Jagged (22 page)

He got no further.

Even still in my nightgown, I planted a hand in the back of the couch, tossed my legs over it, and called, “Thanks Mick!” behind me as I raced down the hall to Ham’s bedroom.

* * *

“It would probably be a good thing, if Dad’s a dick, that you didn’t punch him or something,” I noted in the truck as I wrung my hands in my lap and Ham drove us to the cemetery.

Ham was wearing a dark-gray suit, deep-blue shirt, and even a nice black tie patterned in muted blues, greens, and grays.

I’d never seen Ham in a suit and he rocked it.

I was wearing the slim-fitting black dress I’d worn to my friend Kim’s funeral years ago. Its lines were classic so luckily I didn’t look like an out-of-style goofball. Also luckily, I didn’t throw it away one of the million times I saw it in my closet, remembered Kim, her diagnosis of cancer, her very brief three-month fight with it, which mostly consisted of making her comfortable through it, and her funeral.

But I vowed to toss it in the trash after I took it off when we got home.

“Other way to look at that is, it would probably be a good thing for your dad not to be a dick so I won’t punch him or something,” Ham returned and I looked to him.

“Babe, we have to be cool. We can’t get in graveside brawls right before suing for custody.”

Ham glanced at me before looking back at the road. “Cookie, honestly, you think I’m gonna get in a bust-up with your dad at your sister’s funeral?”

“You’re unpredictable, lately,” I shared.

That got me another glance, this one surprised, before he asked, “How’s that?”

“Committed. Possessive. Forthcoming. You were always awesome but you’re exponentially awesome…
er,
” I explained.

I caught his grin before he asked, “I’m awesome…
er
?”

“
Exponentially
awesomer,” I corrected.

That was when I got a chuckle and Ham’s hand snaked out to grab mine and take firm hold.

“I’ll be cool, Zara. Wouldn’t do anything to fuck things up. Yeah?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” I replied, squeezing his hand.

He returned the squeeze and kept hold of my hand.

“You gonna be able to do this?” he asked.

I knew what he was asking and it wasn’t about being graveside at my sister’s funeral.

It was about seeing my mom and dad again.

“I’ll likely require intravenous vodka after this is over but, yeah. For Xenia, I’ll do this,” I answered.

“Now that, baby, that’s awesome,” he replied, his deep approval unhidden.

I let the warmth of that move through me before I looked forward and began efforts to steel myself against seeing my father, my mother, and whoever else they deigned to invite. They didn’t have a lot of friends but the ones they chose were nearly as awful as they were.

Therefore, I didn’t figure we’d be in good company.

This sucked.

Not for me, for Xenia. My sister liked a good party. She was always social. Everyone liked her and she liked everyone
except
my dad, mom, aunts, and their friends. Therefore, during her last hurrah, those being the only attendees at this particular party was unfortunate.

Luckily, Mick got to us in the nick of time and she’d have at least one person she gave a crap about there.

I was closing in on having it all together when the wrought-iron arch of Gnaw Bone Memorial Cemetery came into view. My body went into hyperdrive trying not to fall apart.

As sick as this sounded, Gnaw Bone Memorial Cemetery was pretty cool. When we were in high school, my friends and I, including Xenia, used to go out there and hang out all the time. On the side of a mountain, its views sweeping, and nothing around it, so its feel was serene. It was also the resting spot for folks who lived in our town before it was our town.

Old gravestones and unusual, old-fashioned names gave credence to local lore that said that Wild West gunslingers were buried here—along with whores, gamblers, and prospectors. Suddenly, I saw myself going to Carnal Library and talking to Faye Goodknight. I bet there were local history books at the library. And I bet if I read those history books, I could tell my nephew all about the history of the town where his mother was born and where he was, hopefully, going to grow up.

That thought cinched my armor together, snug, no chinks, no way to get through no matter how much of a dick my dad could be.

Ready for this.

Not surprisingly, we were not met with faces wreathed with welcoming smiles as Ham and I parked.

I ignored this as I gathered up the flowers Ham called in while I was getting ready and we swung by the flower shop to pick up. We got out of the cab and made our way toward the graveside complete with elevated casket covered in an ostentatious spray of yellow roses that pissed me off because Xenia hated yellow.

