Page 8 of Prince of Storms
It was far better than the last memory I had of her. Even now, my fingers tingled with a fading warmth and the—
Stop it. Right now. You do not have to relive that. At all. Remember the good times.
And, oh, had there been a lot of good times.
“You remember that time when I was young, and you had put up the pool,” I said, a new memory returning to me. “You had Kent and his wife over, and you guys spent all day throwing me around the pool.”
My father rubbed his left shoulder. “I remember the pain the next day,” he said with a chuckle.
“Do you remember how we made Mom think I was in trouble, so she came over to the edge of the pool, and then you and Kent picked her up and threw her in?”
“Yes!” he crowed, laughing heartily, clutching at his stomach with one hand. “Yes, I do. Oh, she was so irritated because it had been so sunny and hot, and about thirty seconds after we tossed her in, the sun went away. She blamed it on us.”
I laughed through my tears. I’d forgotten that part. Or maybe had never even really known it. I’d been eight or so at the time, so I doubted I was aware of the sun. I would have to add that to my written memory of that day.
“She would be happy to see us laughing at things like that,” he said, wrapping me up in a big dad-hug, his arms crushing me to him. “She wouldn’t want us to be continually shedding tears, darling. She would want you to remember her but not always be sad that she’s gone.”
“I know,” I whispered. “It’s just … hard. She was my mom.”
He laughed softly. “I lost my mother, too, you know. I’ve been there. Gone through it. I understand.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But she didn’t die like Mom did. With you, I mean.”
His face softened, and he squeezed me tight again. “No, I guess she didn’t. But she wouldn’t want you to get stuck on that, either. You know your mother. She’d give you a swift boot to the rear.”
I frowned, pulling away. “Did you talk to Ally or something?”
“No, why?”
“Because, just yesterday, she was giving me basically the same speech. Telling me to move on and live my life.”
“She did? Good! Maybe you’ll listen to her, then,” he said, gripping my shoulders so that his fingers dug into the muscles. “My darling Mia, I love you, but you’ve been shutting out the world since your mother died. It’s not good for you. You’re withering like a flower without sunlight. You need to be spreading your petals wide and letting in the light.”
According to Ally, that wasn’t what I should be spreading, but I much preferred his terminology. Plus, I doubted my father was telling me to get laid. He was just urging me toget outin the world.
“But we’re so close to getting the car,” I said. “A few more months, and I think we can get it!”
“Mia, Mia,” he said, wrapping his arm over my shoulders and squeezing me into his side. “It’s just a car. Four months or another year. It doesn’t matter.”
He might be saying that, but I’d seen the look in his eyes when he saw the car roll up at the auction and heard how his voice had gone all distant as he talked specs. He was putting on a show of disinterest for me. Iwasgoing to help him get that car.
“Dad, I need to do this,” I said, somewhat seriously. “It will help me.”
“Will it? Will it really?” he said skeptically. “Because I think you’re just obsessing over it. You feel like you took it away by being born, and now, you want to give it back as if that will help fill some sort of guilt you feel over your mother dying.”
His words felt like a knife plunging into my stomach, striking deep.
“You don’t need to do anything,” he said softly. “I have you. You’re my reminder of her. I don’t need some piece of metal to remember my wife. I have all sorts of good memories up here.” He tapped his head. And then me. “And here.”
There were a lot of good memories. Growing up, I’d practically idolized them as a couple. Even when he did “gross” things like pinch her butt when he thought I wouldn’t see, I’d realized, on some level, that it was a sign of his feelings.
Then there was how they always tried to “get” the other person. When one of them was coming down the stairs or around a corner, unaware, the other person would hide and yell, “Boo!” to scare them. I remembered one particular incident when my mother came into my room while my father was talking to me. He’d hidden next to the door and jump-scared her.
It had ended with my clean laundry draped over his head and shoulders while both of us laughed. Then he’d calmly folded and refolded all the laundry and gone to make amends. Ten seconds later, as he entered their bedroom, my mother had jumped out from behind the door and scared him so bad he’d bumped his head against the wall trying to get back. So she’d yanked him down to her height and kissed it better. Then she’d kissed him better.
Whether they’d meant to or not, my parents had shown me what an ideal relationship was. They hadn’t hidden their care for one another from me. They’d embraced it, and as such, I’d learned what to look for in a partner. Unfortunately, I hadn’t found them, but still, I knew good signs.
All of which was to say that it pained me to see how alone he was now. All those little games, nothing more than memories. That hurt deeper than I’d ever expected. Having it ripped away from me in a heartbeat was terrible. Pain like I’d never expected.
