Ever: The Ever Trilogy, Book One (Volume 1) (19 page)

“No, baby. You’re confused. Daddy’s gone.”

“No! I
saw
him! You weren’t there!”

“Crisis apparition.”

Toby’s voice startled me, and I quickly turned around to make sure Frankie wasn’t standing behind me in the doorway to the hall.

“You saw him when I pulled over, didn’t you?” Toby asked.

“Yes.” My voice sounded soft, far away. I almost didn’t even recognize the sound.

“I think it’s what they call a ‘
crisis apparition
‘. It’s like when a person is close to death, the ‘ghost’ of this person can appear to a loved one. In this case, your dad appeared to you.”

I shook my head. He didn’t know about Frankie. He didn’t know that
my
ghosts stay with me.
My dad has to be here. He has to be.
I looked up at my mom. Surely
she
understood. Surely
she
knew. But she looked at me with pity, tears streaming down her face.

“No, baby”—she got down on the floor with me and lowered her voice so only I could hear her—”Daddy’s in heaven with Estelle now.”

My dad was dead. And he was gone.
Really
gone. Like my sister, he didn’t want—or need—to stay with us. My dad was gone. Forever.

Once again, the realization of his death consumed me. My mom cradled me in her arms as I broke into a million little pieces. She sobbed into my neck as she rocked me back and forth.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay,” she said as she soothed me.

But I wasn’t the one crying. Not anymore. I wasn’t the one needing to be soothed. My anguish was slowly being replaced with … with nothing. Empty space. Numbness.

After a few minutes, my mom realized I wasn’t crying and composed herself again, her sobs ebbing momentarily. She explained briefly what happened to my dad. Toby came to sit with me on the floor, and I leaned into him, suddenly exhausted.

My dad had been driving home from the mini market, after getting some olive oil that he and my mom had forgotten at the store earlier in the day. A quick trip that he’d made
many
times before, but somehow,
this
time had been different.

The old woman hit the hydrant. Then she hit him. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. My dad. Wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. I couldn’t even fathom it. It seemed like the worst kind of irony ever.

Mr. Responsible. My dad wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. Of all people.

”Oh, Ever, I’m so sorry you saw that. I’m so sorry we
both
saw that.” She choked out a sob and began crying again.

This time I soothed her, rubbing
her
back and telling
her
it would all be okay.

“It will be okay, Mom.”
No it won’t. It won’t be okay.
“Shh, Mom. It’s okay.”
It will never be okay again.

My dad is dead. And he’s gone.

E
leven days.

That’s how long it had been since my dad died.

Dead. Gone.

Between my mom, Jessie, Frankie, and occasionally one of the neighbors, I hadn’t been left alone for very long unless I was sleeping. And even then, who knew? Even my showers were interrupted frequently by a knock on the door, or someone poking their head in—
not
Frankie, by the way. Everyone had been hovering around
poor Ever
, worried that if left alone for too long, I might hurt myself or do something crazy.

I wasn’t crying over my dad’s death.

Apparently, that was cause for alarm.

I didn’t care either way. Crying wouldn’t bring back my dad. In fact, I hadn’t cried at all since the night it happened. I was completely numb. I couldn’t feel much of anything. It was weird, not feeling anything.

I guess my blank stare pegged me as the suicidal type or something. I was practically on twenty-four hour suicide watch, tucked safely away—a 51/50 in my own home. It was totally ridiculous, but I didn’t have the energy to tell everyone to leave me alone.
I
knew I wouldn’t kill myself.

Right now, my mom and Jessie were dealing with the dozens of concerned friends, neighbors, and random strangers who appeared out of the woodwork for the memorial service. Frankie had been keeping out of sight all day and Mom had been so smiley she reminded me of The Joker from Batman—all toothy grins and crazy eyes. I didn’t know
what
that was all about.

Everyone gathered in my living room, offering their condolences, sipping free wine, eating cheese balls and Jell-O molds, and telling my mom how much they’d absolutely
adored
my dad, or how very,
very
sorry they were. That one was my favorite.
Sorry.

Why? Did
you
kill my dad?

I only said that once in the days after my dad’s death, before I realized the statement was pretty inappropriate. Okay, that’s a lie. I didn’t have to
say
it to know it was inappropriate, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. And
ugh
, people kept saying it! Seriously, just don’t say anything. Because saying
nothing
is better than apologizing for something you had nothing to do with.

I’d managed to make it through the entire funeral service and burial without saying one word. Not a single word or sound. It was a game I was playing with myself, mostly because I was bored, and partly because I didn’t think anyone was really listening to me anyway. At the cemetery, I just smiled and shook hands with each person in the condolences line, allowed them to hug me and pat my head, and then I would nod, smile, or frown when it seemed the response they were looking for. Toby stood by me the entire time, holding my hand, and I swear he was the only reason I kept it together.

Back at the house, my game continued.

However, if another person told me they were ‘sorry for my loss’—as if my dad was
lost
, as if we had just
misplaced
him—I knew I’d explode. I was quickly getting to the point of needing to scream at everyone which was quite a stark contrast from not saying a word all day—talk about your opposite ends of the spectrum.

Maybe I was a head case after all.

The one time I was left alone for even a second, Toby found me cornered in the kitchen, being
consoled
by one of my dad’s old friends from high school. He stood a little too close to me, his breath smelled a little too much like Budweiser and pepper jelly, and his fingers lingered dangerously close to my chest.

