister, we’ve got you. You know that right?” Frankie says against my hair.

That’s when my free hand covers my mouth and I finally let out a sob.

It’s too much. Too many feelings, and the only way I can deal with them right now is to cry.

“I know, I know, and I can’t thank you enough. I honestly don’t know what?—”

“You don’t have to know. You don’t have to contemplate the what ifs. We’re here, and we’ve got you,” Sam interrupts, offering a hand squeeze.

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