Page 19 of The Meaning Of You

When I’d lashed out at him that first day, he’d simply shut me down and walked away—ignoring my tantrum with the attitude that saidsort yourself out, arsehole. And to my complete shock, I’d found myself doing just that. Following him, wanting to explain, wanting to open the door again rather than wallow in my self-righteousness. The why of my reaction to him was simultaneously frightening and infuriating.

He took a seat at the opposite end of the bench and I resisted the urge to tell him to piss off. His quiet closeness came with that familiar spell of reassurance I’d grown used to. I’d escaped to the courtyard to get away from Lizzie’s and Samuel’s grief along with the condolences blowing up my phone. We were talking half the population of Auckland City who considered themself his friend, not to mention a far-reaching author network. Word spread like wildfire.

“Courtesy of Jerry.” Madigan slid a mug of coffee across the bench and I stared at it for a moment before meeting his gaze. A bone-deep sadness lay in the depths of those green eyes, and my own tears welled for just the second time since Davis had died.

I shook my head. “I don’t think?—”

“At least hold it so I can say I tried.” Madigan’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “She’s watching.”

My gaze flicked to the glass wall and its view into reception where Jerry was already bolting back to her desk, trying to pretend she hadn’t been watching. I gave a heavy sigh and took the coffee, lifting it to my lips. I managed a small swallowwithout throwing up, which I counted as a win, then went back to staring at the play of sun and shadows on the crazy paving at my feet.

Madigan remained quiet, the rhythmic sound of him swallowing his coffee the only thing to break the silence. The door to the courtyard opened and closed, but whoever it was must’ve taken one look and reconsidered their plan. We remained alone.

And Madigan remained silent.

“I’m okay, you know.” I broke first. “You don’t need to worry. No one does. We knew it was coming. Jesus, we even hoped it was coming.”

Madigan settled back in his seat, his gaze hot on my face. “Of course you’re okay. It’s not like you just lost your husband, right?”

I shot him a shocked sideways look, but the kindness in his eyes almost undid me. A tear threatened but I scrubbed it away, then miraculously, I chuckled. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?”

Madigan’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It might’ve been said once or twice.” And for the first time, I noticed the suture line running between his brows.

“What happened?” I indicated his brow.

His hand rose self-consciously to touch the spot. “I needed a few skin cancers removed.”

My brows rose. “A few?”

“Forehead, arm, and shoulder. Generational hazard, right?” His gaze travelled my face. “Although with your olive skin, you probably fared better than most.”

“So far,” I agreed. “But you never know. We were seriously fucked as kids in that regard, weren’t we?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much. But every generation is seriously fucked in some aspect of health, I suppose. Lead in paint. Sun exposure. Herbicides. You name it.”

Another traitorous tear made it onto my cheeks and I quickly looked away. “Sorry. I can’t seem to turn the fuckers off.”

He gave a soft snort. “I’d be worried if you could. Now drink your coffee. It’s getting cold.”

For some reason I did as he said. Pick your battles, right?

The garden swelled in silence around us. Two men sitting on a bench. Two men as different as night and day. One broken in grief, the other in quiet observation.

Petunias cascaded from hanging baskets along the walkway like pretty cloaks. The cloying scent of jasmine filled the courtyard. And roses bloomed in the first flush of summer.

And still Madigan sat. Quiet and sure.

Like he belonged there.

Like he’d been sent.

And somewhere along the way it suddenly became easy.

“He was so quiet at the end,” I found myself telling him. “So... peaceful. He’d been coughing and rattling for over a week, but this morning he became quiet. Like he knew it was close. Like he’d decided it was time. After that, everything became hushed. His breathing. His movement. The sound of his voice in my head. Everything just... stopped.”

The air thickened between us, thick and cool and calm.

Madigan’s hand found mine and gently squeezed.

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