My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (9 page)

Taking us both to the floor.

Where she totally smacks me in the side.

Thankfully before this senile whack job breaks a hip, she is pried off me by Henry and an unfamiliar woman. Ian helps me to my feet.

“Holy shit, what is wrong with that lady?” I rub my side, trying to catch my breath.

“It must be the stress. I’ve never seen her so violent. Are you okay?” Ian pats me down for injuries.

“I’m fine.” I smooth my dress, hoping Pippa didn’t witness the nastiness. Things must already be confusing enough for her.

As I glance around for her, a woman I don’t know speaks to Ian, “Has Pippa seen her parents? So beautiful. They look so peaceful. Like they’re sleeping. Everyone is saying so.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue and motions toward the cluster of people milling around the pair of caskets at the front of the room.

At the same time I spot a wide-eyed Pippa a few feet away. Her head turns toward the caskets and she squeals. “Mommy! Daddy!”

Before I can stop her, she takes off, weaving through the mourners. The room erupts, commotion everywhere. The horror unfolds in slow motion. Pairs of hands try to grab the little speed demon, but she slips through, racing through legs toward the two caskets where she thinks her mommy and daddy are sleeping.

She’s almost there when I spot Ian and realize he’s no longer at my side. There he is, sweeping Pippa into his arms in the nick of time.

The room is now silent except for Pippa screaming and crying, kicking and wailing for Ian to let her go. I’m frozen in place as I watch him carry her away from her dead parents and through the doors. The sounds of her pained cries fade once the doors shut.

I struggle to get a solid breath of air past the gigantic lump in my throat. How are we going to get her through the funeral tomorrow?

We.

I use that word so freely, like Ian and I haven’t skipped a beat, still functioning as a team. Back in the day it was Ian and Chrissy against the world. Amy was so protective of me as a child. She always kept me close and guarded me from the outside world. It was Ian who allowed her to release her protective hold on me, knowing he would watch over me just as she had.

And here I am back in that moment, where all I want is Ian.

The service portion is about to start so I hesitantly make my way up to the front. I smile numbly at faces I do not recognize. I spot Henry, and who I assume is his wife, Patti, and gently wave. I arrive at the first pew and take a seat.

For someone who praises herself on becoming such an independent woman, I just want Ian to come back inside. I listen blankly to the priest begin his sermon about the deceased couple. I’m scared out of my mind to make eye contact with the caskets. I will admit that I’ve seen way too many movies, because my biggest fear is having Amy pop up and start yelling at me for being a horrible sister. With the guilt overpowering me, I begin to cry and ramble to myself how sorry I am. An old lady next to me kindly offers her hankie, and I accept it, thanking her as I wipe down my wet face and clear my nose of snot.

Toward the end, Ian sits his warm body next to me, placing his large hand on my thigh.

“Where’s Pippa?” I try to ask quietly, looking around for an absent Pippa.

“Patti took her. I don’t think having her in here is a good idea right now.”

I look at him, unsure of his meaning. He nods toward the caskets. “She doesn’t understand. And I think it’s best if we wait until people have left to bring her up here again.”

I nod in return and we both face forward. With my shoulders slumped, I take my hand and lay it on top of Ian’s.

There’s that ‘we’ word again.

B
EING BACK HERE IS
not good for the teenage soul, or the adult soul. I read one of those books once, and it pretty much told me I was doing life all wrong—to take it one day at a time. I remember attempting the one about finding your inner strength, and the only thing it did was get me kicked out of a bar, drunker than one of those skunks I almost took out, after screaming obscenities about the lack of appreciation for expressionism in historical art. This of course was shortly after I got my first job at the art gallery and was in full study mode to learn everything I could about art to get my foot in the door. Hence, the loony drunk art-history lesson.

I wish those damn books came in handy during the remainder of this visit. Having to say goodbye to Amy, when all I wanted to do was say hello, was the hardest thing I had ever done. My inner strength failed me when I broke down in front of Pippa and once again Patti had to assist in carrying a crying Pippa out of the viewing room. She was beautiful. My sister. Even in death she glowed with such beauty that it hurt to know she wouldn’t be able to continue her life, shining as the person I learned she was through the stories that were spoken.

Ian, my savior, picked me up and carried me away. He even went as far as sitting me in his lap and cradling me while I cried. He whispered soft words into my ear that everything was going to be okay and that he was here for me.

Eventually, when the tears subsided and my sensory factor kicked in, I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands wrapped strongly around my waist. His fingers brushing my hip bone, and his warm breath that kept hitting the crook of my neck every time he exhaled.

Shamefully, I did nothing to correct his behavior and just added to my confused emotions by snuggling even further into his embrace. I tell myself that Ian is just a friend who is consoling me in a moment of weakness. I won’t do it again. Once I feel I have my strength back, I will climb out of the perfect place in the world and separate myself from him for the remainder of my stay. I tell myself I will do this right after I’m done resting my head in the crook of his neck.

I will not define this action.

I will not define this action.

