I put my hand on his arm. “I am so sorry for your loss, Herman. Nan told me about your brother’s passing.” I’d heard Mr. John William Blackstone had died of cancer not long before I returned five months ago. “I only met him one time when Nan first took me in, but he was always a very good employer to her and she thought the world of the family.” That was mostly true. Nan never said a word against her, but I don’t think she held Mrs. Blackstone in the same esteem as her husband, and she’d stopped coming to the island for holidays years ago, once her children were grown. I guess not everyone could love the rich beauty of the island in the same way.
He turned his wise eyes on me and covered my hand with his. “I’m sorry for your loss as well, Brooke. Your grandma told me when it happened. She was worried sick about you, and she needed—well, I think she needed to talk to somebody about it at the time or she would have lost her mind.”
Kindness can induce an outpouring of emotions I had found. This wasn’t the first time it had happened to me, either. My friend Zoe’s heartfelt condolences had done the same thing when we first met up after I returned. Same with Eduardo. When someone showed they cared about you and expressed it in a kind way, that very kindness held the power to bring all of those experiences and hopes and dreams and memories rushing right back up to the surface again like they had happened yesterday. Even when I believed I’d buried it deep, my hurt was really just hovering at the surface, barely covered by the thinnest of sheets ready to blow away in the breeze.
My eyes filled with tears before I could stop them. I gave in and let them fall. Sometimes I was weak and couldn’t help remembering what I’d lost . . . and I cried.
“Oh, hell, I’ve upset you—I’m so very sorry, Brooke,” he sputtered.
I could tell Herman was absolutely horrified by my outburst, the poor man. I heard it in his voice. Awesome! I’d freaked out a sweet old man, and the day was barely underway. I’d bet money he’d go straight to my nan and tell her about it the minute he returned from his meeting in the city. Then she would be worried. And she didn’t need to be worrying about me right now as she healed from her knee replacement. I was fine. And nothing would change the past no matter what people said or didn’t say to me. The whole experience of grief was rather an unending cycle, and so damn exhausting; I just wanted off the ride at this point.
I shook my head and stared down at the decking below my feet. “It’s okay, please. This happens to me sometimes and I—do this—” I used my knuckle to brush away a tear and took in a slow, deep breath to help bring my emotions back down to a functional level. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, Herman.”
“Don’t you apologize to me when you’ve every right to grieve,” he scolded. Then he presented a pristine white handkerchief to my hands. I took it gratefully as Herman drew his arm around me and pulled me in against his shoulder. The soft leather of his jacket cushioned my cheek as I accepted his offered comfort. “Of course you’ll be fine, Brooke. You have your whole life ahead of you and wonderful things will come, you’ll see.”
We stood like that and watched the island grow smaller and smaller until the ferry turned southward and she slipped out of sight. I knew I’d be back to this same exact spot in the ocean when I returned on the five-thirty after work. I’d wait for that moment when the island appeared on the horizon, after the captain made his northward turn. I’d breathe a sigh of relief when she came into view, and my heart would settle. It was a weird ritual with me, but it happened every time I came and went from Blackstone Island. It hurt a little to leave her each time, but the tiny thrill I experienced when I returned had never failed me, either. The safety of the island provided sanctuary for my troubled heart.
As I pulled myself together and indulged in my Zen moment with Herman, I thought about what he’d said . . . about wonderful things being ahead for me.
I wanted it to be true.
I so wanted it to be true.
Brooke
Harris & Goode was tucked away on Hereford Street where it was a bit quieter than the foot traffic of Newbury Street. It didn’t matter that the location was quieter, though, because clients looking to hire a designer in this neighborhood usually weren’t walkins. The interior-design business relied on word of mouth, mostly the coveted referrals from prior clients to their friends with the money to pay for such services.
When I felt like walking, I got off at the Copley Station and followed Newbury Street down to where I worked. If the weather was unpleasant, I took Hynes because it was a lot closer. Today wasn’t unpleasant, though. A sunny and dry autumn day was always appreciated.
My small emotional breakdown on the ferry this morning with Herman had strangely helped.
In a way.
So I had let my guard down and remembered my sadness for a moment.
I’d become emotional.
I’d cried and scared poor Herman.