I miss you. Wherever you are, fly like the wind and be free until we meet again.
x Piper
CHAPTER FIVE
He's Dead and I'm Not
Caden
SILENCE IS DEAFENING. The world surrounds me but I don't hear the ambulance or Piper call for me or the cries of her newborn baby. I'm stuck in my head, or out of it, as I watch an EMT load her and the baby in the truck like we're in a scene from a movie. Flashing red lights slice into me like a wound. I catch Piper's wide eyes, and other than a tug in my chest, one reminiscent of a stitch pulling through deadened skin, I feel nothing. Even after I lie my mumbled intent to follow her to the hospital, I stay numb.
Numb. I return to Lilyfalls and the house I once called home. With my hand clutched in Gus's fur, I stare out the truck's window at clouds scraping across the horizon, lit only by the moon. They're on fast forward. I try so hard not to think about Justin or my dad, I lose track of time.
At some point, I stumble from the truck to find tall grass and dandelions taking over Mom's flowerbed. They're outrageously overgrown, and I become consumed by them while walking up to knock on her door.
I never do. Gus attacks first by digging in the dirt and I follow. Tearing out weeds as if they're deadly and it's their fault my dad left, their fault Justin died, and the only reason his kid will grow up missing a parent. By sunrise and when Mom steps from her stoop to find a brown, muddy dog and me elbow deep in grime, the begonias can breathe again. But I can't.
Air hitches in my lungs as I sit back on my heels, clay-caked hands on my thighs, and I look up at the woman who raised me. Turquois eyes stare back at me and when they well with tears, mine do the same. The last year crashes in on me like a tidal wave, and my chest cracks under the strain. A second later, I walk into her embrace on a deep inhale. The subtle scent of cinnamon triggers a flood of emotion I thought I'd shed at the cemetery with Piper. But no, a sudden hiccupping breath releases a deluge and I weep like a baby in my mother's arms.
"Welcome home, Son," she whispers against my neck.
Home. Mom whistles for Gus and takes my hand like she did when I was six, leading me inside and to the shower. Without a word she starts the spray, bends to pick up my dog and then turns, shutting me in with the steam.
I wash away more than the night I barely remember. I scrub through months of anger and regret, and when I step from the water, my gaze narrows in on the clothes she snuck in while I was hidden behind the curtain. Dad's old T-shirt and sweats. My heart thumps unsteady against my ribs. Where is he? Exhaustion weighs down my shoulders. Weeks of sleepless nights catch up with me and I stumble out of the bathroom to find Mom waiting at the end of the hall.
She takes my hand and leads me to my room. "Get some sleep, Cade. I'll take care of everything."
I want to believe her, but my troubles are too big for her shoulders to carry. Yet I fall in bed and close my eyes while she pushes my hair to the side. A freshly scrubbed Gus scrambles up with her help and settles by my shoulder. Mom pulls the blankets to my chin, kissing my forehead in the exact same spot she did when I was six.
I haven't felt this tired in years and I relax, sinking into unawareness just like I did when I had two parents who protected me.
"EAT," MOM SAYS, pointing at the grand slam breakfast she made for me twelve hours after I fell unconscious. "I don't want to hear a peep out of you until it's gone."
"Yes, ma'am," I mumble around the bacon already in my mouth. I work through eggs, toast, more bacon, a cinnamon roll with extra glaze, hash browns, more bacon, because Jesus God, there isn't too much bacon anywhere in the universe and Tess Lawless knows it, and two glasses of orange juice before the worry line between her brow smoothes out.
"Good boy." She ruffles my hair and then takes my plate.
I look at Gus by my feet and mumble, "I'm not your dog." Piper said the same thing to me what feels like a year ago. Piper. I rub my chest and the ache that pops up out of nowhere.
"No, you're my son. You'd best remember I birthed you next time you come home and my house is not the first stop you make. You're never too old for a spanking, Caden Lawless."
I smile. "I agree. But these days I'm usually the one dishing out the punishment."
"Oh, you." She snaps her dishtowel and makes contact with my bicep.
"Damn, Ma." I rub the sting out of my arm. "What the hell? I get enough abuse from Cara and Piper. You're supposed to be sweet on me."
"Piper?" Her brow rises, as does the side of her mouth. She turns, pouring two mugs of coffee in the kitchen that hasn't changed. Everything is white: painted oak cabinets, the tiled counter and wall, and a rooster in the corner that I never understood. Why a rooster? Raindrops pebble on the window, glowing under florescent light and against the backsplash of a dark night.