Hate (9 page)

“Hey, Whitney,” I heard just as I pushed open the Cafeteria door.

Looking to my right, I found the one member of the football team I actually talked to. Grant Woodward. He was friendly, and cute, spiked blond hair framing his forest green eyes, but I’d never paid much attention to anyone outside of Blane and Franny. Today he was cross-dressing as a cheerleader, his crop top and skirt showing off his far from feminine body. He was built pretty well and hairy. Not an off-putting amount of hair, just too much for your average Betty Sue.

“Oh. Hey, Grant,” I answered by rote after I finished my perusal.

“I’m having a Halloween Party at my house Saturday night. You should come.” He handed me a basic orange flyer with black lettering on it. All it had were his address and a time. No spiders or extraneous decoration.

It was just on the tip of my tongue to refuse him, but the throb in my chest reminded me that I was on the cusp of needing to make some changes. I didn’t know what they needed to be, and I wasn’t sure attending a party full of drunken high schoolers would even remotely apply, but I knew I needed to be more open.

“Uh, okay. Maybe,” I fumbled noncommittally. It sure as hell wasn’t eloquent, and I wasn’t going to say an outright yes, but I figured a maybe was something.

“Cool,” he nodded with a smile.

I took two steps away when an idea came to me. Turning back, I called, “Would it be okay if I brought someone with me?”

“Girl or guy?” he asked with a smile.

I rolled my eyes in response and he laughed. “Sure. As long as it’s human and with you, it’s welcome.”

ONE FOOT FOUND ITS WAY in front of the other, but it didn’t stop me from glancing down to make sure I wasn’t walking through mud.

My dread made my feet feel heavy, and the sight of Blane standing up front in a crisp black suit and black shirt with the top two buttons open made my heart feel equally cumbersome. His long hair was still down, but it was obviously well-groomed and tucked behind his ears.

Decorations danced in my periphery, but found no traction.

All I could see was Blane.

I’d tried to sleep last night, but it hadn’t gone well. The fight with Blane, one-sided with my yelling as it might have been, had been torturing me. I felt like the scum of the earth for freaking out on him yesterday, the day before he tried to put his dad to rest.

And now I had to face him, my only hope being that I would only make his day easier rather than more difficult.

Franny stood at his side, a plain black shift dress exposing her too slim figure, and I was unbelievably grateful. Not for the too skinny part. No, I was proud of her for doing what she needed to do despite her personal struggles.

I slowed to a stop as I met the end of the line of people waiting to share their condolences. A year ago, I would have shoved straight past everyone and taken my place directly next to my friend, but now, with everything that had happened, it didn’t feel right.

Of course, neither did this. Acting like an acquaintance for crying out loud. My Gram would probably be disappointed.

I couldn’t believe I’d talked her and my parents out of coming. I couldn’t believe I’d done it,
and
I couldn’t believe they’d agreed.

Nervously, I stepped forward as the people in front of me did and smoothed the never-before-worn fabric of my dress along my body. Dresses, as a rule, weren’t my normal style. I was more of a jeans and t-shirts (or sweaters depending on the season) kind of girl. But certain occasions called for appropriate attire.

And if I could do one thing to honor William Hunt, one thing that meant
nothing
but was actually in my control, I could put effort into my appearance.

I rubbed at my arms as the line continued to progress, the anticipation killing me. Plus, now that I was closer, Emily’s grief was more visible. Tears ran down her perfect face, but she didn’t brush them away. Instead, she smiled and seemed to embrace the sadness.

It seemed like, maybe, that was her way of letting the closure wash over her. The water acting as a shower to rinse away her denial, the salt exfoliating the months of uncertainty. Losing your loved one is hard enough, but this went beyond that. William’s death, while ultimately was the work of God, was also the work of evil. And for us, it came out of nowhere.

Combine that with the fact that no body had been recovered, and you’ve come up with the perfect mixture for dissent.

But by letting the words of those around her sink in, the tears rolling uninhibited down her face, the reality of his permanent absence could form a rebuttal.

It couldn’t have been easy.

All of this was hard enough on me. And comparatively, I had very little invested.

Blane stood strong beside her, shaking hands with everyone and hugging those he held in the highest regard.

Unable to resist, I watched openly, noting the rise and fall of his shoulders and the line of his mouth. It never curved fully upward, but a few people made it try. He never faltered though, his back straight and proud.

He was every bit of the man his father had raised him to be.

Tears threatened, a startling reality that was starting to become commonplace, but I held them back.

Only four people stood between me and his mother now, and I bolstered my courage, trying my best to come up with something to say that wasn’t completely lame. “I’m sorry for your loss” just didn’t seem to cut it.

I knew Gram would tell me that it didn’t matter what I said, as long as I said something. And in several other scenarios, I felt like that was sound advice. But not now. Not when I felt like I owed so much to the person whose physical being was missing. I believed very much that William’s spirit was still alive.

Emily’s eyes came to me, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. I didn’t feel worthy, but I wasn’t complaining. I would gladly be her rainbow in the rain if she would let me.

“Mrs. Hunt,” I greeted softly, taking both of her hands in mine. At the sound of my voice, Blane’s eyes flicked to me, but only for a second. He was in the middle of a conversation with the man in front of me, and his attention went back to him quickly.

“Whitney,” Mrs. Hunt said in return.