He leaned into me as he spoke, shamelessly glancing at my chest every few seconds. Just another awesome curse of large breasts. His finger was lightly grazing my arms as he prattled on, arms which were crossed in front of me in a sort of “back off” stance that he was either oblivious to or simply ignored.

I was about to lose it. Toby must have seen it in my expression as he entered the room. He stepped in front of me, putting some distance between my dad’s ‘friend’ and me. Though the look in his eyes was anything but kind, Toby politely excused us and waited for the guy to take the hint. He stared Toby down for a long second, a silent challenge, before finally walking away. After he left, Toby took a deep breath and turned to me, kissing the tip of my nose. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to my bedroom. I followed behind him in a daze, relief flooding me as I left the mass of
mourners
behind, focusing instead on the gorgeous savior in front of me.

Dressed all in black—a black button-down dress shirt and black slacks, his trademark boots laced up underneath them—he was a welcome sight. I followed him into my room, closing the door behind us, wanting nothing more than to shut the day away.

For the first time since it happened, I was alone in my room with Toby. Well, actually, this was the first time I’d
ever
been alone in my room with Toby.

“
Fuck.
That was too much.”

Clearly shocked by my colorful choice of words, his eyebrows shot up and he laughed.

“What?” I replied, a slight edge to my voice.

“I just think it’s funny that you chose
that
word to be the first thing you said all day. Come here.”

So he
had
noticed my little game. Of course he had.

He sat down on my bed, cross-legged, after dropping his boots on the floor. I crawled into his open arms, leaving my black boots next to his.
His and hers.
No one had forced me to ditch the boots today—I’d worn them with my dress and dared anyone to comment.

I let him curl me into him, holding me tightly while I finally cried for the first time in weeks. Feeling his protective strength around me unlocked the flood-gates, and all the pain I’d been hiding was unleashed on him—leaving tears and snot streaks on his chest, probably ruining his nice shirt. I must have looked and sounded terrible, but he didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest bit, and we sat there for what felt like an eternity. I just cried and cried while he held me.

Eventually I was sufficiently cried out, with only an occasional sniffle. I looked up at Toby. He pulled his head back to look into my eyes, still not letting go of me even as he repositioned himself. With a pained expression on his face, he tucked my hair back behind my ear and gently stroked my cheek where the tears had no doubt left ugly mascara tracks. Since I hadn’t cried since the accident, I hadn’t worried about waterproof mascara while I’d gotten ready for the service this morning. An oversight I was likely paying for now.

He kissed the tops of my cheeks, leaving a trail of kisses where the tears had been. When his lips gently found my mouth, a jolt of life coursed through my body, making the rest of the world—the funeral, the people, the pain—melt away.

I didn’t want him to kiss me gently or tiptoe around me as if I might break at any minute. I didn’t want him to look at me with concern or pity in his eyes or worry that I might soon fall apart. I didn’t want to be babied like a little girl whose daddy had died. I was
tired
of the way everyone had been treating me.

I wanted him to treat me like an adult who could handle anything. Like a woman who was very much
alive
and anything but fragile. Maybe if he treated me that way, I would
be
that way. I wanted to grow up right
then
. With
him
.

Maybe I was having some strange reaction to the gloom and death that had lingered in the house for days. Maybe it was my way of feeling alive after the consuming numbness I’d felt since the night of my dad’s death. Maybe I was searching for a way to fill the emptiness threatening to swallow me whole. Whatever the reason, I was suddenly kissing Toby without restraint.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, and I pushed him back on the bed so we were lying down together. His arms still held me tightly, reassuring me all the while that I was safe with him, though I already knew.

He stroked my back with strong hands, switching between pressing his fingertips into me one moment and lightly grazing my skin. I stopped to look at him, taking in the beauty of his dark eyes, his tanned skin, his perfect lips, all flush from our kissing.
He is so beautiful.
I leaned down and kissed him in the nook where his throat met his collarbone and then left a trail of kisses up his neck, leading back to his mouth.

My legs tangled with his, and I repositioned myself so I was lying completely on top of him, my legs straddling him on either side. I had never behaved like this with anyone before, and I felt powerful and wonderful and
frightened
all at the same time. My inner voice was screaming at me. S
top,
it said.
Slow down,
it warned.

I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to slow down.

At that moment, I didn’t want to be responsible. I didn’t want to be careful. I didn’t want to be
that
Ever—my dad’s Ever—the one who everyone knew would be good and kind and wise, and would always,
always
make the smart decision, would
always
do what was right.

I turned off all thoughts and focused on kissing Toby.

Before I’d noticed, Toby had my dress up and over my head, lying in a heap on the floor beside our boots, leaving nothing to cover up my bra and panties but a sheer black slip that I had borrowed from my mom.

We resumed kissing, and my brazen, irresponsible side took the reins. I felt my hands touching Toby as if they were driven by some other force, moving of their own accord. They seemed to want to touch all of him at once, though from my position on top of him, they were currently focusing on his shoulders and his lean arms, or tangling again in his hair.

Toby stopped me, pulling my head away from him and holding my face in his hands. He looked up at me as if to ask if what we were doing was okay. He was slightly breathless, and I could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. When he opened his mouth to form the question into words, I answered him by moving my body into a sitting position on top of him and beginning to unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His eyes widened and I laughed, as surprised as he was by my brave actions.