I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but I wasn’t physically capable of such things.
“You did it.” I turned back to my mother. “You got the life you always wanted. All you needed to do was sacrifice your son. Steal away our childhood. Now, you’ve got the money, the things, the husband. But you don’t have children. One is gone from this world, and I may as well be dead to you because you’re dead to me.”
I didn’t wait for my mother to say something, to try to get the last word—as she always did. I dropped my glass, letting it shatter on the ground, and walked out, the shards crunching underneath my feet.
Chapter
Twenty-One
RECIPE: PISTACHIO PINWHEELS
Recipe: Sour Cherry Pie
From ‘Dessert Person’
ROWAN
I kept an eye on her. A close eye.
She was bleeding. Her insides torn apart. It hurt just to look at her. To see the pain clinging to her every cell. And I couldn’t do a thing about it. Not a fucking thing. She lost the single person on this earth she’d loved the most, her blood. Her other half.
And though she’d screamed at her mother a couple of times—I’d never met a woman who deserved to be screamed at in the days after her son’s death until her—cried at the service and clutched the ashes containing her brother’s remains like a lifeline, she never shed another tear.
She was doing fucking well at pretending she was okay.
She was functioning by taking care of shit. First, it was the funeral flowers. Then it was the service, making sure her brother’s wishes were honored. Then it was the ceremony in the park, the one that was filled with colorful characters who’d obviously loved her brother. She spent the whole service comforting them. Then it was straight back here, straight back to work. No fucking pause.
And no way was she listening to me when I’d tried to tell her she should take a break.
She’d firmly said no, though with a tremble in her voice. She was clinging to the edge of a cliff, holding on for dear life. I didn’t know how to convince her I could catch her. Didn’t know how to prove it to her. Her whole fucking life, she’d had to take care of herself. Her brother. There had never been anyone there for her when she fell apart. She didn’t know how to let that happen. She was terrified.
So, I just had to watch. And wait.
Though it was killing me.
Everyone else was worried too. Could see it in their faces.
They loved Nora. Endlessly. Fiona, Tiffany and Tina would jump in front of a bullet for her. But like me, their hands were tied. We just had to stay close. Be there when she fell apart.
I came to the bakery three times a day. Like normal. First thing in the morning when she opened up. Fucked her then. Hard. Quiet. Brutal. I wiped the tears away from her cheeks when we were done, not saying anything. Let her make me coffee while I situated myself on a stool, watching her work.
Her bakery was the only place she didn’t shut off from the world. Where she was sure. Confident. It was a fucking marvel to see.
Fiona would come in, swearing like always. But she kept a careful eye on Nora.
While there, Nora seemed herself. Or as close to herself as she could be with a piece missing. With half of her missing. How the fuck she was going to recover from losing that much was anyone’s guess. But I knew she would. Believed she was strong enough.
I was still bracing for her to fall because I understood something had to give. She couldn’t keep on like this forever.
And then when I went by the bakery one afternoon, she wasn’t there. Fiona looked worried. Really fucking worried.
“She said she was going to pick up something,” Fiona said by greeting. Her tone and her expression had me on high alert, the pit in my stomach opening up wider.
“How long ago?” I barked, louder than I’d intended.
Fiona flinched at my tone and probably my expression. I couldn’t rein it in. Not now. Not when fear had sunk its talons in.
“About an hour,” Tina replied for Fiona, her own face filled with worry. “She’s not at home, already been there.”
I nodded. “I’ll find her.”
Tina scowled at me coldly. “You fucking better.”
There was a threat there. An unsaid ‘or else’.
But the thing was, I didn’t need the threat. Because there was no other option but to find Nora in one piece.
NORA
I wasn’t well versed in drowning my sorrows. Sure, I might’ve salved some hurt with a bottle of wine—or even two—in extenuating circumstances, but I wasn’t someone to slam countless tequilas. Wouldn’t swig from a bottle of vodka while soaking in the tub, though I loved the visual of it, so hardcore and dramatic, yet not for me. I never liked the taste of hard liquor. And I’d always been mindful of the way my brother’s addiction had taken hold of him.