Forged by Fate (The Aqua Collection Book 1) Page 3

  “Me either.” I admit. Mom. I don’t think that I have cried enough. But, I have never had someone close to me die. What else am I supposed to do? What is expected? Should I starve myself for days? Shut myself off from everyone? It’s not the end of the world. Or is it just me?

  Maybe if it had been my father I’d be grieving right now. My mother and I didn’t share the same kind of relationship as me and dad. We were close, sure, but it was different.

  Liar.

  I swallow, utterly lost and confused. I don’t know what to do. I can’t handle this. I angrily blink the tears away that threaten to fall.

  “You’ll get through this.” He said solemnly.

  I nod, not really believing him.

  Chapter 4

  The Funeral

  Iris

  It’s the morning of the funeral.

  After taking a quick shower, I applied a simple leave-in conditioner to my curly hair in a lame attempt of styling it. I think about teasing it into a cuter do, but I can’t summon up the effort to do so. I slouch in my vanity chair, and a deep sigh seeps from my lips. I rest my head in my hands.

  I don’t want to do this.

  The past couple days had been grief-stricken. I tried keeping my emotions bottled up inside. I didn’t want to feel the pain. Yet, I cried myself to sleep every night. Mrs. White had taken care of the funeral arrangements for us, and for that I was grateful. But still, I don’t want to go.

  My eyes meet in the mirror. They have a light ring of darkness around them. It will be final today. Official. My arm feels heavy when I reach for my concealer. I mechanically apply some beneath my eyes. I don’t want people noticing my dark circles. I don’t want to answer their concerned questions and feel their hands patting me on the back.

  I slowly walk over to my closet. My eyes travel to the end of the rack, where my black clothes are located. I grab an all-black floor length dress that my mom had gotten me. The sleeves were of a loose lace. The dress as a whole was thin and lightweight. Simple. I choose a pair of black heels that I bought when my mom and I had went shopping a few weeks back. She had a matching pair.

  Something was missing. I dig through my jewelry box and select a thin silver chain that has a medium-sized, metallic rectangle hanging from it. The letter ‘I’ is engraved in the center. Inside the box rests a picture of mom and me. I gently rub a finger over the memory. I take a deep breath and wipe away the warm tear that had begun inching down my cheek. She’s everywhere.

  I fasten the necklace around my neck.

  My dad walked out of the guest bathroom just as I was making my way down the stairs. His tightly coiled hair shone. He wore dark pants, a deep blue dress shirt, and black shoes. Despite being dressed nicely, everything about his demeanor oozed tired. He was struggling with his tie, so I help him.

  “Thanks, Iris.” He gave me a kiss on top of my head and pulled on his dress jacket.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Will we ever be?” He shook his head.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The church was a bright white against the sun and towered over the surrounding complexes. I must tell myself to breathe whenever I first lay my eyes upon the building. I have never been as repelled by a church as I am at this moment. My mom had always been a woman of the church. My dad and I…not so much. I don’t want to go in there. It’s too gloomy today.

  But then I look at my father’s hands as they clenched the steering wheel. I will go in for him. For both of them. For us.

  Still, I hesitate at the threshold of the church when I peer inside. There must be at least twenty to thirty people in there. Too many. My dad looked around. I realize that he had hesitated, too.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask softly.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s you that I’m worried about.” He said gruffly.

  My eyes immediately prickle when I step through the door. I couldn’t prepare myself for it, no matter how hard I wanted to. I try to blink the tears away and put on the dark shades that I had brought along with me. I don’t want them to see me cry. I find myself reaching for my dad’s hand and walking with my head down. My chest begins to burn and clench in pain.

  I strain to hear the slow music playing. Focus on the music. I avoid looking at the large screen up front. It’s a slideshow, filled with pictures of her smiling face. She had such a pretty smile.

  We take our seats in the front row. Eventually, as though some unknown force was guiding me, I peer up at the slideshow and watch the pictures as they go by.

  She’s grinning broadly in all of them and seemed to be looking straight at me. The picture of us at the beach appears, and a sob escapes my lips. I lean into my father’s side and cry, shutting my eyes tight. The pressure building up in my chest had grown too painful to suppress. My dad put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him.

  People behind us were reaching forward and patting me and my dad on the arms and shoulders. I hadn’t thought that it would be comforting, but it was a little. Mr. and Mrs. White take seats beside us.

  My mom had gotten Mr. White a black and red striped tie for Christmas one year, and he was wearing it today. Mrs. White wore a dark dress that had glistening black thread periodically sewn into it and bore a deep neckline. She had put on big earrings and a matching necklace. Her hair was curled and her makeup perfect. I wonder how she summoned up the effort to look so nice. It upsets me a little.

  “Everyone has different ways of coping.” My dad told me quietly. He must have felt me tense up. I feel ashamed. Of course, she would be hanging onto whatever sense of normalcy she could.

  The music stopped playing. I notice that the Preacher was at the podium now. “Good afternoon.” He greeted. A sullen hush came over the church.