As Ham and I made our way toward the casket, I noted, if the look on his face was anything to go by, Dad was very not cool with my appearance at the cemetery. And if he thought he could get away with it, I figured he’d launch himself at me, grab my arm, haul me back to Ham’s truck, and forcibly shove me inside. Luckily, Ham was a bruiser and the pastor was there so Dad remained where he was and instead shot daggers at us from his eyes.

I avoided faces and concentrated on the not-so-easy trek through the grass in my spike-heeled pumps. I did this partly because I didn’t like these people but mostly because I didn’t want to lock eyes with my mom.

Dad, I hated.

Mom, any thought of her hurt me.

He was just a dick.

Mom, I didn’t get.

It wasn’t like, back in the day, I expected heroics, like her jumping in front of Xenia or me (mostly Xenia) and taking our beating. Dad was a big guy and Mom was an inch shorter than me and I wasn’t exactly tall. I could see why she wouldn’t do that because he’d just lose his mind, beat her down, and then haul off and wail on us anyway.

But I didn’t understand why she didn’t do something.

She had two sisters, too, and they were actually nice. Sure, they’d both moved out of state and stayed there but it wasn’t like Mom didn’t know how to drive a car or dial a phone.

Even if she felt their distance didn’t make them an option, I couldn’t fathom why she didn’t go to Mick. As cops go, he was pretty approachable and even back then, when he wasn’t head honcho, he
was
serious about his job and protecting the citizenry of Gnaw Bone. Everyone knew it.

Which took me to Gnaw Bone. I didn’t have any experience of other places but back when Xenia did what she did and again very recently, they kicked in for me. They were just that way. If they had to do it on the hush-hush, they would. Or if they had to go all in, they’d do that, too. Hell, when Nina got kidnapped, she’d only been in town for over a week, most people didn’t know who the hell she was, the ones who did didn’t know her all that well, and everyone went out looking for her, even me.

I could understand that Dad cowed my mother. He wasn’t just a big guy; he was a scary guy. And I didn’t have any experience being a mother so who was I to say.

I just thought any mother would risk
something
for her daughters.

Not stand at the graveside of one dead one and watch your other one that you haven’t seen or spoken to in nine years (and didn’t try) walk up without even calling hello.

“Zara, lovely to see you here,” Pastor Williams said meaningfully when we stopped next to the casket and my eyes went to him to give him a grateful smile. “Young man, welcome,” he greeted Ham.

Ham lifted his chin.

“If you don’t mind, pastor, we’d like to get this started. We’re already unfathomably ten minutes late,” my father cut in.

“Certainly, Xavier,” Pastor Williams murmured, looking down to his Bible.

I did a scan that was far from thorough and saw, first, my mother’s sisters weren’t there, and second, only about six other people were, which meant the ones my father were expecting had likely been there awhile.

That was when I knew the source of Mick’s information, considering Pastor Williams had delayed to wait for our arrival.

Therefore, if he wasn’t a man of the cloth, older than my dad, and I didn’t have my man at my side who I’d been waiting to be my man for years, once this crap was done, I’d kiss the pastor hard.

The service was short but sweet, seeing as Pastor Williams was a great guy, he knew Xenia, and he made it that way.

At the end, as he prayed, we all watched Xenia lowered into the ground, but even as my throat burned, I held it together.

“I’m sure Xenia would thank you all for coming,” Pastor Williams started and I felt Ham’s lips at my ear where he muttered, “I’m not.”

I successfully stifled a half-nervous, half-amused giggle as Pastor Williams went on. “As do I, Xenia’s parents, Xavier and Amy, and Xenia’s sister, Zara. God be with Xenia and God be with all of you.”

When he was done, I thought it safe to approach the opened earth and look down at those beautiful but inappropriate roses.

Then I tossed mine on.

Blood red. Her favorites.

Red. Means love, baby,
she’d said to me once, a twinkle in her eye, still young enough to have hope for the future.

“I miss you,” I whispered to the flowers. “I thank God you’re finally at peace but I miss you, Xeens. Every freaking day.”

I felt a hand slide up my back and curl around my neck, warm and reassuring as I stood still, stared at those flowers, and said one last good-bye to my sister.

