Page 13 of Fierce Love
“We’re not fucking doing this, Niall,” he growls, his tone pissed off. “Don’t make today harder on your daughters. For once in your life, do the right thing. You’ve been told to leave, now leave.”
My father glares at me and then at Kinsley, but he pushes off the arms of the chair and ambles out of the room behind the police officer. I don’t know what kind of magic Officer Foster possesses, but that was impressive. Every time I’ve had a confrontation with my parents without my Aunt Verna present, it turned violent quickly. Maybe they’ve mellowed in their old age, or maybe the officer’s tree-trunk arms intimidate more than just me.
No sooner are they gone than Otis comes hustling back into the room, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Thankfully Officer Foster was in the area, and he’s very familiar with Mickie Davis and Niall Thompson.”
The last names are a reminder that my parents never married and that, for a reason I either never asked or can’t remember, we are the Davis girls, not the Thompson ones.
“I bet Officer Foster isveryfamiliar with my parents,” I mutter, and there’s something about Stephen that’s nipping at the back of my brain. Was he at the hearing for Kinsley a few years ago? “You’ll be regretting that first-time-client discount you gave us this morning.”
“I would have regretted the alternative more,” Otis says with a tight smile.
His discount is the only reason I can afford to stay at the hotel for a few more days while Kinsley and I clean out Aunt Verna’s apartment. Otherwise, I would have been forced to sink into those memories, that old life, for longer than the few hours a day we’ll spend sorting through the things Aunt Verna held dear. The more distance I can keep between the person I’ve become and who I was, the better.
Otis peers through the one-way glass. “We believe everyone is settled. We’ll have the music you selected play, and we’ll escort you and Kinsley to your seats at the front. We have someone reading a poem based on the theme you selected, and a few other people from the community came forward asking to say a few words. You’ll be the last to speak.”
“Okay,” I say as he presses a program into my hand and leads us to the side door, which will take us out into the service room.
Kinsley squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers back.
As the music is drawing to a close, Otis opens the door and leads us through. We pass by the crowd, and I can’t help searching the sea of faces for any that are familiar from my childhood. I’m not surprised by the ones I find. Just as I’m about to sit down, the back door opens, and my heart freezes.
Nate stands for a second, framed in the doorway, and then he slips into a seat at the end of the closest aisle. I press a hand to my chest, and Kinsley’s worry radiates off her.
Why would he come? After the awful way I left, after our stilted conversation the other day, I can’t understand why he’d come.
“You okay?” Kinsley whispers to me as we sit down, our backs to the crowd.
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “Just so many familiar faces from my childhood.”
“Can we talk to some of them later?” she asks.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sure some of them will come to the reception, but there’s no need to get too comfortable here.”
Kinsley sighs, and I try to ignore the obvious disappointment in the sound. She doesn’t understand how severe the class differences are on the island, and I’d prefer she never realizes it the way I had to.
The service starts, and it passes in a blur of me mostly trying to keep myself from crying too long or too loud.
When it’s my turn to speak, Kinsley squeezes my hand before releasing me, and the papers I took out of my purse shake. I smooth them out on the lectern, and I adjust the microphone, stalling while I get myself together.
Once I’m ready, I look toward the back of the room, an old public speaking trick. No eye contact but looking forward. Except at the back of the room is Nate, and I expect to tense up again at the sight of him. We aren’t on good terms. We don’t know each other anymore.
Instead, some long-buried instinct takes over, and my body remembers that he used to be a safe landing place, that I once felt safer with him than I ever had with anyone. The memory of those months settles over me like a weighed blanket, a shield against what I have to do next.
And when I start to speak, I don’t look at anyone but him. The page and then him, over and over until I finish. Somehow, I don’t cry, and I don’t stumble. The speech is smooth and practiced, as though I didn’t bawl my eyes out every other time I tried to say it to the end.
There’s no clapping when I finish, just a long impossible silence. As I leave the lectern, Nate rises to his feet and slips out the door. As soon as it clicks shut, it’s like whatever was propping me up, whatever got me through the speech, leaves with him, and I practically fall into my seat.
Otis directs everyone to the reception area in another part of the funeral home, but I stay seated with Kinsley by my side.
“Are we going?” she asks, glancing behind us.
“Is everyone gone yet?” I ask. “I just need a minute before we go in there.” Because once we leave this room, I have to pretend to be okay, even if that’s the last thing I feel.
“Yeah,” Kinsely says. “Everyone is gone now.”
I’d tell her to go ahead without me, but that wouldn’t be fair. Some of those people, I remember well, and others are hazy memories, but either way, Kinsley will be a curiosity to most of them. We haven’t been back to the island since I took Kinsley to New York with me.
I smooth down my hair that I straightened this morning, and I rise to my feet. Once I’m through today, there’s only a few more hard things left to do. For Kinsley, I can hold my emotions together.
