Broken Home Pt. 02

We had planned it that I would tell the last story. I had a whole thing written up, a really good, sweet story about Brandon's Secret Santa crusade, something only he and I knew he did every year for needy friends in the community. But when it was my turn, I stood, I stared out at the crowd, and I just couldn't. I wanted to speak and maybe got out a few syllables, but that was it. Deana and Hannah stood up to guide me back to my seat, and I spent the rest of the funeral staring at the casket, feeling like I let Brandon down, the echoes of my father's disappointment as loud as the movie had been at his home.

Things ended with a song, but would continue for a little while longer graveside. We shuffled out there, Hannah holding onto my arm, her head sometimes drooping against my shoulder. I felt nothing but numb weariness.

She was pulled away at the grave by the necessities of the funeral. She, Deana, and Gordon stood by the head of the grave with the pastor as he spoke. Beside me, so softly I wasn't sure I heard her at first, Rachel said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I glanced in her direction. She was looking steadfastly forward, but said out of the corner of her mouth, "For this and him and... everything."

"Thanks," I said.

We weren't long in that terrible cold. I didn't really hear the words or register that people were starting to walk away until Deana came to me. She hugged me tight, her head pressed to my chest. Hannah joined us and we three clung together. Gordon, walking away, was already chatting up the pastor and telling him what a wonderful son Brandon was, wonderful, and what a fantastic service it had been.

I muttered without thinking about it, "I've never wanted to punch someone as much as him in my life."

Hannah cracked up, and Deana muttered too, "Welcome to my world, kiddo."

I walked with them down to the parking lot, hugged them each again, and headed for my own car. The flow of traffic out of there paused long enough to let the Labines through.

Before I got in, I took a few minutes to stare out in the direction of Brandon's grave, and whispered, "I'm sorry, brother. I know it's weird. Me and them." I sighed. "You'd hit me in the balls so hard for the last few days, I swear to God."

The wind picked up again, and I shivered against it. In my car, I twisted the key in the ignition. The car wheezed, tried to turn over, and died. I stared blankly forward, tried it again, and got nothing. Just a click.

The perfect fucking cap to the day.

I stopped thinking for a while. A long while. I was more or less pointed towards Brandon's grave, and I just stared in that direction, no thoughts, no emotions, nothing. I moved beyond what I could take, and I broke.

The parking lot was empty now except two vehicles I thought might have belonged to staff. I got out, thought about knocking on the door to the funeral home for help, and instead, I collapsed. I don't know if I technically fainted or what, but all the power went out of me all at once. I only had enough energy to sit against the door, the wind cutting my skin, the cold enough to kill me if I was unlucky or lucky enough.

I closed my eyes. And I didn't open them again until someone sniffed.

Deana.

I don't think I realized I was dozing. It was all sort of a jumble of self-misery and loathing. But there she was, still achingly beautiful despite the reddened eyes and the black mourning dress and long charcoal coat.

"My car wouldn't start," I said.

"And you didn't call?" My eyes lost focus until her hand settled on mine. "Come on."

I stood, my teeth not quite chattering but close. She led me to her SUV and guided me in, hand on my back. I held out my freezing hands to the heater while she got in on the other side.

"I didn't mean to pull you away from the coffee hour," I said. "Or to make this about me."

"How bad is it, Nick?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Please don't lie. How skinny you are, the job, the car. Tell me the truth, honey."

So I did. I told her about the job, and Jimmy, and my parents. I told her about the money I owed my roommates, my credit card debt, my everything. I told her I was trying to stand on my own two feet but it was time to admit I couldn't.

When I finished, she took my hand and brought it to her wet cheek. Then, one by one, she kissed my fingers. "Why didn't you think you could ask me for help?"

It was a question I hadn't allowed myself to think about, but I knew the answer regardless. "Because you and Hannah might have been the last two people who believed in me. I've disappointed everyone else in my life. I didn't want you to see me be a failure too."

"Oh. Oh, Nick... no. F-for Brandon at the very least..." She shook her head and clutched my hand tighter.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Deana couldn't speak for a long moment, but when she could, her voice was firm. "Let's get your things. You're staying with me. I would say Hannah but I don't think they can have another roommate." We stepped out, and she came around to my side to hug me. We held each other a long moment.

I held her, but said cautiously, "You should probably know, Hannah and I... we did sleep together."

"I figured. I caught her smiling a couple times yesterday texting you. She should have been on edge around Gordon and wasn't. Thank you. And if... when you two decide you're a couple, we won't do this anymore." She wrapped her hands around my head and pulled me in for a long, slow kiss. "But when you do, you be hers."

"I love the both of you."

"I know. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. But she is my number one."

"Of course."

We loaded my things into the SUV. A quick trip back to Brandon's grave had us both emotional again, but this time it came with a Zen look of determination on Deana's face when we walked back. As she drove back to the coffee hour, she had me look up the number for a towing service, and had me call them. She got the whole thing figured out. By the end of this, whatever "this" was, I was going to owe Deana everything, but I already did.

At the community center, the party for Brandon was still in full swing. Hannah saw us come in and worked her way through clusters of people vying for her attention to offer her well wishes. She came to us and hugged me, and as though I wasn't standing right there, she asked her mother, "Is he okay?"

"No, but he will be. He's going to be staying with me for a while."

That brought on an odd look from Hannah. She smiled, but it was sad and broken. All she said was simply, "Good."

The three of us hugged one more time. Then the two of them were pulled away by family and friends, leaving me standing there, hands in my frayed pockets, looking around the crowd.

And there, in the middle of it all, Rachel, Gordon's girlfriend, watched me.