Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(7)

I smiled, something catching my eye. I held out my hand. “Look he’s here, and she’s here,” I choked up when I realized the “she” I was referring to was my mother’s body. It wasn’t her. Her soul. That was gone, I knew. Squashed out like a burnt out candle. This was just the shell that was left.

Bex squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing. “Right.” She looked like she was going to point her combat boot in the direction of where a thin looking guy was getting out of the driver’s seat. She could definitely take him. Though she may have been short and skinny, she was a fighter. She had to be, the way she’d grown up.

I reached to grasp her hand, stopping her. I was about to calm her down when Aiden, who’d been silent, cut in.

“I’ll go talk to him, sort things out,” he muttered. He focused on Bex. “Stay with Lily,” he ordered tightly.

Bex looked like she was going to say something, then her eyes met mine and she nodded.

Aiden kissed my head, then left.

Bex and I silently watched him walk over the grass, holding hands.

“She’s really gone isn’t she?” I asked the air, my eyes glued to the vehicle holding the last physical remainder of the woman that raised me. Saved me. Saved us.

Bex’s hand squeezed mine. “Yeah,” she replied quietly.

I nodded. Yeah. She was gone. I felt the pins and needles threatening to bring back the feelings. That big sadness that lurked in the corner of my mind, like some kind of assassin, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Nice place for Faith to catch her last sunset,” Bex said finally.

“Yeah,” I agreed, watching the sun move closer to its hiding place beyond the horizon. “She picked it,” I continued.

“Of course she did,” Bex smiled at the horizon.

My eyes prickled as I thought back to that day, that conversation.



I’d been reading one of Mom’s favorite books to her, she was losing the ability to grasp the edges, focus her eyes on the words. Her ability to hold a paintbrush had long gone, I think a piece of her heart went too, not that you’d ever know. Not that her cheerful smiles would betray a hint of sadness, or of defeat.

“I want to see the sunset, on my last day on earth,” she said suddenly, interrupting my sentence.

I looked up from the book, failing to stop my inward flinch every time I laid eyes on my fading mother. Her hair was gone, a tie-died head scarf fastened like a turban around her bald head. Her skin was yellow, a sign of her organs shutting down. Black circles rimmed her eyes. Her cheekbones protruded, she was a bag of bones underneath the thin polyester blanket. She looked like a skeleton. Her eyes never lost their sparkle, though, or their vibrancy. The one thing cancer couldn’t steal from her. It was robbing her of her life, it was yet to rob her of her soul.

“Okay, Mom,” I said, choking on my words slightly. “We’ll watch the sun set every night,” I promised. “I’ll make the nurses wheel you out,” I added, knowing it would be a feat, but I’d make sure it was something I’d get done.

Mom smiled warmly, the expression the only familiar thing on the alien face apart from the eyes.

“No, peanut. I don’t want to see the sun kiss the parking lot of this place.” Her eyes moved around the room. It was covered in flowers, in color, but nothing could disguise what it really was. “No, I want to be in the fresh air, with not a sterile wall in sight,” she joked warmly.

I put the book down. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” I replied slowly, knowing how unlikely it would be to be able to take Mom out of the hospital. She might not even survive the short car trip. An excruciating pain stabbed through my crumpled heart at that thought.

“Peanut, I mean after I’m gone,” she murmured softly, holding out her hand.

I leaned forward and grasped it gently. It was cold. I was worried if I gripped it too hard the bones would shatter.

Her eyes searched mine. “I want the day you say goodbye to me to be when you can watch the sun set, and know that I’ll be going somewhere beautiful, following the rays to somewhere you can’t see, but you can always feel,” she said, her voice croaky.

I nodded, through the tears in my eyes, unable to speak. My throat swelled up with pain and grief.

“I want it to be on the top of that hill at that cemetery we used to go to, amongst all of those beautiful old tombstones,” she continued.

We visited graveyards together. Weird, most people would say, but I’d never known different. My mom was beauty from the inside out, and she found beauty in the most unusual of places. A lot of her best works were inspired by graveyards. She was fascinated by them. I liked them because they were quiet. I could be alone with my thoughts while Mom sketched furiously on her notepad.

“I want you to wear a yellow dress,” she announced, her eyes dreamy. “Rebecca too,” she added with a grin. “You look so pretty in yellow, and I don’t want you wearing some depressing color like black. I want yellow,” she decided.

“I can do that, Mom,” I said, outwardly trying to disguise my utter despair over discussing my wardrobe choices for the funeral of my mother. My best friend. My hero. My everything. “Though Bex will curse you for making her wear such a cheerful color,” I added, maintaining my charade.

Mom grinned. “She’ll curse me, but she’ll wear biker boots and excess eyeliner and look like the beautiful girl she is,” she said, her eyes warm. She squeezed my hand. “Sunset and yellow, peanut,” she repeated.