  “Today we have come together to pay respects to Jasmine Hanes, who we lost this past Tuesday. She was a dedicated friend, a kind woman, a giving neighbor, a loving mother and wife, and an active member of this church.” There were a few murmurs of agreement and some soft ‘amens.’

  “But as Ecclesiastes says, there is ‘a time for everything’. God—may his name be hallowed—has a plan for us all. Even though we might not understand it right now, the plan is there. It can be difficult to see the bigger picture because we do not see all that he sees. We are all merely Human.” I tune the preacher out. How can my mother killing herself be a part of God’s grand plan? How did God come to the conclusion that I didn’t need my mom in my life anymore? My conflicting emotions rage inside of me in a mass of confusion. After a while, the preacher shut the Bible and asked, “Does anyone have anything that they would like to say?”

  My father stood up and went to the podium. I feel empty when he leaves my side. Bare even. I try to brace myself for what he is about to say.

  My dad cleared his throat. “Jasmine was the best wife to me, and a great mom to our little girl. Her smile, like our daughter’s, could fill a room with light.” My dad chuckled and added, “But she had a fiery temper too, especially when you commented on her height.” A few people laughed at this, nodding their heads. “She was a strong woman, though. There were times when I wanted to give up, but she’d push me forward, and I did the same for her. I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for her.” My dad’s mouth quivered, and he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “We looked after each other...she was the love of my life. And she will always be.”

  My shoulders shake, and my temple starts to pound. Mrs. White coaxed me into resting my head on her shoulder and handed me a tissue.

  “I will always love her.” My dad said, wiping his eyes. “And we will continue living on. We will live on. Because that’s what she’d want us to do. It will be hard, but we’ll succeed. Right, Iris?” I nod my head. “We’ll live on for her.”

  My father came back to sit beside me. The preacher took his place. “Let us all join hands and pray.” He said.

  Mrs. White stood up. She took a seat at the piano and started playing
a low and beautiful melody. I recognize the song. One of my mother’s favorites. I clench my eyes shut until bright colors splash against my eyelids.

  “Lord, we want to thank you…” The preacher began.

  We all mumble an ‘amen’ when the prayer is finished

  Chapter 5

  One Month Later

  Iris

  The next weeks that follow are quiet. Despite my dad’s words at the funeral, we both continued to mourn her death. I often found myself staring at nothing or on the verge of heading over to their room to ask my mom something.

  That was the hardest part. Learning to live for her, while also living without her. Every time I thought we were making progress, someone would stop by to offer their condolences and rip the wound back open.

  She had left us at the beginning of December, so we drifted right through the holidays without celebrating anything. My father stayed home from work, focusing more on planning for our move. We couldn’t stay here. He didn’t make me go back to school since we were out for Christmas break during the majority of it.

  Before I knew it, I realized that we’d be moving the following day. I was grateful honestly. There’s no way we could ever completely heal while staying in this house. My father had been staying in the guest room the entire time for goodness sakes.

  I go into the kitchen for a second and scan the room, wrinkling my nose from the charred smell. The stench had never truly left and there was still a makeshift patch on the ceiling from where the fire-fighters had sealed the hole. The carpet in the hallway also held the faint scent of mildew from the water damages of putting out the fire.

  My dad, dressed in casuals, walked out of the guest bedroom and hit a button on his vehicle keys. His black, luxury SUV chirped in response.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “I have to tie a few ends up at the hospital before we leave tomorrow. I wanted to say goodbye to everyone.” He admitted, ruffling the top of my head.

  I knew how hard this would be for him. My dad had worked there for nearly 15 years. Everyone at the hospital had become like a second family to him. Now, he had to transfer and leave them all behind.

  I watch my dad pull out of the driveway. I just sit there. It’s so quiet. I listen for the usual roar of a vacuum cleaner, a cue that my mom was on a cleaning spree again, but it never comes. Still, I wait. I grip my head in my hands. I’ve got to stop waiting for her. She isn’t coming back.

  “I need a distraction.” I say aloud. “I need to run.”

  I go upstairs and change into a pair of exercise shorts and a sports bra. I put on a tank over that. I roughly tousle the curly mass atop my head and stand in front the mirror. I hadn’t seen my reflection in so long that I couldn’t remember how I was supposed to look. Shaved sides. Medium height. Milk chocolate skin. Inside my mother’s slanted Chinese eyes is the color of my dad’s hazel-brown irises.

  I grab my sports bottle from my backpack in the corner of my room and fill it up in the bathroom sink before trotting downstairs. I stick in some ear buds and search through my phone to find some motivational music. None of it pumps me up like usual, but I listen to it to keep my thoughts at bay.

  I start off at a slow jog, water in one hand, phone in the other. My muscles are stiff, and the sun feels good on my skin. I hadn’t been outside since the funeral. It feels nice.

  Our house is located in a gated-community in the Sunshine State. I know this place like the back of my hand. I also know of every pet and every person that lives here. I feel a pang when I remember that we’re leaving it and that there was going to be one less person who inhabited it.

  I had ran the circle dozens of times before, most of the time with my mom. Running has always been a great way to clear my mind. I am familiar with each crack in the sidewalk and very aware of which dogs to avoid.

