Page 51

TOMMY

Beatrice ‘Bitsy’ Page woke only once more after she landed in the hospital. She slept for seventy-two hours straight, clinging to life and drawing Alana to the very ends of her sanity.

It was a long, drawn-out torture for the girl who only ever wanted her mother’s approval.

Three days of vigil. Watching. Waiting. Chris came and went, dedicating his time to Franky.

And Caroline came, too, to sit with her friend and lend a little strength in the quiet.

Ollie visited. Eliza visited. Half the town came by to say their piece and ensure they caught the latest gossip.

And then, in the early hours of Wednesday morning, while Franky slept on a cot the hospital provided, and Chris sat on the floor beside it, while Alana curled into my chest, and I did what I do… I held her while she needed me… Bitsy woke.

She looked across in the shadows and observed her daughter’s trance-like state. Saying nothing while Alana was oblivious. Smiling when she knew I wasn’t.

Gray in the face and too sick to do anything else, she moved her hand and drew Alana’s attention. Then she shed a tear for the baby she had birthed and gave Alana the only gift she could.

She told her she loved her.

Which sounds nice and all. But fuck, the bitch could’ve shared those words a million times over the last twenty-eight years. She could have told her daughter that she was perfect the way she was. She could have smiled more and criticized less. Accepted more and judged less.

But those are my thoughts. My unhealed, child-of-trauma, abusive daddy to the nth degree, feelings, all of which I intend to take to the grave rather than risk the serenity Alana has walked around with since.

“It’s almost time to go, Franky.” In a beautiful black dress with sleeves that go to her elbows and a skirt that drapes elegantly around her knees, Alana crosses her mother’s kitchen in bare feet and crouches by the dining chair her son perches on.

She pastes on a sweet smile—I get a perfect view from my place by the counter—and when Franky’s Gameboy makes that dun-dun-dun sound that declares his game is over, she carefully takes the device and places it on the table. “It’s time, baby.”

“To go to the funeral…”

I don’t think he’s asking a question. Or even inviting a response.

He’s just processing as best an almost-ten-year-old can. Kind of how I’ve been silently processing my thoughts on Franky’s parentage.

I’ve found dissociation works best, especially when he and my brother are in the same room, and their glaring similarities threaten to shatter my heart.

But that’s a trauma for another day.

“To Grandma’s funeral,” Alana confirms. “I’m going to put my shoes on, okay? So I’d like for you to go to the bathroom while I do, then we can leave.”

“Who else will be there?” He pushes to his feet, slowly circling the chair and sliding it into place under the table. “Chris?”

Amused—and entirely oblivious to how her easy affections for my brother make my heart ache—she pats his shirt down and carefully fixes the tie he insisted on wearing.

“Yeah, I think Chris will be there. Probably most of the town, actually. Grandma never left Plainview, and she met everyone at least once. I think it’s going to be busy. ”

He holds her wrists in his hands, searching her eyes as worry flitters through his. “What if everyone tries to talk to me?”

“They might.” She licks her glistening lips and draws a deep breath. “But you don’t have to talk back if you don’t want to. It’s polite to say thank you when they tell you they’re sorry for your loss. But if you run out of thank yous or you just don’t want to?—”

“Me and Chris will be your bodyguards.” I smile when two sets of eyes come across, then moving away from the counter, I wander closer and stop beside the pair. “The people who matter will know your heart. And those who don’t matter,” I shrug. “Don’t matter.”

“That’s right,” Alana confirms. “Those who don’t matter aren’t worth worrying about. Now, go to the bathroom, please.” She straightens out, then she tilts her chin toward the doorway. “We can’t go until you do.”

He sighs, turning on his heels and stalking away. “Fine.”

“Now, you lean on me.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and pull her in until her cheek rests on my heart.

I hold her close, squeezing her shoulder and sliding my palm along her arm.

“You need to take five minutes to breathe. You’ve been green all morning, Lana.

Don’t think I didn’t notice. And you’re being brave for Franky, but eventually, you’re gonna fall if you don’t rest.”

“Thank you.”

I exhale a quiet snicker. “Is that a polite thank you , the kind you toss out the day you bury your mom? Or a regular thank you because you like the way I hug you?”

“The second.” She slides her arms around my back, linking her hands together. “I know you have other stuff going on. You’ve hardly even begun training for Vegas, and Chris is getting itchy about it. You?—”

“Have absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.

