Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(94)

His tone softens a little, his voice cracking. “While my mama is standing there, sobbing over his death, I’m ready to sing halle-f*cking-leuiah.” I can almost see the guilt weighing his shoulders down. “What kind of person does that make me?”

“Normal, Ben. He was a shitty father and husband. Even your mother knows that.”

“Really?” He turns to look at me. “What if you got a call that Annabelle died. Would you want to throw a party?”

Good question. Annabelle . . . dead? I’ve never given it much thought. What would I feel for a woman who seemed incapable of feeling anything for me? “I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh.

We fall into silence as Ben leans back against the wagon.

Finally I hazard to ask, “What’d the note say?”

He purses his lips for a moment. “That he was sorry for . . . everything. He wishes he could have been a better husband. That he wants her to stay on the grove and be happy again.”

A lump spikes in my throat. “How does a person veer so far off course?”

“Alcohol . . . depression . . . fear . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Why did it take a bottle of aspirin and a death wish for Ben’s father to admit his faults? What if he had just said these things years ago? I guess maybe he didn’t see what was wrong. Or kept denying it. Until it was too late. “At least he gave her that.”

“Yeah. There was also an envelope with a life insurance policy they took out years ago. A pretty big one, too. One that will pay out, even after a suicide.” He smiles sadly. “It’ll help her fix the house up.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “That’s great news!”

Ben turns to give me a funny look.

“What?”

He says nothing, though. He simply holds a hand out. When I take it, he pulls me in to him. Lifting me up onto the edge of the trailer, he wastes no time pushing my legs apart to slide his body between them. “I know it’s been a shitty day but, I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” All I’ve wanted to do is wrap my hands around that giant heart of his and protect it from any more hurt. Hurt like I saw last night. The kind that you feel when you’re faced with the deeply rooted bitterness that Ben has had to face for years. I wonder if it’s better or worse than the indifference I see when Annabelle looks at me.

I’m expecting Ben’s hands up my shirt in seconds, but all he does is rest his forehead against my chest. And so I coil my arms around his head, press my cheek against his hair, and watch the afternoon sun shift along the horizon in silence.

“I should have just called him. I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Ben mutters, pulling into Jack’s driveway that night.

“I told you. He already knows I was with you and what happened. He’ll want to pay his respects in person.”

Ben heaves a resigned sigh.

“He’s not going to fire you!”

“Well, doing it today would be in poor taste, I guess.” Ben slides out of the driver’s side reluctantly and trails me inside.

Both Mason and Jack are waiting for us in the kitchen. Jack’s on his feet instantly, walking forward with a morose expression and his arms out to offer a confused-looking Ben a manly hug. Mason is close behind. “How can we help?”

“Well, I think Reese already mentioned me needing a week off. My brothers and sister are trying to get flights in, but I’m not sure when they’ll make it. I can’t leave my mother alone.”

“Done,” Jack states simply.

Ben swallows. “Thanks, Jack. That’s a relief. I just drove back to drop Reese off and get some clothes and I’m heading back up tonight.”

There’s an awkward pause as three sets of eyes flash to me—Mason’s filled with curiosity, Jack’s with reluctance, and Ben’s baby blues with . . . I don’t know what that look is, but I’ve been getting it a lot today.

“My mama sent you her meatloaf as a small token of thanks,” Ben adds, handing Mason the box of food that Wilma packed up. News in the small community spread quickly. By the time I made it back to the house, the fridge and freezer were brimming with food from friends, and Wilma was still cooking.

“Well, tell her that was unnecessary, but it’ll go to the same good spot it went last time.” Jack’s soft chuckle fills the kitchen as he pats his belly.

“Well, I should get going.” There’s another awkward pause as Ben glances at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I’m thinking: What’s the standard protocol for saying goodbye here? Because I know what I want.

I want him to kiss me.

Clearing his throat, Ben finally offers, “Thanks for all your help today, Reese. Mama sure appreciated it. You’ve got to be tired.”

Exhausted, actually. I don’t know how she does that day in and day out. I simply nod and watch his retreating back as he disappears out the front door.

And it hits me. I’m not going to see him for an entire week. At least! Is he feeling any of what I’m feeling right now? Or is Wilma wrong? Is this just his regular friendship, with a bit of a personal tragedy kicker thrown in to wreak emotional havoc? And what if he is feeling it and he doesn’t like it? Wilma’s been introducing me as Ben’s girlfriend to anyone who will listen, including the priest from her parish who stopped by as we were packing the car up to drive back to Miami. There’s a really good chance that Ben is looking to hightail it out of here.