I will not define this warm embrace that has my heart beating in a way it hasn’t in six years.

I eventually grow a set and pull myself together. We have expectations and have to finish greeting guests. Ian seems to know everyone whereas I just smile and nod at faces I don’t remember. A classmate of Ian’s who was anything but kind to me back then actually has the audacity to flirt with me, probing to see if I am looking for a date while I am in town. Ian also does not approve of his behavior and ends the conversation by turning all caveman, putting his arm around my shoulders and bringing me close into his side.

In and out. Breathe in and out . . .

I will not define this action.

Thankfully, Henry and his wife come over and save me from another painful high school reunion.

“Chrissy, I am sorry again about your sister and John. It is truly a shame for us to lose two great people in this community.” Henry steps forward to give me a hug. Once we break he introduces me to his wife. “Chrissy, this is my wife, Patti. She was really close with Amy.”

Patti steps forward, her eyes puffy from crying. Catching me off-guard, she wraps her arms around me and embraces me in a strong hug. She releases me and I practically stumble back. “Chrissy, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We have heard so much about you,” she says, shocking me.

“You have?”

“Oh, yes, Amy was so excited—” she begins, but Ian cuts her off.

“Patti, can you do us a favor and get Pippa home. It’s getting time for a nap and she looks like she can barely stand.”

We both turn to see a sullen-looking Pippa hanging on to her great grandmother’s leg.

“You bet, Ian.” She turns to me. “I have a car seat in our station wagon for times like this. We have spent a lot of time watching Pippa throughout the years.”

I simply nod. I am such an outsider to these people. I wonder if their kindness is just an act—if they’re really judging me for not being around. Did Amy really talk about me? Was it even nice things?

I ponder all these things while we say our goodbyes and confirm times for tomorrow’s burial service. I ponder it while we drive back to the house in silence. And I continue to ponder when Ian drops me off, stating he has to take care of some things and will be back later to help get Pippa down for the night.

This leaves me with buckets of time to think. Something I wish I could just turn off while I am here. By the time we make it home Patti has already put Pippa down for a nap. Walking her out, I turn to a silent house. My sister’s house. This is the first time I have been here alone since I got here.

The house has a warm palette of colors. The walls are painted soft beige with photo frames covering the space. I begin to walk further into the house, brushing my finger along the knickknacks on the shelves. I make it down the hall, opening doors and peeking into each room. Conquering the laundry room, bathroom, hall closet, the last door I open is the master bedroom and I venture into Amy and John’s private space. I note the beautiful mauve floral comforter covering a king-size bed. I look around at my surroundings, imagining my sister in her room. I picture Amy taking off her jewelry and placing it on the dresser that she and her husband picked out together. I walk toward the nightstand and pick up a book. I read the title on the cover. I assume it was John’s, and picture him climbing into bed with his nightly reading while they spoke of their day.

Like a happily married couple would do.

“I wish I could have been a part of all this, Ames,” I whisper as I gently lay the book back down on the nightstand. I turn to leave the sanctuary of their bedroom and see Ian leaning against the door.

“Mary mother of Christ, Ian!” I grab at my heart, making sure it’s not going to jump out of my chest. “What are you, part ninja? Don’t you knock?” I snap at him, trying to calm down.

“I’m sorry, I knocked and came in. I called for you but you seemed to be lost in your thoughts.”

More like lost in a world I wish I was a part of.

“Well, geez, maybe send a little warning signal next time,” I huff. I make my way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The last thing I want to do is have Ian follow me into the room in which I plan on sleeping. I am a tough chick, but when my libido and willpower have a say, they will definitely outvote me on throwing him on the bed and riding out all my emotions.

And yes. I mean ‘riding’ exactly how you perceived it.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to be back until later tonight?” I question his quick reappearance.

“I finished what I had to do sooner.”

“And what was that?” I ask, being nosy.

In the whole scaring me senseless I failed to notice the paper bag in his hands. He lifts it up and the second I see the logo I know.

“You went to the Sugar Shack?”

“Well, it used to be your favorite place. I thought it might help to cheer you up. Get some sugar in you.”

“I used to love the Sugar Shack.” I swallow, eyeing the bag.

“I know. Every time we had a chance you would convince me to take you there. I remember you wanted to go there for our prom instead of a fancy restaurant like all other normal teens did.” He smirks, reminding me of how I begged him to treat me to cupcakes before the dance instead of an overpriced steak dinner. I remember us dressed up for his prom, sitting in our special spot in the bakery, devouring pink lemonade cupcakes and strawberry cream puffs.

He dangles the bag in front of me.

“So do you think this will help? Or should I just get rid of them?” He turns to toss the bag by the coffee table, but I snatch it like a sugar addict.

“NO . . . no. I think this might help,” I say. I might also be drooling knowing what is in this bag. A cupcake so beautiful and perfect with the right amount of cream. Just thinking about it is making me do just that in my panties. I open the bag and take my first whiff.

“Perfect,” I sigh into the bag of perfection.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I hear Ian whisper softly under his breath.