” I kiss the top of her head. “And don’t worry about us ,” I tease.

“In a few days, once things have calmed down and life goes back to a new normal, you’ll remember your vow to keep me away.

Something about me falling in love with someone else or some such thing. ”

She sniffles and giggles. Humor and devastation in the same breath.

“Maybe my new hoe will come to the funeral today. You could introduce us, since that’s what nice, selfless women do.”

“You’re annoying me.” And yet, she squeezes tighter and buries her face against my chest. “And speaking of hoes, my best friend will be there.”

“I know.” I lean back and swipe her cheeks clear. “I’m your best friend. I’m literally riding with you. Though calling me a hoe is a little hurtful.”

She rolls her eyes. “My other best friend. My New York best friend, who freaks at the idea of chicken poo and a lack of high-end department stores.”

“She sounds perfect.” I cup her face and set a chaste, dry kiss on her swollen lips. “Make the introductions, and I’ll see how things go from there. Maybe it’ll be love at first sight, and since she’s already your best friend, you could probably be the maid of honor at our hoe wedding.”

“You’ve set yourself a mission to irritate me as much as possible today, huh?” The toilet flushes, and the tap switches on in the bathroom, so she looks up at me with glittering eyes and a sweet smile. “It’s helping. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When we’re done with all this, I kinda want to talk to you about something.”

Curious, I pull back and search her eyes.

“Something important,” she sighs. “Something private.”

“You wanna tell me now?”

She shakes her head, but even if she wanted to, Franky wanders back into the room and Alana steps out of my embrace. So I move to the door and grab her shoes.

“Are we going to Darlene’s after?” Franky stops with damp handprints on the thighs of his pants and a shirt twisted from redressing.

Realizing this, Alana quickly steps into her shoes, then she turns to her son and straightens him out. “Caroline’s putting on a lunch thing at the bar, and some others said they’d help cater it. So anyone who wants to go will be there.”

“Are we going there?”

She finishes with his shirt, sets her hands on his shoulders, and looks down into his eyes. Then she sighs. “I’m not sure. Is it just me, or are we all freakin’ exhausted already? It’s barely after ten in the morning, and I’m ready for a nap.”

That’s called trauma, I think. Grief. Healing, perhaps. Fuck knows.

“I guess we’ll see how we feel after the cemetery. There will be a lot of people there, and they’ll all want to talk to me. I might need quiet afterward.”

“We could watch The Simpsons,” Franky volunteers.

He moves around his mom and sneaks the Gameboy off the table.

But when their eyes meet, and she shakes her head in answer, he puts it down again.

“We could take some of the food from Darlene’s and bring it back here.

But we should lock the doors, or Aunty Fox will come in and try to make us dance it out .

” He flattens unimpressed lips. “I hate when she does that.”

Alana wipes her face and takes his hand in hers, and when I open the door, she rewards me with a gentle smile and leads the boy onto the porch outside, then down the steps and across to her car.

Nice clothes and a dusty old truck don’t really suit.

“Fox’s gonna stay with us for a few days.” She unlocks the car and opens the back door, allowing Franky to climb in. She waits for him to fasten his seat belt before she closes it again. Then she turns and startles when I step in her way.

Her nerves are shot. Her emotions, dangerously close to the surface.

She looks up at me, doe eyes brimming with sorrow. But when I extend my hand and wait, she figures me out quickly enough, placing her keys in my palm and moving around to the passenger side so I can drive.

“I’m gonna be with you guys the whole time, okay?

” Which, as I search Franky’s eyes in the rearview mirror, I know isn’t a comfort to the boy who wants only his mother.

“I’ll be quiet, and I won’t get in your way.

But I’ll drive you where you’ve gotta go and stand nearby to get you anything you need. I want to help you guys through this.”

“Did you know you can hire caskets?” Franky reaches for the book he keeps in the back seat, pulling the pen from the middle and resting the book on his knees. “Because sometimes people choose cremation, but the family still wants to have a viewing and stuff.”

“I did know that.” And I’m not pleased about it. At all. “It would be a lot of money to waste on nothing if you don’t need the casket after the funeral.”

“Did you know one million seconds is eleven days, and one billion seconds is thirty one point seven years?”

“Uh…”

“That means the average human life is around two and a half billion seconds long.”