Even if I did start it.
“She didn’t let herself go, as you put it, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had. I wouldn’t have cared. She knew that.”
“So tell me what happened.”
“We, uh, hit a rough patch, which you already know.” I wave a hand at the folder in his lap, which flattens a lifetime of pain into a sheaf of paper and ink when it was a bulbous thing that would have consumed my whole existence if I’d let it. It’s safer pressed between pages than free to roam and ravage. I’ve learned over the years that kind of pain must be contained.
“Talk a little about losing your aunt.”
Eyeing him warily, I tense in my seat. “What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“That sounds like a cop-out,” I mutter, but allow half a grin.
He wears the other half of my grin and shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe, but I’d rather you tell me what feels right at the surface for you. If I need to dig, I will.”
“Fair enough. She raised me. I was only eight years old when my parents died in a car crash. A pileup on the interstate.” I rub my hands across my face. “She was my dad’s older sister. We lived in Texas. I’d only met her a few times, but she stepped up right away because there was no one else. I would have gone into the system if she hadn’t brought me back to Atlanta with her.”
“Wow. That’s admirable. How was your relationship with her?”
I can’t fight the smile that spreads over my face. Thinking of Byrd brings pain, but I won’t disregard the joy she brought not only to my life, but to everyone she knew.
“She was not your typical guardian. She probably gave me so much leeway because she was really independent and hated people tellingherwhat to do.” My smile peters out, the crushing reality of her absence crowding back in again. “We were family, but we were also friends.”
I clear my throat, staring down at my black short boots. “She was there and then she was just…gone. Massive heart attack. I…ummm…I found her.”
“I’m sorry, Josiah. That had to be hard.”
“Yeah. She was in the kitchen.” A hoarse laugh escapes me. “Food was that woman’s love language. Best cook I’ve ever met.”
Best person I’ve ever met.
“She used to carry unopened packs of socks and underwear in all sizes around in her car so when homeless people asked for money like at stoplights, or whatever, she could offer them.”
“She sounds fantastic.”
“She was. I saw a homeless woman downtown the other day. She didn’t have on shoes. Her clothes were…She was obviously on hard times. And all I could think was,What would Byrd do? How would she help?Yasmen still rides around with socks and underwear in her middle console because of that.”
“They were close? Your ex-wife and Byrd?”
“She was like a second mom to Yas. They were extremely close. First time my aunt met Yasmen shesaid, ‘don’t let this one get away.’”
“And what did you say?”
My smile fades, bitterness hardening the line of my mouth. “I said, ‘never,’ but she did get away, huh? Joke’s on me.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how far along was your ex-wife when she lost the baby?”
“Thirty-six weeks.” I grip the arms of the recliner. “She was in the restaurant alone. Closing up. I told her…”
I shake my head and slam my teeth together to stifle words that may sound like I blame Yasmen for what happened. I don’t.
“I asked her to let someone else lock up, but Yasmen was always in the mix. She had such a great pregnancy. No complications. It never occurred to her something like that could happen. Didn’t occur to me either. I was away.” I roll my shoulders, trying to relieve the tension, wishing I could roll off the guilt. “Shit. Isn’t our time up yet? Like, is it time to go?”
“We just started,” Dr. Musa says. “You were saying you were away. Where were you?”
“I was at this stupid convention in Santa Barbara.”