Blurred (Connections #3.5)

Blurred (Connections #3.5) Page 2

“You doing okay, man?” he asks.

I look over at him and nod. I’m thankful there’s one person in my life that never judges me. He might get pissed at me, we might toss each other around, but he’s like a brother to me and I know he’ll always have my back. He has ever since the second grade—we were in Miss Novak’s class and I was staring out the window, just wanting to be out there, not stuck inside. She had asked me a question that I didn’t hear. He jabbed my foot and muttered the answer. I nodded my head and answered her. After that we were buddies.

I force myself to focus my attention on what’s happening at the front of the church.

“Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.” When I hear those words I automatically turn to look for Dahl. The memories of those words and sitting beside her to comfort her when she lost her parents and her uncle send another wave of sadness through my body.

There’s a softness in her eyes I wasn’t expecting as she catches my gaze for a minute. Despite the physical and emotional distance between us, and the hatred I know she feels toward me, I find comfort in her being here. But it’s a double-edged sword and I quickly turn back around. She was always a part of my family, but that family has been forever shattered—my mother is gone, Trent is in rehab, and Dahl, well, she’s no longer mine.

“Friends, as we gather here . . .” The words are muffled as I bow my head and close my eyes trying not to think about my mother lying cold and lifeless in the front of the church. She had passed without receiving the sacrament of last rites. But the good Catholic boy that I was brought up to be, I couldn’t let her go like that. I stepped out of the hospital room after she passed to go find the clergy but saw Dahl out in the rain. I went to check on her, but she didn’t need me and so from there I continued my journey toward the chapel to ask that my mother be anointed so as to ensure her passage into Heaven. Not that she would ever have ended up anywhere else. No, that was for me to worry about, not my beautiful mother.

Soft organ music plays and I open my eyes to stand. When it stops, we all sit. The priest begins reciting the Final Commendation and Farewell and I move through the rest of the funeral in the only way I can . . . mechanically and distanced. The organ starts to play again and this time when we all stand, I hold my sister’s hand. When I do, I notice her ex-husband sitting next to her and my skin prickles. Jason Holt, Caleb’s brother and my sister’s ex-husband, is a dirt bag. No matter what he does, he always will be. Once my sister divorced him, his visits with Trent were minimal. His goal was always to see my sister through their kid. I don’t care how far he climbs the ladder at work—to me he’s a piece of shit.

I tug my sister’s hand and start to lead her out of the pew. I step in front of her and Jason moves aside, allowing us to pass. He’s a tall, well-built guy used to demanding respect wherever he goes, so I’m surprised he lets me take the lead. I walk slowly to the front as we make our way to say our final goodbyes. Serena goes first and I stand back, twisting my head, unable to watch. But my turn comes way too fast. Cautiously, I approach the white casket. I can see my mother’s body and wish so much she were alive. My hands clench and unclench at my sides and I take a deep breath as I bow my head. My knees buckle beneath me and I don’t know how I’m going to make it without her. I can’t even find the right words to tell her how sorry I am that we didn’t get to spend the last years of her life together. I swallow, holding back the tears that I’ve forced away for days.

Voices murmur from behind me. “Ben,” my sister whispers quietly in my ear.

Ignoring her, I drop down even further to kiss my mother’s cheek. When I lift my head, I catch sight of her wedding ring shining so brightly and clutch her hand. Fuck, why? Why you, Mom? My sister takes my hand, and this time she’s the one who tugs me away and back into the pew.

“Mom and Dad are together now,” she says in a broken voice.

“I know,” I say, and then my tears come in mindless streams that I can’t control. And she’s right. My only solace in any of this is that our parents are finally back together and I know they’ll take care of each other.

“Come on, buddy,” Caleb says, pressing his hand on my shoulder again. I glance up front one last time and turn back with a feeling of complete emptiness. This time I let Caleb lead the way, guiding my sister and me out of the church. I don’t turn to look for Dahl because I know this time she doesn’t need me; she has someone to take care of her and I am strangely at peace with that.

Time seems to speed by and the funeral is over before I even realize we’ve moved from the church to the cemetery. I loosen my tie and look around. Branches of a Redwood block the brightness of the sun. I tilt my head to try to catch any shape of a cloud, but all I see is broken fragments of the sky. Swiveling my gaze, I notice the limo is parked just a few feet away. Caleb and Jason are inside waiting for us with the door open. I glance around and suddenly notice everyone else has left. I vaguely recall handshakes and soft-spoken words of condolence. I watch my sister as we both stay frozen in place, two orphans mourning the death of our mother. Then my eyes dart to the ground where our mother’s casket has just been lowered into her grave. And I feel it: grief.

I’m also filled with guilt, regret, and sorrow. I’m left wondering if her death was my fault. Did my return to California put too much stress on her and cause the stroke? When we took Trent to the rehabilitation center, should Serena and I have insisted that she stay home? Should I have taken my mother to the emergency room the minute she said she didn’t feel well? So many questions and not a single f**king answer.

“Are you okay?” Serena asks for the second time.

I cup her cheeks. “Stop worrying about me. Okay?”

