Page 29 of True North

He could have hurt Louisa.

Ma could’ve been hurt worse. Hell, she has been.

Louisa could have brushed her hands of Ma. That would break her heart. She sure likes havin’ her around. In all honestly, I’m glad Ma has someone. She needs more than only a son to talk to. Her friend Evelyn will never visit. She’s too aware of the situation to brave the storm.

I lie back on the tray as the stars make their way slowly across the sky. Night sounds fill in around me. I suck in a long, deep breath. If only I could freeze time right here.

When the cold boards set an ache between my shoulders, I sit up and jump off the tailgate. I drive home, slow. Maybe Ma will be in bed. Maybe he’ll be back in town with his buddies. Here’s hoping.

A flash of blue and red lights catches my attention half a mile from home.

Fuck.

I push the old girl faster.

The police lights light up the old house like the damn county fair. I fly into the driveway. Behind the trooper vehicle, the ambulance sits, doors open.

Fuck. Fuck!

I was gone too long.

Ma.

God, if anything’s happened to her...

I fly out of the truck, leavin’ it idling, and lunge up the steps. An officer stands inside the door. He stops me, his hand on my shoulder, as I make it across the threshold. “I’m sorry, son.”

ChapterEight

LOUISA

The service was short. Few people came. Harry stood as still as stone as the preacher man said his piece and they lowered the wooden coffin into the ground. I can’t even begin to imagine how he is feeling. The last words to his?—

I stifle a sob. My heart breaks for Harry.

His jaw feathers when someone tosses dirt onto the coffin, now low in the earth.

Fine fingers squeeze around my own. I glance to my side, where Rosie stands, tears streaming down her face. Her black hat shrouds most of her face. The black dress I found for her at the thrift store hugs her figure. It’s the least I could do.

“If anyone would like to say some words for Eddy?” the preacher man asks.

The small crowd shifts but doesn’t answer.

Harry’s shoulders rise and fall evenly as he turns and walks away.

“Oh, Harry,” Rosie sobs.

“If you would like to join us for the wake later at the tavern.” The preacher’s words are halfhearted, a final statement.

Murmurs rise as the rest of the crowd disperses. I turn and hug Rosie. She shakes as I rub her back. The ache that grew in my chest for this woman the second Harry told me what happened blooms to life again.

“Can I take you home, Rosie?”

She holds me at arm’s length. Her face breaks as she tilts her head. “Evelyn is taking me home with her. I don’t think I can go back there. Not just yet.”

“Okay, but here”—I pull from her grip and pull out a small notepad and pen, scribbling down my number—“is my number. Please use it if you need anything. And if you’re up to it. We can still cook, if you want to keep busy and all.”

She scrunches her face, patting my cheek. “I would love to, hon.”

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