“I’m going to miss your husband terribly. In fact, I already do.” Her face softened as I spoke, and new tears spilled over onto the trails of the ones before. “He was always kind, always welcoming, and he treated me like I was…well, like I was worth something.” I felt overwhelmed, but I made myself hold her eyes. “And more than that, his son treats me the same way.”

Emily didn’t speak, but her actions screamed. She pulled me quickly into a hug, her arms wrapping tight around me. I hugged her back, trying to send any strength I had to give straight into her flesh and all the way into her bones.

She was doing so well, but if there was any way I could, I would help her do better.

When I stepped back from our hug, I found Blane’s eyes already on me. And they were intense.

Before I knew it, the inevitable was upon me, and I stepped over until I was face to face with one of the most handsome guys I had ever laid eyes on.

“Hi,” I squeaked out, effectively ruining anything eloquent I’d said up until that point.

Without preamble, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me like he used to. Like he had every day before September tenth.

I closed my eyes, eager to breath in every second of it, fearful it wouldn’t last. He smelled of aftershave and gum. Strength and despair. Squeezing my eyes even tighter, I breathed my apologies right into his ear. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about your dad, I’m sorry about yesterday, and I’m really sorry I don’t have anything better to say.” His arms, already wrapped tightly around me, clenched tighter, and his face tucked softly into the crook of my shoulder. I slid my hand up his back and settled it on the back of his neck. After a few seconds, his arms relaxed, but he didn’t pull away, settling his large hands on the shelf of my hip.

Our hands didn’t move as I looked up into his slightly shimmery eyes. The entire time I’d been here, waiting my turn, I’d never seen him show that amount of emotion.

Pulling me forward, he placed a lingering kiss on my forehead before letting me go. I smiled again, waiting for him to say something, but he stayed silent.

I glanced to my left and found the line at a standstill waiting for me.

Reluctantly, I shifted my weight into my right foot and looked from Blane to Franny. Her head was down, the fall of her hair covering her face, but one single tear fell free, landing on the toe of her shoe with a soundless splash.

Distracted by the sight of it, I wasn’t ready when the full weight of my body was forced forward by a tug of my hand. I looked up just in time to stop myself from falling, right into the most beautiful pair of haunted blue eyes.

His voice was rough, almost tortured, when he told me, “You stand here.”

I nodded, wide-eyed and surprised. He didn’t give me an explanation before he turned back to the line of mourners, his unshakeable facade slipping back into place, and I didn’t ask for one. I just stood there, eager to do whatever he needed me to, no matter how awkward I felt.

Franny looked up to see me in her place, but she managed a small, if fake, grin. I laced my clammy fingers through hers, wishing I could do the same for the man on my other side.

But Blane’s hands were busy, clasping his dad’s friends on the shoulder and gesturing as he talked. For all of the rest of the world he stood composed, but he’d shown me something different. Something I’d been hoping for.

Something I’d yelled at him about just the day before.

I felt privileged.

And yet, I also felt angry. Angry that he felt the need to portray anything other than what he was feeling.

I hated seeing him keep it inside.

And I hated saying goodbye to his father.

But most of all, I hated that for him and his mom, this was just the beginning. Saying goodbye to someone you love isn’t really the hard part. It’s living every day, not being able to say anything to them at all.

I shook my head at the ground, as if it could somehow change things, or at the very least, take responsibility for the emptiness William’s death created.

My hand clenched in Franny’s, and she squeezed it back. Her seemingly innocuous act startled me so much that I lifted my head, eager to see her eyes, eyes she’d carefully hidden from me before.

But when I did, I found something else. A completely different reason for Franny’s hand squeeze. In fact, the real one.

Standing together, my mother and father brought up Gram’s rear. She led the charge, and she didn’t bother to follow protocol. She skipped the line, attacking it from the other side, coming from the back and starting with Franny rather than Blane’s mother. But her eyes stayed on me, staring right through me, and despite the awkward feeling of inappropriateness my parents obviously felt, they followed her.

Gram walked right past me, the wink from her right eye the only indication that she even saw me standing there.

She didn’t wait for Blane to finish his conversation, she didn’t wait for him to reach out for her, and she didn’t whisper a simple I’m sorry in his ear.

No, not my Gram.

She did it all wrong. Every last thing.

But really, as I watched her pull the muscular frame of Blane into her equally dainty one, her delicate hand poised on his bent neck, and her warm heart to his, I knew the truth.

She couldn’t have done it any more right.

Because she didn’t care about tradition and protocol and formalities.

Gram cared about Blane.

She whispered in his ear, the words too soft for me to hear, and I watched as Blane both smiled and cried, his long-fingered hand going up to catch the tear she’d set free.

He nodded once, and she reciprocated in kind, with one short nod.

But before she stepped away, she told him, “Love. It’s the only immortal thing in this whole damn world, if you ask me.”

The corners of Blane’s eyes wrinkled with his smile once more, but Gram didn’t wait around. She stepped to me and kissed me on the cheek, and finally, turned to leave. At least, I thought she did.

But she turned back, looking right at me. “You can tell me to stay away all you want. But it isn’t ever gonna happen.”

With that, she was finished.

Her aftermath still crackled like the embers of a still sizzling fire, the looks of shock still etched into the faces of those around us. My mom tried to apologize, “I’m so sorry,” while my father stood behind looking chagrined.

Blane just shook his head, his smile growing and growing. Emily took one look at his face, the dramatic lines of his too handsome smile too foreign for the son she knew, looked back to my mother and told her, “I’m not.”

And as Blane’s rich, lively blue eyes met mine, neither was I.