Page 87 of Until the Storm Breaks
“You’re leaving,” Alex says, taking position beside Jack. His usual easy smile is gone completely.
Cole looks around at all five of us now, then focuses on Dominic. “Dom, help me out here.”
Dominic pauses. “You need to leave. Now. This was completely inappropriate.”
Cole stands there for a moment, confidence finally cracking. “I’ll call later about tomorrow. My condolences.”
He walks to his Tesla without hurrying, trying to salvage some dignity. The arrogance of it, the fact that he thinks this is just a minor setback in his business deal, makes my whole body tense. Maren must feel it because she steps closer, her other hand coming to rest on my arm.
As people resume heading to their cars, Dominic turns to us. His face is flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment I can’t tell. Theo quietly says something to Chloe about going to look at the flowers people brought, walking her a little distance away so she’s out of earshot.
“I didn’t know he was coming today,” Dominic says once Chloe’s far enough away, his tone clipped. “Obviously that was inappropriate timing on his part. But let’s not be dramatic, all right? I said I’d look into your alternatives.”
The dismissive way he says it, like we’re overreacting to Cole showing up at Mom’s memorial. Like we’re being the unreasonable ones. Dominic’s always been like this, treating emotion as weakness, treating business as more important than everything else. But this isn’t the time or place for the fight we need to have. Mom’s friends are trying to leave peacefully. Theo’s keeping Chloe distracted. Sometimes being the betterman means walking away, even when your brother is being an ass.
Jack steps forward slightly. “That wasn’t a mistake, Dom. Guy knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Let’s just go to the bar,” I say before Dominic can respond, glancing at Maren beside me and taking her hand. “We’ll handle this later. Mom would want us all together right now, not fighting in front of everyone.”
Dominic looks like he wants to say more, but he just adjusts his cuffs, that nervous tell he’s had since high school.
Theo walks back over with Chloe, who’s now clutching a handful of wildflowers. “Ready to go see friends?” he asks her brightly.
“And Uncle Alex’s special mac and cheese,” Alex adds, steering us all toward normal. “Remember how much you liked it last time?”
“With the crispy top?” Chloe asks, perking up.
“Extra crispy, just for you,” Alex promises.
We move toward our vehicles, the moment passing without the explosion it could have been. Maren squeezes my hand as we walk to the truck, and I know she understands what it cost me to not engage with Dominic right then. To be the adult Mom would have wanted me to be, even when my brother makes it nearly impossible.
The Black Lantern is packed by the time we arrive, warm bodies and voices filling every corner. Maren and Lark have transformed it into exactly what Mom would have wanted. Pictures of her cover the walls—young Susan with baby Dominic, the five of us at various ages looking scrappy and loved, her and Dad on their wedding day. Her favorite Motown plays just loud enough to be heard under the conversations. Flowers sit onevery surface, wildflowers mostly, the kind she used to pick on her walks.
The beer is flowing freely, Theo and Alex’s food covers every available surface, and the stories have already started. I can hear Eddie by the pool table telling his favorite Susan story to anyone who’ll listen.
“Five bikers,” he’s saying, gesturing wildly with his beer. “Big ones. All leather and attitude. And Susan just pointed to the door and said ‘Out.’ No explanation, no argument. And they went! Like scolded schoolboys.”
Jack and I make our way to the bar together, weaving through the crowd. People touch my arm as we pass, murmuring condolences, sharing quick memories. Mrs. Patterson tells me about Susan bringing soup when her husband was sick. Tom mentions how she taught him to play chess during his divorce, giving him something to focus on besides anger.
At the bar, Lark is pulling beers with her usual efficiency despite the crowd three deep. She spots us and works her way over.
“Hey guys,” she says, already reaching for glasses. “Beer?”
“Please,” I say. “It’s a zoo in here.”
“Susan would love it,” Lark says, pulling two pints. “This is exactly what she wanted. People together, telling stories, probably drinking too much.”
“How’s the ankle?” Jack asks, leaning against the bar.
“Basically healed,” she says, sliding our beers across. “Though I’m milking it for all the sympathy I can get. Yesterday Betty brought me cookies because she felt bad about my ‘terrible injury.’”
“Strategic,” Jack says, grinning. “I respect that. What kind of cookies?”
“Snickerdoodles. Worth the limp, honestly.”
“I once faked a stomach bug to get out of a sponsor event,”Jack admits. “Spent the whole day eating room service and watching terrible reality TV instead.”
“What show?” Lark asks, and she’s leaning on the bar now.
