Page 90 of Sweet Silver Bells
If Olivia wanted to rot in a forest, Hunter would support that dream. He would be damn sure to make it happen.
My girl. My tree siren.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Darius said as he pushed past Hunter. They made it to the front of the line, and his coworkers began hugging Nina, who couldn’t even look them in the eye. She looked like she wanted to jump out of her skin, like this was a complete nightmare for her, being here at this church surrounded by this sympathy.
I know, Nina, I’ve been there. I won’t touch you.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said to her. “I know how much it hurts. Even now, I still feel it.”
Nina looked up to him, blinking, realizing, remembering that he had once been right where she stood. Her bottom lip trembled.
“The last conversation we had was about a gingerbread house competition,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter, Nina,” Hunter tried. “What matters is that he did it with you, even though he probably didn’t want to.”
“You are terrible at this,” Sadie said through clenched teeth.
“No, no,” Nina said, “You’re right. He hated those things.”
“But he still did them. He did them for you,” Hunter said. “You were the love of his life. You made his life worth living. You did that, Nina. You gave him it all.”
“Okay, a little better now,” Sadie whispered.
Nina nodded as Celia went in for a hug, Elaine embracing them both as the church emptied.
“Merry Christmas,” Nina said, pushing the group away. She needed to be alone now, Hunter remembered. Hunter was still not quite past that, always preferring to be alone.
Until Olivia.
“Merry Christmas,” Hunter said. “I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you running off to?” Sadie asked, following him as he turned and walked down the aisle.
“I’ve got a ball to attend.”
“You’re actually going to that? And you’re not taking me?”
“Blame my mother.”
An hour had passed,the sun having moved to the western skies. His mother’s car was not in the driveway, so they were still gone. Hunter heard a small commotion when he stepped out onto the cement: the sound of metal falling and clanging, followed by a muffled swear.
“Dad,” Hunter yelled out, walking towards the garage, passing his dad’s truck. “Is that you I hear?”
His dad popped his head out, his handsome full head of salt and pepper hair, dirt on his cheeks, grimy yellow gloves on his hands.
“Ah, Hunter, you’re back. Come help me with this.”
He walked over, turning the corner to see inside the garage door, and stopped to laugh at its absurdity.
“Dad, what are you doing with a motorcycle?”
“It’s been my little project,” Mark said, picking up a wrench from a gigantic red toolbox. “I’ve been teaching myself how to fix it. It’s nearly there. I’m replacing the brake pads today.”
“Can’t say that I can actually help. This is one hobby I never got into.”
“You’re alright; why don’t you just keep me company? Your mother doesn’t care for this, so it’s usually just me out here by myself. How was the funeral?”
Hunter picked at some tools on a basic wooden cabinet. “I said goodbye.”