  I could run with my eyes closed. So, I did exactly that. After a while, I reminisce my mother’s presence beside me. I can hear her steady footfall and measured breathing, the music in my ears fading into the background. I don’t even open my eyes as I pass Mrs. Peeble. Her strong perfume gives her away. It smells like plums and old people. I smile to myself when I imagine what she is wearing since I knew that my mom and I would have whispered about it once we passed her. She normally wears bright tights and pumps her arms while she walks, counting aloud—

  I trip over something, wearing that stupid smile with my eyes closed. I let out a little cry as I hit the concrete, scraping my elbow. My sports bottle and phone go flying. I am earnestly surprised and a little embarrassed. I stand up, ready to find the stray toy that made me trip. People knew not to leave them out on the sidewalk. It’s against housing regulations.

  I am even more surprised when I see who’s standing there. “What the…?”

  The firefighter from that night just stood there, hands stuffed into a pair of dark jeans, looking suspiciously guilty.

  “You’re…” I trail off, realizing that I don’t know his name.

  “Cam.” He filled in the blanks for me.

  “Did you trip me?” I accuse. My elbow stings.

  He picked up my water bottle and handed it to me. His cheeks were pink from the sun. It’s already scorching hot this morning. “Yeah, but not purposely. I was on my phone, and my foot happened to be sticking out.” He rambled.

  “I’m sure.” I snap.

  Mrs. Peeble happened to pass by at just that moment. She was on step number 48 and got wind of my attitude. “She’s a little brat, isn’t she?” She kept on walking. I scowl after her. I see that I’ll get no pity from her. I’m slightly relieved.

  Cam laughed. “Sure is.” No pity from him either.

  “Ugh.” I grumble at both of them. I decide that I don’t want to run anymore and turn back around. He grabbed my elbow. “Ow!” I knock his hand away.

  He looked at the blood on his hand. I hadn’t realized it was bleeding that bad. “You’re hurt.”

  “No kidding. Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I roll my eyes.

  “I think that there’s a first aid kit in the house. I’ll go get it. Come on in.” He didn’t wait for me to respond. I realize that he had gone into Mr. and Mrs. White’s home. He must be doing lawn work for some extra cash or something. I follow him inside and sit down at their kitchen table. I’m familiar with the layout of the house because we had often eaten dinner here. Everything is clean and polished. Decorations are scarce because they still hadn’t fully unpacked from moving in a year ago.

  He entered the room with the kit in hand, looking like he was about to perform surgery. Cam sat down in a chair beside me and scooted closer.

  “Listen. All I need is a Band-Aid.” I say.

  He was rummaging through the white box. His blue eyes were narrowed in thought. He pulled out some Band-Aids and a tube of ointment. “Let me see your arm.”

  “Hold on there dude. All I need to do is slap on a patch, and then I’ll be on my merry way.” I’ll probably explode or something if I put that ointment on my elbow.

  “You don’t want it to get infected.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I say. I can tell that he isn’t going to budge though. “Okay, fine. How about this? I’ll run some water over it.” I stand up and make my way over to the sink. I set my water bottle down and turn on the faucet. It’s pretty awkward, trying to wet only my elbow, but I manage it.

  “So…” I speak as the water runs over my elbow. “Do you work for them or something?”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. White.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “What? No. I’m their son. They never talk about me?”

  That earns him a raise of the eyebrow from me. “They never mentioned you.” I wonder if my dad knew about this.

  “Hm.” He looked upset about it, which made me feel bad for bringing it up.

  I refocus on my elbow, and don’t comment. I sigh when the sting fades. The only reminder is a little red mark that’s already diminishing.

>   I quickly realize my mistake.

  Cam came over to me with a patch in hand. I reach for it, but he insisted that he put it on. “I can put it on myself.” I argue, my voice a little high.

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  He grabbed my arm. I can’t believe that I was so stupid. I close my eyes, praying that by some miracle he won’t realize that my wound had already healed. I did not feel the patch on my arm, so I hesitantly lift a lid.

  Cam’s eyes were a vibrant green now. They had changed. My heart skips a beat. I scramble away from him. “How did that happen?” He asked, voice low. A weird feeling comes over me as his eyes meet mine.

  “What?” I edge towards the door.

  In two steps he had crossed the space between us. He was so close that I had to press my lower back against the counter to avoid touching him. “You can tell me.” There was a desperate note in his voice that confused me.

  “It must not have been as bad as I thought.” I say quickly, startled by his sudden movement. He stared at me for a few seconds with those bright green eyes. I don’t dare breathe. He appeared disappointed after a moment. “What’s the deal with your eyes?” I say a little breathlessly, needing to get the topic off of me. “They’re kind of freaking me out.”

  He blinked, and then they were dark blue again. “You’ve never seen someone with eyes that change color?”

  “Not like yours.” I wait for him to back up a little bit, to give me some space. Instead, he moved even closer. His dark hair tickles my forehead.

  “I’ve never seen any like yours either. They’re an open book. Right now, you’re afraid. What are you afraid of?” He inquired.

  So many thoughts went through my head when he asked that question. “I—” I can’t think with him so close to me. This is all too much. Too much is happening at one time.