Burn for You (Slow Burn Book 1)(102)

He kissed the top of my head, his lips the barest brush of pressure, fleetingly there, then gone. Then he walked slowly to the front door, his shoulders slumped in a way I’d never seen before. When I heard the door open, my lungs filled with breath, as if I were about to shout, but then the door closed, and I was left alone in silence, the awful reality of the day settling into my bones.

Somewhere off in the distance, a dog howled. It exactly matched the sound inside my head.



That day passed. Heartless how the sun has the nerve to rise and set and rise again, witness to so much ruin.



I awoke in the morning with no idea where I was. I bolted upright on the sofa, staring around the small parlor in confusion, in my clothes from the day before, blinking against the glare of sun streaming through the curtains. Then I remembered, and felt a thousand years old.

Everything looked different without Mama in the world. Even my own face in the mirror. I looked older. Harder. Something had extinguished in my eyes.

I couldn’t eat but desperately needed coffee. I made myself a cup and almost dropped it when the phone rang, my nerves were so shredded.

“Hello?”

“Bianca,” said the Colonel, sobbing. “Oh, Bianca, tell me it isn’t true!”

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the wall. “I can’t believe it, either. It’s impossible that she’s gone.”

Listening to a man cry is one of the most terrible things in the world. Their tears seem so much more devastating than female tears. Maybe because they so infrequently shed them.

“Was it a heart attack?” the Colonel asked, his voice choked with shock.

“I don’t know. She didn’t want an autopsy, so we won’t know the exact cause of death, but the chemo was really hard on her system.”

There was a stunned silence. “Chemo?”

“She had lung cancer,” I whispered. “She’s been on chemo for weeks. She was scheduled for surgery on Wednesday.”

The Colonel’s small cry of distress pierced me straight through my heart. “Cancer? My God! She never said a word—I thought she had the flu!”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s what she told everyone.”

It was a minute or two before he composed himself enough to talk. “You know what I think?” he said in a ragged whisper.

“No. What?”

He drew in a long, shuddering breath. I imagined him on the other end of the phone, wiping his eyes and pulling himself up straight into that ramrod posture he was known for. He said, “I think she was just tired of bein’ without your daddy, and now that you’re settled, she decided it was time for her to be on her way.”

A sob broke from my chest. Fighting tears, I clapped a hand over my mouth.

“I loved your mama, Bianca. She was a good woman, and I’ll miss her somethin’ fierce. But I always knew she’d given her heart away a long time ago. I knew she’d never stop loving your daddy, but I’m grateful for the time we spent together because she made me happy. She made the world a better place.”

I didn’t know how I was still standing. Strange, strangled noises gurgled up from deep in my throat.

The Colonel asked gently, “Is there anything you need, darlin’? Anything I can do for you?”

I managed to tell him no, but it was someone else’s voice who answered. Someone with a whiskey-soaked growl and a broken heart. We said good-bye and hung up, but before my coffee got cold the phone rang again.

It didn’t stop ringing for hours.

In between phone calls were the visitors.

They came in a constant stream, friends and neighbors and members of Mama’s church, bearing casseroles and weeping into crumpled-up tissues. Everything became a blur. All the faces began to blend together. I was simultaneously exhausted and energized by all the people who came, their grief piling on top of my own, their voices like the angry buzz of wasps inside my head. I started to feel disconnected, numb again, and was grateful for it.

Numb was better than the alternative. With any luck, numb would get me through the rest of my life.

I spoke to the church and set Mama’s funeral for Wednesday at noon. So the day she was supposed to have life-saving surgery was the day she’d be buried. I didn’t want to examine the coincidence.

When Jackson called, I told him I needed to stay at Mama’s house for now to deal with everything that had to be done. When he asked if he should come over to help, I said no. After the awkward pause that followed, he said he’d send some of my clothes over. I think he was hoping I’d say don’t bother, I’ll be coming to live at Rivendell soon, but I was so tired I just said, “That’s fine.”