“Is Bruce still struggling with commitment, Laurel?” I tease.
“No, not really. I just like…spending time with you.” That old feeling falls over me—the familiar one where she’s like my secret lover or something. Just ’cause we share Andie between us. “Laurel,” I stare down at the floor, “I’m still not over what you did.”
“I know that.”
“I think it’s going to take some time,” I say, turning back to the closet again. The clothes seem like an accusation, hanging there, a disembodied part of Alex’s life still left on planet Earth.
“I understand,” she answers quietly from behind me.
Reaching for his faded suede duster, I gather it within my hands and pull it off the hanger to hold it against my chest. One last time, I inhale the scent, try and find him in there, lost somewhere in the clouds of memory.
Then I turn, and extend it toward his sister. “Here, Laurel,” I say, not quite meeting her surprised gaze. “You should have this.”
“Michael?” She shakes her head, adamant. “No, it’s yours.” His shirts I can wear, his watch. His ring. Even his damned boxers. But not this suede jacket that he wore so often and long.
“I know it’s big, but you’d use it, wouldn’t you?” I ask, still extending it toward her like an ungainly appendage. “In the winter? Maybe you could even have it resized?”
“Of course.” She tries to blink back the tears that well in her eyes.
“Then you should definitely have it,” I insist, dropping it on the bed beside her. “Your brother would want it that way.”
“Thank you.” She pulls it close, like she’s not sure what to do. I’m not sure what to do either, standing there in the middle of the room—there’s a sudden awkwardness between us that I don’t fully understand.
“Yeah, so…” I blow out a breath, stepping closer to her. “Maybe I’ll come see you some time. With Andie. Maybe we’ll drive out later this summer.” It’s been growing in my mind over the past day, this plan, but I haven’t been sure how to broach it until now.
When she looks up, her tears begin to fall in earnest, tracking silently down her cheeks. I see her swallow hard, wrestling to find her voice, but she says nothing, simply nods at me with a fragile smile.
I speak for her, understanding that her emotions are too strong. “So okay,” I say, “maybe we will.” Then bending low, I press a fleeting kiss against the top of her head, the kind I reserve for Andie most of the time. Then I turn and walk fast out the door.
***
At the airport, I pull up curbside to let Laurel out, parking temporarily. The police keep blowing whistles to keep traffic flowing, but we won’t be here long. It’s better for Andrea—for all three of us—to keep this farewell pretty quick.
“I wish you weren’t going,” my daughter says, gazing up at her aunt with doleful eyes. Laurel strokes her auburn hair away from her cheek.
“I know, but you’ll see me again soon.”
“Are you sure?” Glancing in my direction, Andrea seems worried that I might get in the way of that promise.
I’ve been giving them room, but I step a little closer. “Yeah, we’ll see Aunt Laurel real soon,” I reassure her. “We might even drive out in a few weeks.” Her blue eyes grow wide, her mouth forming a delicate, hopeful smile. “That would be so cool!”
“I would love that,” Laurel agrees. “We could even do some art. In my studio.”
“And don’t forget,” Andie tells her cryptically. For a moment, Laurel seems unclear, then she breaks into a broad smile. “Oh, right,” she says, “I won’t forget.” Both of them bob their heads in agreement over this shared secret. Seeing the playful, happy smile on my daughter’s face, I don’t really mind being left out this time.
Laurel drops low to the ground; opening her arms, she draws Andrea close for a hug. “Pumpkin, I’ll be praying for you,” she promises quietly, stroking the silky red hair beneath her fingertips. “I’ll e-mail you every night, too, okay?”
“Okay.” Andrea wraps her thin arms around Laurel’s neck, holding on tight.
Kneeling there, not worried at all about dirtying her jeans, Laurel loses herself in this one, final moment. And I envy everything about her ability to do that.
Andrea buries her face against her chest, nestling close—closer than she usually lets me hold her.