The woman didn’t move, and the brunette next to her folded her arms across her chest and stepped closer to her friend. I glanced to her, then back to the blonde. It looked like they were trying to keep me out of the house.
“Who are you?” the blonde asked.
Her tone wasn’t rude, just curious.
I impatiently tapped my foot against the ground and counted to five before answering. “I’m Lane. This is my parents’ house. Can I please get by you?”
“Lane?” the blonde woman gasped.
She spoke as if she knew me, but I didn’t recognise her. I nodded to her question, and it caused both of the women to widen their eyes and instantly separate, forming a passage between them. I thanked them, stepped between them and entered my parents’ house. I took a nervous breath and walked across the hallway and towards the parlour.
I glanced over my shoulder when the blonde and brunette rushed by me and headed down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. I looked away from them and back to the parlour door. I knew my uncle would be in there; it was where my Aunt Teresa had been laid out after she’d died many years ago.
I reached for the handle of the door and gently pushed it open with my fingertip. The scent of jasmine filled my nostrils and wrapped around me like a blanket. I inhaled a deep breath and let the comfort of the familiar scent surround me. My gaze was downcast, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the legs of the stand that the coffin was lying on. I slowly walked over to it and lingered for a moment. Before I froze up altogether, I moved around to the right side of the coffin and sucked in a breath when I lifted my head and my eyes landed on him.
I slapped my hand over my mouth when a sob escaped. He was really there – it wasn’t some sort of sick joke. . . My uncle was really dead. The sight of him brought back a sudden memory of talking to him over Skype a few years ago, and it played havoc on my heart.
“Lane, darling, please talk to me,” my uncle pleaded. “You aren’t happy. I can see it in you.”
“I’m fine, Uncle Harry,” I sighed. “It’s just taking me longer to settle in here than I thought it would.”
My uncle dead-panned, “You moved to the city four years ago.”
“So?” I grunted. “It’s a different country. It’s still a lot for me to get used to.”
“Are you sure?” my uncle pressed. “Maybe you should talk to your nanny – she’s very good in situations when you’re sad.”
An alarm went off in my head.
“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. I don’t want to speak to the Irish Oprah. She’ll just nit-pick and I don’t want that. You know she will talk me into getting on a plane and coming home. She has a gift, and I’m not letting her sway me.”
“Then tell me what’s going on – please?” he pleaded. “I can sense something is off with you. Did something happen?”
“I’m. Fine,” I assured him, then decided to put him out of his misery. “I just had a bit of a weak moment and thought about doing something silly, that’s all.”
“Explain,” my uncle almost growled. “Now.”
I gnawed on my lower lip and brought the volume of my voice way down so the other customers in Starbucks couldn’t hear me. “I had a dream about him last night, and I woke up in a cold sweat. For a second, for a split second, I thought about taking some pills. Before you freak out and demand I come home, know that I know it was a very serious thought, and I’ve booked a session with a therapist to talk about it.”
“Lane,” said my uncle firmly.
“I’m fine – I just want to talk to a therapist about it.”
My uncle blinked. “It may help if you talk to Ka—”
“No.” I cut my uncle off. “I can’t.”
“Lane—”
“No, Uncle Harry, I don’t want to see or speak to him. Please. I can’t.”
My uncle grumbled. “Okay. Fine.”
I groaned. “You do this at least once a week. When will you give up on getting me to talk to him?”
“When I’m dead and buried.”
“Don’t talk like that.” I wagged my finger at him. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
“Uncle Harry,” I whimpered as I was pulled from my memory and brought back to the present. I moved closer to the coffin, my stomach brushing against the wood. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
Remorse filled me, and in that moment I was sick with myself. I hadn’t been here for him when he needed me most. I’d put my own selfish needs above a man who had done nothing but love me all of my life.
A soft cry came from behind me, then I felt arms wrap around my body. I had no idea who was comforting me. I could smell the aftershave he wore, which cloaked around me just like his arms did. I placed my hands on top of the hands that rested on my stomach.
“It’s okay, my love.”
Daddy.
