Page 59 of Wasted Memories
“More mature than Brendt, that’s for sure,” Stella mumbled as we all clinked glasses and sipped. Brendt was smiling as he shook his head. Stella’s sassiness didn’t turn him away, that much was certain.
I couldn’t say how mature it was of me to be ignoring Jett, because it wasn’t. A mature person would have sat down and had a conversation, closed any loose ends, and parted ways respectfully. It was hard for me to grant him that respect after the way he’d treated me, but I knew he didn’t see it that way.
I felt bad for avoiding him. I’d been with him for so long and all of a sudden cut him off, but I had good reason to. To clear my conscience and lay this to rest, I had to talk to him. Then we could all move on.
Chapter Thirty Four
Wesley
IheldEmerson’shand,idly stroking the side of her thumb as she spoke to her aunt at the funeral reception. The funeral service was in Oldport, despite her father not having lived here in almost twenty years.
Emerson was quiet throughout the service, which I expected. She didn’t need to speak for me to know that deep down, she was hurting. Hurting for the life she didn’t get with him, for the hope that she once had that he would come back one day. There’d be no more wishing she’d run into him at a gas station, or the possibility that he could send a letter in the mail reaching out.
Before, he was gone in a way that gave her hope she still may one day get a chance with him, get to know the man he was, but now, that was no longer an option. He was gone and she never even got to know him.
When we’d arrived and she’d seen the photo of him sitting up at the front of the church, she’d stood frozen for minutes, staring at it. Her mother barely had any photos of him from before he left, and I’m sure he looked vastly different in this more recent photo than he did back then.
I could see the resemblance between the two of them. His blue eyes matched hers, his dark hair a mirror in color to her own. I wondered if she got any of his other attributes, like his laugh, or his sense of humor, like I did with my dad.
It was hard to tell what she may be feeling. She put up a hard exterior, smiling when family spoke to her, engaging in conversation with strangers that claimed to know him. Did they question why they’d never met her? Why he lived so far from his family? Did they know he abandoned his family, yet still became his friend, laughed with him, made memories with him that his own family didn’t get to make?
“Your eyes look just like his.” Her aunt was going on about all her memories with Emerson’s father growing up. I couldn’t tell if Emerson really wanted to know these stories, or keep what she knew of him already. It was harder to cope when you had stories of how he spoke or the way he acted, I knew that much. “Always a deep blue.”
Emerson gave the woman a small smile, gripping my hand three times. That was my cue. “He gave her my favorite thing about her, then. Those beautiful eyes, like the ocean before a storm. It was lovely meeting you, ma’am.”
“You as well, Wesley. Take care of her. He would’ve loved you.” Her aunt headed in the direction of the charcuterie board sitting on a table against the far wall.
I turned to Emerson, who was staring straight ahead. Her eyes were glassy, full of tears that hadn’t fallen. I gently pulled her into me, letting go of her hand to wrap my arms around her. She laid her cheek on my chest, releasing a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to cry,” she mumbled into my black button up shirt.
“It’s okay if you do,” I whispered, my lips brushing against her hair.
“I wish he could have met you.”
I closed my eyes, holding her a little tighter. “I wish he could have metyou. You’re such a resilient, breathtaking woman. He missed out, because no one on this planet could compare to you, Emerson.”
Her hands fisted in the back of my shirt. “Okay, now I might cry.”
I chuckled and she pulled back, tilting her head up to gaze at me. “Thank you for coming.”
I smiled and brought my hand to her cheek to stroke my thumb under her eye to brush away a tear. I wanted to tell her I’d do anything she wanted me to, go anywhere she wanted me to go, but it felt too soon to admit I was head over heels for her. We shared many intimate moments and did things only a couple would do, but I didn’t want to scare her away. She was still going through a lot, and I didn’t want to add to the abundance of thoughts going through her mind.
“I think I’ve talked to enough people and almost-cried too many times to count. We can leave if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” I grabbed her hand again and led us through the crowd filling the small house. I saw her mom watching us leave out of the corner of my eye but didn’t make eye contact. Emerson hadn’t spoken to her all day, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I was in her shoes.
Ross hadn’t shown up at the funeral or the reception. Emerson didn’t think he would attend anyway, due to the fact that their father walked out of the Foley’s lives before he was even born. From what she’d told me, he’d been more content growing up without a father. With the special treatment her mother gave Ross, I didn’t blame him, but for Emerson, I could see why she’d longed for a father figure. Any kid would.
Reaching the door, we walked outside into the brisk air. Winter was coming and it sure made its presence known early around this part of Washington. Emerson stopped in her tracks beside me, pulling me to a stop. I followed her gaze to the last thing she needed today. Jett was standing on the curb, staring at the house we just exited.
“What are you doing here?” We were close enough to him that he could hear her without raising her voice.
“I came to pay my respects,” his voice was hoarse, his eyes glossy. I could smell the hint of whiskey that blew off him in the breeze.
“You knew him even less than I did.”
He shook his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I also came to say I’m sorry, Emerson.”
She scoffed. “At my father’s funeral? You thought that would be the place to make a scene?”
