Page 26 of Rectify

This doesn’t surprise me, her comment resonating with the man who rushed over here to make sure his daughter was okay. While it seems obvious that most parents would worry and make a fuss, you’d be surprised by how many people trust implicitly, insistent on avoiding interruptions on their child-free day.

“It’s just an idea,” I repeat. “No instant commitment needed.”

A woosh of air travels through to the room, followed by the slamming of the front door.

“That’ll be Jay,” Max informs me.

Shakily she stands, just as Holly and Jay walk in together. His eyes find mine first, and I curse the flutter in my stomach at being his priority. Looking a little bit better than Max, the dark circles under his eyes solidify that life is definitely kicking them both in the arse. He begrudgingly shifts his focus to Max and exhales at the sight of her. “You okay?”

She gives him a meek nod and then walks straight past him, into the foyer. Without a word, he follows her leaving Holly and I alone, and perplexed in the room. I make a quick dash out the door and call out to them. “Hey.”

Jay and Max turn, their faces painted with strikingly different expressions. She’s desperate for solace, and he’s exasperated but intrigued I’m seeking them out.

“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Max’s eyes fill back with tears, and Jay turns to stone. I’m not sure why my condolences have rubbed him the wrong way, but the hard, cold stare, sends shivers down my spine. Scary and seductive, the air crackles between us. The constant whiplash between old and new Jay induces the perfect manipulation of my body and my mind. With more questions than answers, I’ve got myself all twisted up in him. With no acknowledgement of my words, from either of them, I force myself to turn around and break the connection.

With each step back to my daily routine, I remind myself.

You don’t want this, Sasha.

You don’t want to know him.

You will not go back there.

Even if it kills you.

* * *

Wednesday night comes around, and thanks to Dakota’s previous outburst, I’m now a permanent fixture, sitting around Jagger’s dining table, with him and Emerson. I tried to think of any excuse to get out of tonight, but my presence seems to have opened the door to some fake conversation and a good old game of pretend. And what makes the whole night worse, is my mind is a million miles away.

Tonight, I’m too preoccupied with the image of Jay and Max dressed in all black, dropping off Lily at school. The sight stunned me into silence, their solemn mood impenetrable as they moved on auto-pilot. Oblivious to anything outside of their own thoughts and movements, they were nothing but two dark shadows walking through the hallway.

Different from the other few times I’d seen him, he was draped in a suffocating amount of sadness, that was impossible for anyone around them to ignore. Consumed by it, he was in a world of his own; Max and Lily the only other two people in it.

I haven’t been able to rid myself of this unexplainable sense of dread and melancholy that’s followed me around all day. I’m known to be a little more empathetic than your average person, but I’ve never felt this overwhelmed by something that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

I convince myself I’m just sorry for his loss, regardless of the animosity I have toward him nobody deserves to feel the pain of grief. He and his family are no exception.

Claire mentioned that just because you dislike someone doesn’t mean you can’t still feel something toward their circumstances. I didn’t think I agreed with her, but the feeling that gnaws at my chest whenever I think of him, says otherwise.

I focus back on the conversation at hand and realise it still hasn’t moved on from Dakota’s school schedule. Thankfully, I’m well versed in all things Dakota, so it’s easy to jump in at any time.

Moving the food around my plate, I slide the leftovers to the edges so it looks like I’ve eaten more than I have, and listen to Dakota explain how the school year now works versus when we were at school.

“Are you okay?” Jagger asks me, stopping Dakota mid-story.

“What?” I look up to three pairs of eyes staring at me intently.

Shifting on my chair, I straighten my back and give them all a tight smile. “Sorry. Busy day.”

They give each other a knowing look like they’ve discussed my recent discomfort behind my back.

I don’t want my attitude around them to be misconstrued for disdain or dislike, because it’s not. I’m just seeking space. But as I look at their disappointed features, I’m aware my mask hasn’t quite fooled anyone.

“I was listening,” I say, trying to placate the mood.

“Baby girl, can you please help Emerson clean up the table.” Jagger’s words mean business, and I’m interested to hear what he has to say. It’s not like him to make a big deal out of anything. Especially not like this.

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