Page 82 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“It’s too warm for this,” Riona griped, finishing her sandwich and brushing her hands on her jeans. She wandered to the water's edge and unlaced her shoes, quickly tearing her socks off and stuffing them inside the sneakers. Slowly, she tested the water with her toes, sighing with relief. “This may be the one redeeming part of today.”

“And here I thought my presence was enough to please you.” I placed the plastic trash back inside my bag and handed her a water bottle while I sipped on mine.

She glanced up at me, squinting through the beams of sunlight that haloed her crimson locks. “You’re pretty and all, but this is gorgeous. And peaceful.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, standing at the water’s edge and taking a moment to appreciate the small clearing I passed through every morning. A pair of chipmunks chased each other down a tree, circling the trunk and darting off into the underbrush while they chattered.

“If nature agreed with me, I might consider living away from civilization,” Riona mused, feet splashing in the water. Even her toes were sexy, painted a pale pink. “Unfortunately, I need a coffee dealer within ten minutes of wherever I live for the days I run out.”

I chuckled, thinking about how demanding she was in the morning when she needed caffeine. She didn’t seem to need to impress me by being anything other than she was. No makeup, no fancy clothes, the occasional belch followed by a sweet blush. It was refreshing to be around somebody who didn’t follow the strict Neretti family guidelines.

Living under my father's thumb was exhausting, and I found I cared less and less about my his opinion now that I knew he couldn’t hurt my mother any longer. I hoped she’d found peace wherever she was.

“My mother loved it here,” I blurted. Riona’s eyes fixed on mine as she listened. “It wasn’t my father’s idea to build the cabin, you know. My mother convinced him that any good family man would take at least one family vacation in the summer. He’s always been obsessed with his image in the community, so she just had to appeal to that vanity. Dante was the only one old enough to remember the first summer. I think he was six, and he said even then, our father took one look at the building and shrugged, then told Mamma to make it look presentable. He never cared about it, and often he talked about our vacations when it was Mamma who brought us to the cabin while he only joined us for a few days. He’s never tolerated children well.”

“That’s so sad,” Riona breathed, her mouth turning downward.

I shrugged, knowing it was a gross understatement. No child deserved to have a father like mine. I hoped I could convince my brothers to do something about him now that our mother was gone. “I have fond memories of my mother here. She used to wade into the water with Bianca, holding her hands while she splashed in the water. I think she would have stayed forever if father hadn’t forced her to return to Chicago.”

“So, bring her memory here,” Riona suggested, looking around the clearing. “Make a memorial for her since she can’t rest here.”

I contemplated the idea, then perused the scattered stones around the creek, selecting one that had a point and seemed sturdy. I tested it against another rock, and it left a white streak behind.

“What are you doing?” She asked, turning to watch as I walked down the bank of the stream until I found a larger rock with a relatively smooth surface.

“Making that memorial.” I picked it up and hauled it back to the clearing, using my booted foot to clear the forest debris, so there was a dirt circle at the edge of the open space. I kicked a wedge in the dirt and settled the rock into the hole so it was anchored in the ground and wouldn’t roll.

“Do you want help?”

If I couldn’t have one of my siblings with me, the woman I cared about was the next best thing. She would do my mother’s memory justice. I glanced over my shoulder. “Sure.”

She dried her feet and donned her socks and sneakers, then began gathering small stones, bringing handfuls over and pressing them into the ground around the big rock, creating a pattern that spread out like rays of the sun until it tapered to tiny pebbles. I knew I would never change the design, even though I planned to make the memorial permanent. Taking my phone from my pocket, I snapped several photos to have a reference. Next time I came to the cabin, I’d pour a cement base and press the rocks into it, so there was a permanent memorial.

Carefully, I stepped between the rocks and knelt in front of the central stone, etching it with the small, sharp rock. I didn’t want to write dates or link Mamma to my father in a place that was hers, so I made it simple. The forest seemed to quiet as I worked, carefully making the letters as even as possible.

Riona stood silently behind me as I worked, her even breaths centering me as tears fell down my face. She never looked down on me for having feelings. For me, she was that safe space girls talked about. The one that used to be found in my mother’s kind words and loving embrace.

I wiped my tears and stood with a sigh, staring down at my rudimentary attempt at engraving. Riona’s small hand drifted softly down my spine as she approached, snaking her arm around my waist. I draped my arm around her shoulders, and we stood there for a moment, existing in the emotions of the present together.

Finally, Riona’s soft, sweet whisper broke the silence. “Antonella. Loving mother. Pure soul.”

I’d kept the words simple and to the point. It wasn’t much, but it felt right.

“You’re a good son, Romeo.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever believe it. Those left behind were caught in a war of grief and gratitude, missing their loved ones and thankful to have known them for the brief span of their life. For the first time, I appreciated how fleeting our time together on earth was. I could see why my mother hoped for an afterlife that would reunite us all. Maybe all those prayers and the candles she lit would get us there despite our countless sins.

“Where did you go, Romeo?”

I realized I’d been standing there like a statue, silent and brittle. My emotions filtered into a single focus—fucking.

I turned to Riona and pulled her close, brushing a lingering tear from her cheek. She was too good for me, but I wanted to keep her. I smirked and ran my thumb across her bottom lip. “I’m right here, Juliet.”

My head bowed, and I took her lips, sipping and licking as I held her face in my hands. She opened to me, flicking her tongue against mine, and I lost control, my fingers digging into her skin and my teeth sinking into her bottom lip until she whimpered and fisted my shirt. I lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, grinding against me until my cock was sensitive from the hot friction.

I lowered us to the ground, settling between Riona’s thighs and fumbling with the button on her jeans. She stilled beneath me and placed her palm on my chest. “Romeo, stop.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” I groaned, sitting back on my knees. “What’s wrong?”

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