Naked Love(70)

The door to the room creaks. I glance up. The dim light from the hall behind Sydney makes it hard to see her face, but I don’t miss her hand covering her mouth. No words are needed.

Unlike Avery, Sydney breaks slowly … silently … until she’s hunched down like she might vomit.

I remember this moment with my mom. It’s when this space in your heart feels most raw, hollowed, yet heavy—like grief rushes in to fill the void. And there is a void, no matter what anyone says. We don’t remember them in our heart, we remember them in our mind. All the heart can do is feel, and when someone dies, the only thing left to feel is pain.

“I’m sorry …” It’s all I can say. It’s all that anyone can say.

When Avery realizes my words are not just meant for her, she glances up and flies off my lap. “Syd …” Avery envelopes her sister, and they collapse the rest of the way to the floor.

An audible cry escapes from Sydney.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to fix the unfixable.

Avery has my shirt on, but I’m naked beneath the sheet, so I wrap it around my waist and grab my shorts, slipping into them. Squatting next to them, I rest my hand on Avery’s back. “I’ll be in the living room. Take the bed. Let me know what you need from me.”

She doesn’t respond. They cling to each other—sobbing and shaking.

“He-he’s gone …”

I cringe, rubbing the back of my neck as Sydney’s words bleed behind me.

Easing onto the sofa, I bring up Deedy’s number and hit the green button.

“Jake?” Deedy answers on the first ring. She’s in a different time zone and an early riser. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to call you back. Was it important? It’s early there—what’s wrong? Something must be wrong. Please tell me nothing has happened to Avery.”

“Swarley died.”

A few seconds of silence steal the line.

“What?” It’s barely a whisper.

“It’s …” I blow out a long breath, running a frustrated hand over my face. “It’s messed-up. I don’t understand how this happened so quickly. And I have no fucking clue what I should do about it. Sydney and Ave are on the floor in the hall, crying. I don’t know what to do or what to say. I don’t know Sydney’s husband’s number, or if it’s even my place to call him. I just …”

“Jake, just take a breath.”

I do. I take a breath.

“Just be patient. Be there for them when they need you. I’ll wake Tommy and we’ll deal with the rest. Okay?”

I hum my acknowledgement.

“I’m sure this is nobody’s fault. It’s life. You know about life. So just know that you’ve done your part—more than your part. I can’t tell you how much Tommy and I appreciate all you’ve done for his family.”

Yeah, I tortured his daughter, stripped her down to tears, then fell in love with her. Oh … and his grand-dog died on my watch. I’m sure Tom Montgomery will be so grateful.

“Thanks, Deedy.”

I end the call and toss my phone onto the sofa next to me.

“Fuck …” I lean my head back and close my eyes.

*

Avery

“I need to c-call h-home.” Sydney wipes her nose with her arm as we lean against the wall, still on the floor after what feels like an eternity of crying.

The pain has settled into a miserable numbness.

“How do I tell my kids?”

Swarley owned my niece’s heart, possibly more than her parents did. She dressed him up like a unicorn and he let her. He’s been there for every step of her life. He’s been her best friend and loyal protector.

“It’s going to feel like he’s dying all over again when I get home.”

I nod. “I know. Ocean will be …” My words crack under the gravity of what’s happened and what will happen when Sydney arrives home with Swarley. “Crushed beyond words.”

“Yes,” Sydney whispers, hiccupping on another sob.

I squeeze her hand as we stare at our outstretched legs.

“Oh my god … I haven’t seen you without toenail polish since you were … six months old.”

I wipe a few stray tears and laugh. “My fingers are naked too.” I hold out my hands.

“What happened to you?”

I welcome the new topic, even if it’s about the demise of my appearance, knowing the second we leave here to get Swarley, the emotions will return. “Jake happened.”

“Is that like shit happens?” She sniffles and I sense she, too, needs a new topic.

“He’s awful. Just … the worst. He’s crude, and he calls me names. He doesn’t understand my need to have nice things and look pretty. And he’s a vegan. Gah! How does one eat a keto diet and be a vegan? I can’t do it. He likes tents. I like hotel suites. He has tattoos, and I don’t like tattoos. And he likes just … staring at the sky like the stars are the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. I honestly think he was deprived of fireworks as a child.”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

I shrug. “He knows his way around … things.”

Sydney chuckles, but it’s not her jovial cackle. It’s tarnished with grief because not even our self-made bubble can shelter us from reality.