Then I felt warmth at my back and lips at my ear where Ham murmured, “You ready, cookie?”

“Just a second, darlin’,” I murmured back. The warmth at my back left but the hand stayed around my neck. I stared at the flowers and told my sister, “Got that, girl. Got that love, baby. Took a while. But I finally got in my life what the color of those flowers means. Wherever you are, be happy for me. I promise, we’re gonna do right.”

I said no more, waited for a wisp of wind that might be her reply, and got nothing.

It was disappointing but I had nine years of that, waiting for some sign that some part of Xenia’s spirit was still with me and not getting it. I was used to it by then.

I moved away and the instant I did, Ham curled his arm around my shoulders and tucked me close to his side. I wrapped my arm around his waist and we didn’t get a step before Pastor Williams stopped us.

“Zara, so pleased to see you here,” he said.

“Thank you, Pastor. I’m pleased I got the chance to come,” I replied. When his eyes went to Reece I introduced, “Pastor Williams, this is Graham Reece. Ham, this is Pastor Williams.”

They shook hands as Ham said, “Pastor. Folks call me Reece.”

“Fine, Reece. Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” Ham rumbled.

They broke contact and Pastor Williams looked to me. “I know this is not exactly a shock but it’s no less distressing. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. My door is always open if you ever need to talk.”

“Thanks Pastor,” I mumbled on a small smile.

He gave me a small smile back, nodded to me, nodded to Ham, and moved away.

I looked to my feet and muttered, “Hurry, let’s make a quick getaway.”

That was when I felt Ham go tight at my side and he muttered back, “Too late for that.”

My head lifted and I saw Dad approaching.

Really, he was handsome. He’d given me his blond hair. Although his had since faded to gray in an attractive way. He’d also given me my brown eyes. He’d been built back in the day and he kept in shape, for an older guy. If you didn’t know what a dick he was, and he didn’t wear that fact on his face, he’d still turn heads.

Ham drew me closer.

“Zara,” he greeted. These were the first words he’d spoken to me in nearly a decade and his voice was ice cold.

I refrained from replying, “Maker of the seed that spawned me,” and just looked at him.

His eyes slid to Ham before coming back to me. “I see rumor is true.”

I said nothing.

For some insane reason known only to him, Dad kept talking.

“Also heard you’ve traveled a rough road lately.”

I kept my mouth shut.

His eyes again slid to Ham before they came back to me and I wasn’t surprised it didn’t take him long to show his true colors. “As always, you solve your problems in an interesting way.”

“How’s Zander?” I asked as a response to that vague slur on Ham
and
me and I was thrilled not only to get the supportive squeeze from Ham’s arm but also to watch my dad’s face blanch.

I scanned the attendees and saw Aunt Wilona standing with Aunt Dahlia and my mother, all of them with eyes on me. Aunt Dahlia’s her usual nasty. Aunt Wilona looked a bit anxious but, weirdly, when I saw her eyes shift to Dad, they turned nasty. Mom’s look I didn’t allow myself to take in and quickly turned my attention back to Dad.

“I see Aunt Wilona didn’t bring Xenia’s son to his mother’s funeral.”

Dad’s mouth got tight, his eyes went cagey, and his hands went into the pockets of his trousers under his suit jacket, likely to hide that they’d balled into fists.

“It’s rather fortunate I was able to solve my problems in an interesting way before I found out my nephew’s living close by,” I remarked and that was when Dad’s torso swung in.

Toward me.

“Zara, you better—”

“Watch it,” Ham growled and his menacing tone of voice even freaked me.

Dad’s eyes cut to him and I looked at him, too.

But Ham only had eyes for Dad.

Angry ones.

“You’re already closer to her than I want you to be. You get closer, say somethin’ I don’t like, the serious problems we already got escalate in a big way,” Ham went on.

“Are you threatening me?” Dad asked.

“No, we’ll let our attorney do that,” Ham answered. Dad’s eyes got big, and with Ham’s arm firmly guiding me, he stepped us to the side and took us forward, past Dad, and straight to the truck.

Ham’s gait was not swift, but it was determined as he got us the hell out of there. My heels dug in the turf but I managed to keep up.

He opened my door for me and helped me up before he swung it closed.