Her eyes flutter shut and she leans against me. I want to be there for my sister, be the strong one, and see her through everything. But in reality she’s the one seeing me through it. She is seven years older than me, but we’ve always been close, except for the last three years when everyone thought I was dead. But we stepped right back into our easy relationship when I returned—until she thought I’d overstepped my bounds. She was upset at me for not telling her when I found Trent strung out. No matter how many times I try to tell her Trent made his own choices, she still blames herself that he’s ended up in rehab. Blame is a strange thing; it consumes you, haunts you, takes over your life. Hell, she should blame me. I was the one who was the strong male influence in his life until I up and disappeared from their lives. But in the end, my nephew is getting the help he needs and that is really all that matters.

I should have taken care of everything for today. Instead she organized all of the funeral arrangements while dealing with her son’s situation. I wanted to help but I couldn’t see past the blur of the last two weeks.

“Hey, Ben, did you hear me?”

I lift my eyes from the ground to hers. “What did you say?”

“Come on, we have to leave. Everyone’s waiting for us at the restaurant.”

“Go ahead of me. I just want to say a few more things to. . . .” I don’t finish because flashes of light blind me. I look over to the tree line at the edge of the cemetery and f**k me if some ass**le isn’t snapping my picture. “Stay here,” I warn my sister and then storm over to the perpetrator. “You’ve got to be f**king kidding me right now,” I yell as I grab his camera and throw it against one of the trees. But he isn’t smart enough to shut the f**k up.

He points a shaky finger at me. “Aren’t you the guy who was supposedly shot a few years ago in a car jacking?”

I level a glare at him. I don’t need this shit right now.

“You are. I know you are,” he shouts. Then he removes his phone from his pocket and tries to snap another picture.

I don’t know what comes over me but a switch goes off inside my brain and a rage is unleashed that I can’t control. After the first swing he falls to the ground but I don’t stop. I just keep punching him until my sister pulls me by the collar of my jacket.

“Ben, stop it!” she screams.

Before I know it, Caleb is pulling me off him and Jason is quoting some bullshit to him about invasion of privacy. When I stand up and look at my bloody fists and then the perp’s bloody face, I shrug Caleb off me and hastily move toward the limo.

“Hey, man, wait up,” Caleb shouts behind me.

I keep walking.

“Ben, talk to me.”

I can’t catch my breath. I sit in the limo and cradle my head in my hands. “Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?”

“Hey, no one can fault you for laying into that slime ball.”

I look up at him and give him a twisted smile. The photographer’s camera is in his hand. “Thanks, man.”

He shrugs. “I found it.”

I shake my head then ask, “Where’s Serena?”

He points to a bench near the mausoleum. She’s wrapped in Jason’s arms and my stomach turns. I drop my head. I know he’s a dirty cop. I’ve known it since they divorced. I never had proof; I could just feel it in my gut. It was the things Serena would tell me that made me realize the way he was living his life didn’t add up to the life he was living. Although she’d never admit it, I’m pretty sure Serena knew it and that’s why she divorced him. And now with their son fresh off to rehab, he wants to be here for her. Fuck, f**k, f**k.

Chapter 2

Wicked Games

Voices echo through the small space as we arrive at the restaurant and I look up at the gathered crowd. I brush the doorway with my shoulder not really watching where I’m going and stare unseeing at the thirty or so people scattered around the room waiting for us. There’s a buffet filling a long table off to one side. Some of the flowers from the church are situated in the corners in a failed attempt to brighten the dismal surroundings. As I look around, I wonder how Serena could have possibly arranged all of this.

“Ben, I can’t do it,” Serena says to me with tears in her eyes.

“I don’t understand,” I mumble.

“A few words about mom, I can’t get up there and say a few words about her,” she whispers.

I take her hand. “I’ll do it.”

The one thing I’m good at, the only thing that never fails me, is finding the right words. With a newfound strength, I make my way around and talk to those who knew my mother. Then as people begin to fill their plates, I find my sister and we stand together in the front of the room.

I clear my throat and everyone silences. “My sister and I want to thank all of you for coming today, for being a part of the celebration of our mother’s life. She was an amazing woman who endured a lot in her lifetime. She was the person who kept the people around her from falling apart. I suppose some of her superpower came from the loss of her husband and from being left to raise two children alone. In some people that hardship might have led to a hardening and pulling away. But not Grace Covington; she held a softness that everyone who knew her found amazing.”

I pause and look around the room filled with those who loved her—Joe the banker, Barb the florist, Noel the guy who took over my father’s shop, his wife, Faith, who was my mother’s best friend. Then I spot Dahl and River. I respect him for being here with her and comforting her. I’m not sure if I were in his situation, I could do the same. I continue speaking.

“I’m her younger child and I really don’t remember that young mom who was married to the man she loved beyond reason. But my sister told me what she remembers about our parents. She told me that in the loss of her husband and through her sorrow our mother only grew in wisdom and strength. She reached out in ways that I am just now becoming aware of. Through her loss she gained a different perspective on being a mother. She learned that love can help put back together things that don’t seem repairable.” I stop, choking on sobs as I try to get the words out. I glance up and spot the emerald green dress and red hair of S’belle Wilde. Suddenly my thoughts gallop off in a new direction. I know she’s a party planner—my sister must have hired her to plan all of this. She’s clearly in charge, pointing her finger and directing those around her what to do.