Page 31 of Tough Love
“What did her will say?” I ask. Wouldn’t she have put her preference there? “Who didshewant caring for him?”
“She doesn’t have a will,” Dad explains. “We phoned around, enquired today while you were at home, and she didn’t make any provisions.”
So unlike Kath.Then again, who plans on dying at thirty and leaving a kid behind? Most people associate wills with being old and retired—I know I do.
“So Briar stays with me then. Sorted. What now?”
“We plan a funeral,” Mum answers.
TEN
Canned laughter fills my ears as I wake on the sofa for the third morning in a row. I move to stretch my legs out, yet something heavy and solid inhibits their progress. I push up on my elbows and blink a couple of times at Briar tucked up under the foot of my blanket, tuned in to the kids’ program that plays quietly on the TV.
“Morning, buddy.”
“Hey, Aunty.” His gaze never breaks from the screen.
Mum’s gentle tones drift through from the kitchen, and I untangle myself from Briar to head through and make myself a cup of “get started elixir”—coffee.
“Morning, darling,” Mum coos as she wraps one arm around my neck and pulls me in for a quick hug.
“Morning,” I reply, eyeing her sceptically. She seems rather chipper.
I pour myself a fresh cup, less milk than usual, and check the time on the microwave. Seven forty-eight.Shit!Evan.Struggling to keep hold of my coffee, I will my erratic heart to ease.I forgot to set the damn alarm!
“Everything okay?” Dad asks as I set the mug down on the bench and hotfoot it for the door.
“I forgot to mention we’ve got a visitor in ten minutes,” I shout over my shoulder as I swing myself at the stairs with one hand on the bannister.
“Who?” Mum calls out after me as I take the risers two at a time.
“The cop that dropped us home Friday,” I holler.
Wait until they see who it is.
“Evan?” Briar joins in, running to the base of the stairs.
Busted.
I stare down at him from the landing and nod. “Yeah, buddy. He’s stopping by this morning.”
Briar smiles and does a little dance/jog back into the living room. I carry on in my mad dash for where I left my bag of spare clothes in Kath’s room, and attempt to swing the door shut so I can change in private—but Mum crests the top of the stairs.
“What’s he coming over for?” She shuts the door behind her and takes a seat on the end of the bed like I’m five and getting changed in front of her for school all over again.
Clearly she hasn’t made the connection, or at the very least doesn’t think it could be the same Evan.
“To drop Kath’s personal effects off.” I turn my back to her and pull off the tank top I slept in.
“I … I completely forgot about that.”
“I think it’s fair to say we had other things on our mind, right?” I know I did—one with piercing eyes and a jawline to die for.
I pull a clean bra out and slip my arms through, clasping it as I turn to face her.
She wipes fresh tears from her cheeks, and I sigh. My normally unflappable mother has spent more time crying than not, the past few days, which is understandable. She’s lost a child. But for some reason, the sight of her crying is a strange concoction of upsetting and annoying. I hate to see my mother distraught, but damn, I wish she’d be strong for us, too. Right now, I need the stalwart woman who ran our household with military precision when I was little.
I need my anchor.