Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(101)

I knelt beside the bed and took her hand. Not even a hint of warmth still lingered in it.

“I can’t believe you left me,” I whispered, hearing the accusation in my voice. All of a sudden I was a child again, six years old, lost in the Mardi Gras parade when Mama briefly let go of my hand. I had the same feeling now as I did then, raw disbelief mixed with rising hysteria, searching desperately for her face in a crowd of strangers.

Only this time the hysteria wouldn’t be replaced with sweet relief when I was found. I’d remain lost forever, alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces, crying out her name.

I told her I loved her. I told her she was the best mother who ever lived. I told her I hoped one day to be half the woman she was, and that I’d always try to make her proud. Through it all she was silent and still the way only a corpse can be, that utter absence of life like a negative charge sucking the air from the room.

It wasn’t until I whispered, “Tell Daddy I miss him,” that I sensed a change in the atmosphere. Something shimmered briefly. The air gained a palpable spark.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I’d swear on the Bible I felt a gentle touch on my head.

Then it was gone, and I was alone in a cool, quiet room with the body of my mother, and all the pain I’d been holding off came rushing over me at once.

I threw my head back and howled like an animal, loud enough to scour every ghost within miles from its grave.



The bland-faced men from the funeral home spoke in soft, soothing tones and wore black suits with white carnations in the lapels. I picked out a casket from a catalog, one with a beautiful lavender lining I knew Mama would’ve liked. Arrangements were made. Paperwork was signed. Condolences were given.

Then they loaded Mama into a hearse and took her away.

Eeny sent her off with a teary cry of, “Safe travels, Miss Davina!” and the pain was so breathtaking I almost fell to my knees.

Through it all, Jackson was a rock. He kept his hand on my lower back, or my shoulder, or my arm, a constant, gentle touch of support. When I found it hard to stand, he held me up. When I found it impossible to speak, he spoke for me. He thanked Jennifer and told her to go home, then he asked Eeny if she could go to the restaurant and take care of things there, because we all could see that I was in no shape to handle it.

“Cancel all the reservations for the rest of the week,” I told her in a dull voice. “Put a sign on the front door. CLOSED INDEFINITELY.”

“Should I call anyone for you, boo? People will want to know Davina passed.”

“Yes,” I said, my head pounding. “Call everyone. I’ll let you know as soon as I schedule the funeral service with the church. Thank you, Eeny.”

When Jackson said, “Tell the restaurant employees they’ll be paid for the days off,” I didn’t have the strength to argue. By then all I wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a few years.

Weeping, Eeny left. Then Jackson and I sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other like two people who’ve survived a plane crash only to find themselves stranded on a desert island with no food or shelter and a hurricane blowing in.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally said. His eyes were fierce. “She was a lovely woman.”

I looked at the table, its wood surface nicked and scratched from years of use, while grief swept through me like a raging river overflowing its banks. “Yes. Thank you. For everything you’ve done, thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

I didn’t mean for it to sound like a dismissal, like a decision had been made by a committee that he’d performed well under pressure but should now be on his way, but somehow it did. He flinched a little, slouched lower in his chair.

A minute passed in silence. Then Jackson cleared his throat. “You’re staying here tonight?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but the moment the words were out of his mouth I knew I wanted to do exactly that. “Yes,” I said, strangely relieved.

He nodded. His jaw was set. My engagement ring caught a ray of light and reflected it around the kitchen in a million prism sparks. I couldn’t imagine a more awkward moment had ever occurred.

He asked, “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?”

When I said no, he visibly deflated.

“Okay,” he answered quietly. “Then I’ll just . . . I guess I’ll just go.”

I couldn’t look at him. A chaos of wingbeats filled my chest. Did I want him to go? Did I want him to stay? I didn’t know anything anymore, only that it was hard to catch my breath. I feared if I looked up into his face, I might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

He stood. “Call me if you need anything.” His voice had an edge of sorrow, like he already knew I wouldn’t.