“Yeah, I just gave my witness statement to the police department this morning.” I sink onto the edge of my bed. “She must be struggling to process everything after having to tell them what happened.”
She goes quiet again and panic strikes me straight in the solar plexus. “Shit!Did Hannah not tell you she reported the assault?”
“No, she did,” Kristen rushes out. “But that’s not why I called.”
Relief hits me first but then something more ominous follows a second later. My mouth hangs slack, brows drawn together. I swallow down the pain already lodged in my throat. “Just say it.”
A pause filled by a shaky breath. “Lydia died last night.”
“Mom?”
She glances up from the kitchen counter. Her smile falls the instant she sees me. “Ro, what is it?”
I can’t find the words. In two steps, I cross the room and pull her into a hug. She’s solid, tangible.Here.And if I didn’t have her? The thought is unimaginable. I never want to take the breath in her lungs for granted.
“Is it Lydia?”
My hold on her is unyielding as I nod against her temple. “She’s gone. Hannah didn’t answer when I called.”
Mom pushes me back a step, leveling her eyes at me. “You need to go.”
I look wildly around the kitchen, not knowing where to begin. “I can’t just drop everything and get on a plane. You need someone here to?—”
Her shoulders dip and she turns back to the counter.
“Mom, no.” I rush over and wrap my arms around her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. It just…”
“It is what it is,” I finish for her.
“Maybe Bri could come home for a few days,” she suggests, though we both know it’s unlikely with her work schedule. Plus, she’s already arranged two days off to come home for Thanksgiving. “Or you could call Walker.”
I release my hold and begin to pace. Arms folded over my chest, I carve a path into the cracked tile floor. “He just got an extended leave three months ago. It’s a long shot.” A mumbled curse. “God,if I could get her on the phone and hear that she’s okay then maybe I?—”
Mom’s firm grip stops me as I pass by for what must be the fourth time. Her unflinching eyes hold mine. “Rowan, it’s okay to ask for help. All of this?” She gestures vaguely to the house around us. “Nobody expects you to do it alone. So call your friend. You have to at least try.”
My phone callswith Hannah over the next few days are brief. She’s understandably overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted so I never pressure her to talk longer than she wants. I get the information for Lydia’s memorial service but I don’t speak in any certain terms that I’ll be there. Until I heard for sure from Dubs, I didn’t want to get Hannah’s hopes up.
But yet again, Dubs proves why he’s my best friend. He manages to secure approval for a forty-eight hour pass, which means, by the time he gets here, I have roughly thirty-six hours to get to Colorado and back home again.
At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.
Anything could have gone awry with Dubs’ travel and my red-eye flight, so I kept my plans under wraps. The only person who knows I’m coming is Kristen.
By the time I land in Denver it’s nearly two in the morning. Though I’m tempted, I’m not about to show up at Hannah’s place unannounced in the middle of the night if there’s even the slightest possibility she’s asleep.
I make the drive to the lake house instead, clock a few hours of rest before I’m back out the door.
I’ve always found funeral homes to be bland and lacking any semblance of comfort someone in mourning might benefit from.
This one is no different. Dark wood entry table with an oversized floral arrangement. Guest book atop a generic brass podium manned by a suit-clad employee who, when I ask where I can find Hannah James, proceeds to tell me she’s gathered with the “family” and that if I’m not family, I should take my seat.
Saved by the bell, also known as Hannah’s best friend, Kristen tracks me down before I say something I regret to the poor man because I’msleep deprived and within fifty-feet of the woman I love who I haven’t held in three months.
“He’s with me,” she announces. I can’t help myself—I give the guy a side-eye anyway as I’m pulled down the hall.
The crowd in the family reception area consists of six people. Kristen, John, Richard, Artie, Tom, and Cecil. None of them blood, but as good a family anybody could ask for.