Page 186 of Phobia

“Are you a father?” Hudson asked him.

“I was recently ordained, yes.” The man drew his hand back slowly. “You don’t have to navigate through your grief alone. I would be happy to meet with you.”

I took issue with that statement, though I knew it was well-intentioned. He wasn’t alone. He still had us. Our circle may have just shrunken in the most devastating of ways, but the three of us were still a unit, and we watched out for each other.

Hudson shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Do you have any kids, Pastor James? Or are you a brother, maybe?”

Malin and I exchanged a frown, not sure where Hudson’s questions were leading. At least now I knew the guy’s name, though.

Pastor James scratched below his ear and fiddled with his glasses again. “Yes to both.”

“And you love them, I assume?”

With his brow wrinkling in confusion, he shot a glance over to me, as if I had a fucking clue where Hudson was going with this. I just shrugged.

“Yes…of course I love them,” he replied slowly. “Very much so.”

Hudson nodded once with his lips pressed tightly together. “So, tell me, Pastor, if you were to walk in and find one of them had offed themself, triggered by the nasty behavior of someone they thought they could trust, how would you feel?”

“Hudson,” Malin cut in sharply, “you can’t ask people shit like that. It’s inappropriate.”

“It’s fine.” Pastor James held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t mind answering the question.” He faced Hudson again and, after pondering for a moment with his fingers steepled and resting atop his long robe, gave his reply. “I imagine I would feel distraught, sad, and overwhelmed. Helpless. Guilty because I hadn’t been able to prevent it. Angry, both at those who had betrayed their trust and at my loved one for taking their life. Perhaps even angry at God…” His voice trailed off.

Hudson nodded brusquely. “Exactly. And maybe you’d realize there is no purpose, no deeper meaning, behind their death. There was no ‘for the greater good’ behind our sister swallowing a handful of fentanyl pills. She was a good person.” The way his voice trembled, and from the stark pain that seeped into his words, it was like he was slowly dying inside, bleeding out one word at a time. “She didn’t deserve what ultimately led her to that choice.” Pastor James’s face softened with empathy, and he remained quiet as Hudson voiced his frustration. “And there is nothing bigger or more all-consuming,” he continued, holding my attention hostage with his hazel eyes—Livy’s eyes—and the tears now trickling down his cheeks, “than the pain her death brought that we now have toendure. There is no solution coming from God that will help with that.” He chuckled bitterly and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “That’s not how the world works. Not for us.”

Malin’s head lowered and his shoulders drooped. He turned away and moved closer to Livy’s casket, running his hand along the smooth wooden edge. I remained where I was, and Hudson’s words echoed around in my head. He might have been the youngest of us and prone to knee-jerk reactions, but right now, it was like listening to a wise old sage. His words resonated deep within me, and the ball of fury that had been simmering in my gut ever since we’d managed to get into Livy’s phone and find the damning text messages, grew bigger and burned hotter.

Hudson crossed his arms and faced the pastor head-on. “So, where’s the resolution for our sister? Where’s the justice?” He flung an arm out, like he was pointing to someone or something. “The asshole that destroyed her, he gets to walk around every day with a mask of righteousness covering his ugly, sadistic face. Where’s the retribution for his sins, Father?”

A deep wave of sadness and empathy emanated from Pastor James as Hudson’s hands dropped to his sides and his chest caved inward. I felt a little bad for Pastor James. This was probably one of the first services he’d performed, and here he was being grilled like he was under investigation. I didn’t know if I really believed in a higher power, but Livy had, and I respected those beliefs. At a different moment in time, I would have maybe been more open to them. But not today.

Today, my sister was dead. Hudson was an angry shell of himself. And Malin, the backbone of our family, his stoic exterior was crumbling with each passing moment. I knew it wasn’t his intention, but where Hudson’s words were amping me up, they were breaking Malin down. He looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders—or at least our little piece of the world—and the burden was becoming too heavy to bear. And while he had every right to let the walls fall, it saddened me to see him so bleak.

He didn’t deserve that.

Neither did Hudson.

Livy sure didn’t deserve any of this.

None of us did.

“I may not have the answers that you seek,” Pastor James said quietly. “What I will say is this. Sometimes our worldly resources fail us, but God will never fail us. He is our refuge, our shield. He protects and rescues us when we hold pain in our hearts, our minds, our bodies. And mercy and grace will always triumph over sin.”

Hudson curled his lip up in disgust, shook his head, and walked away without another word. Though he tried to hide it, the small limp from his injured thigh and feet was noticeable, and that reminder once again of what we’d been through ate at my conscience, pushing me toward what I knew we ultimately needed to do.

Someone had to pay for destroying our lives.

Pastor James watched him retreat and sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with two fingers. He pulled something from the side pocket of his robe and handed it to me. “My number. I really would love to help. We can meet, or I can share information on other bereavement resources available. I hope that you’ll reach out, Zane.”

“Thank you.” I slid the business card into the inside pocket of my suit coat.

He nodded. “You and your brothers may stay here as long as you’d like. Everything will be taken care of after you leave.”

I swallowed hard. This was the last time we’d ever be this close to Livy before she was buried. “Thank you,” I repeated. The words got stuck in my throat and came out as a hoarse whisper. Pastor James patted my arm and left.

That left me and Malin. And Livy. I slipped up beside him and wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. I needed to be there for him like he always was for us. His brown eyes were red-rimmed when he looked at me, and his short chestnut hair was disheveled from having run his fingers through it sometime in the last few minutes. Where Hudson and Livy had looked almost identical, Malin and I shared similar features. We all had that same but different quality that made it obvious that we were all related, but Malin and I had more of Dad in us, with the same dark hair and eyes. His build was bulkier than mine because he’d been lifting several years longer than me, and my hair was a touch longer on top and usually messy to begin with. But I was sure we wore matching expressions of misery today.

“I failed her.” Malin’s voice was so low I barely heard his troubled confession.