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His aunt and uncle joined him and his grandfather by the casket.
“Shidá’í’.” He offered his uncle a firm handshake, then let his aunt lean in and brush his cheek with a kiss. “Shimá yázhí.” No matter how long they’d been estranged, his mother had made sure he knew who he came from, and how to speak to them with respect.
Their movements were stiff. Expressions guarded. As if unsure how to navigate the grief that stretched tight between them. Was it his presence that made them uncomfortable? Or was it standing this close to his mother? Someone they hadn’t spoken to in decades.
“You look well,” his uncle offered.
Caleb nodded. “Thank you for coming.” The words sounded formal, as if he were speaking to complete strangers.
In a way, he was.
His aunt reached for his hand. “Your grandmother and mother are gone, but you will always have a mother.”
“Ahéhee' shimá yazhí,” he thanked his aunt, his voice stiff. The words rang hollow. “If I ever move back here, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Vanessa’s face brightened. “Are you thinking of coming home?”
“This isn’t home.” The words slipped out before he could corral them.
Her expression faltered. His uncle’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing.
A discrete knock broke the tension.
The funeral director poked his head in, speaking in his hushed tone. “Reverend Avery is here. If you are ready, we can begin the service.”
Caleb cast a pointed look at his family, then at the door. “I’d like a minute alone withshimá.”
His grandfather gave a single nod. “We’ll find our seats.”
As they filed out, Gia glanced over her shoulder.
He managed a small smile to ease the concern in her eyes. Why was it easier to accept comfort from a stranger than from the people who shared his blood?
The door clicked shut, leaving him in a quiet room with only the empty shell of his mother for company.
It felt all too familiar, this aloneness.
As a boy, he’d known it well. He’d learned to read the signs of her spirals early. The slurred speech, the dilated pupils, the hollow laughter that meant trouble was coming. He’d watched her disappear into that world more times than he could count, and every time it took a piece of him with it. Then she’d pull herself together and be the mother he needed.
For a while.
He’d carried that sense of isolation with him when he left. He’d been a good teammate in the Special Forces—and he was a good teammate now at Dìleas. But a part of him always looked in from the outside, never quite belonging.
The only person who’d ever understood him was dead—and he’d abandoned her long ago, too angry, too desperate to escape the harshness of their lives to return.
To her credit, she’d never asked him to.
He drew in a breath and opened the casket.
His mother lay nestled in white satin, her long, dark hair coiled into a bun. Corn pollen dusted her face in the traditional way. Someone at the funeral home had dressed her in the nicest clothes he’d found in her closet—a deep purple velvet blouse and a three-tiered skirt in harvest gold. The few pieces of silver and turquoise jewelry Caleb’s father hadn’t pawned adorned her wrist. The squash blossom necklace around her neck was unfamiliar. A small leather bag rested between her folded hands—more corn pollen for her journey. Her face, ravaged from years of hardship and substance abuse, was pale and smooth.
She looked more like the beautiful young mother he remembered. Before life burned through her beauty and left her brittle.
At peace. Finally.
His chest burned with emotion he was trying so damn hard not to feel. He’d failed her, like her family had, and now, all anyone could offer her were prayers and a plot of dirt for her weary bones to rest.
He bent and pressed his lips to her cool forehead. “Walk in beauty,Mom.”