I burst into tears and, turning into my father’s embrace, I wrapped my arms around his waist. My father held me and swayed us from side to side until my sobs became sniffles. After a few minutes I turned and looked back to my uncle. I placed my hand on top of his head, squeezing my eyes shut when I found it was ice-cold to the touch.
I reopened my eyes and looked at his handsome face.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, leaning over and kissing his soft cheek. I then gently pressed my forehead to the side of his head. “I’m so sorry.”
I let everything go and cried and cried and cried.
I had wept when I read Lochlan’s letter, but it was nothing compared to the emotion upon seeing my uncle. I was just short of wailing in sorrow. I was heartbroken, and the more I looked at my wonderful uncle, the more destroyed and empty I felt inside.
“How was your flight?” a voice asked from the parlour doorway.
I didn’t need to look to know it was the voice of my brother Layton. I hadn’t heard his voice in close to a year, but it was still the same. It was just a little huskier, probably from his bad habit of smoking. That wasn’t surprising, though. He was twenty-nine now and had smoked for as long as I could remember.
“Long,” I replied to Layton without looking away from my uncle.
My father stayed behind me, holding me tightly. I was aware that the close contact was probably going to change after my uncle was buried in the cemetery tomorrow, but I didn’t linger on it. I didn’t see eye to eye with my parents, my nanny or my brothers, but right now I wasn’t thinking of our differences; I was thinking of my Uncle Harry.
“Where is your suitcase?”
I tensed a little at the sound of my mother’s voice, then murmured, “At the Holiday Inn.”
I heard a snarl. “You’re staying in the hotel, and not here?”
I exhaled a tired breath. “Don’t do this now, Lochlan. Please.”
He didn’t listen.
“You’re not staying in a poxy hotel—”
“Lochlan.” Layton’s stern voice cut our brother off. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Silence.
I closed my eyes when I heard the pounding footsteps of Lochlan as he stormed out of the room and down the hallway into the sitting room, slamming the door behind him. I wasn’t surprised that he walked away. Lochlan might be the temperamental brother, but Layton’s word was law. He was the only person who got through to Lochlan when he stepped over the line. I tried not to let my brother, or his outburst, bother me, so I focused completely on my uncle.
“I was waiting for your email,” I crooned to him and waited for his reply, even though I knew it would never come.
My father squeezed me. “It was sudden, sweetheart.”
I felt ill.
“How did it happen?” I asked the dreaded question that was on my mind from the minute I’d read Lochlan’s letter two days ago.
“A heart attack,” my father exhaled. “He felt no pain. It happened in his sleep.”
A heart attack, I silently repeated. That’s what took my uncle.
I gnawed on my lower lip as I glanced at his attire. I couldn’t help but grin as I took in the thick fleece jumper that I’d knitted him when I was sixteen. He’d loved it, and no matter how many times I’d told him to bin it, he’d refused. He’d said it was the best present he had ever received, which caused me to feel bad for him because it was downright disgusting-looking. I couldn’t knit to save my life.
My nanny forced the unholy task of knitting upon me during the summer I turned sixteen. I was more than awful at it, but my nanny didn’t care. She made me do it every weekend with her and her friends, who combined had three hundred plus years on me. If my nanny heard me say that, she would whack me. I inwardly giggled to myself at the silent jab and shook my head good-naturedly.
“Him and that bloody jumper,” I muttered.
Soft chuckles filled the parlour then, and it helped take some of the hurt and tension away for a few fleeting moments.
When I was ready, I took a steady breath, then turned to look at the faces I hadn’t seen in the flesh for six years. The first person I saw was my mother. She looked older than her fifty-four years, but no doubt my uncle’s passing had added to the lines on her still beautiful face. My nanny, who was next to my mother, still looked the same as she had the day I left. My second brother was different. He was muscular . . . very muscular. He’d been overweight the last time I’d seen him, but that wasn’t the case anymore.
“Jesus, Lay, did someone buy you a gym membership?” I asked, stunned.
My father burst into laughter behind me while my mother and nanny covered their mouths and tried to muffle their giggles. My brother smirked at me, but his aqua-blue eyes shone brightly.
“I couldn’t be the fat twin forever, now could I?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
I playfully grinned. “I guess not. You look great.”
Layton winked. “You too, sis.”