Page 7 of Crossing the Line

He just kept space for us, as if he were guarding me from another storm of tearful condolences and empty hugs.

My heart hammered at the thought of doing it again. It was easy to stand there and check out, but you just couldn’t with so many people traipsing past, touching and mumbling the expected and usual lines.

My shoulders shook as I prayed we’d reach the car before I was forced into it again.

My breath became ragged. Cole hopped forward a pace and opened the back door of our safe haven, drawing a relieved sob from me.

I met his gaze again, as I awaited my turn to dip into the vehicle after Oakland.

I didn’t know what to say, but he graciously gave a simple, almost familial, nod.

Tears leaked down my face. I didn’t deserve to be looked after, not by him. My lips failed me as I tried to form the words to thank him, the gentle breeze blowing the long tendrils of my dark hair until they teased my jaw.

“Go on then, before they catch up,” he whispered.

I forced my lips upward and dipped inside. Oakland laid his head against me, and I swooped him under my arm.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” I quietly shushed, while smothering him in my affection.

I didn’t mean to, but in that moment, he was all I had left.

Him, and the kindness of a misjudged convict.

I laid my head on the door and tried to figure out what we were going to do. My parents were struggling to make their own bills back home; they couldn’t afford to take on me and Oakland. It really didn’t matter; I couldn’t leave Victor in Illinois. As much as I’d threatened to show him tough love when the charges were filed, he was my first born. I had to at least stay until they released him back to us.

“Your house is on the route back to the funeral home, is it not, Mrs. O’Brian?”

I stroked my Oakland’s hair, my only external awareness was that of his steady, sleepy breath. I realized I’d been spoken to and shifted my gaze until it met the funeral home directors in the rearview mirror.

“Sir?” I gently raised my brows, the weight of Oakland’s head growing heavy against the side I’d been pinning him to.

He gave an understanding, but restrained, smile, “I was suggesting I could drop you and your boy off at the house, so you wouldn’t have to walk the few blocks–”

“I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Dayton, but the walk will do us good.”

I felt him ease on the brake as his gaze swung back to mine, though he didn’t ask there was a question in the depths of his brown eyes.

“You know what is worse than a boy losing his daddy?”

His friendly face stiffened with discomfort, but I didn’t let it sway me from sharing my granny’s wisdom with the gentleman.

“A young man who thinks there will always be a chariot waiting to save him. A well-intended handout in a time of need. Don’t get me wrong, mister, your kindness is most appreciated and acknowledged. It’s very neighborly of you, but if I teach my son to expect people to do things for him, I reckon he’ll be in a world of hurt when reality hits, won’t he?”

The man swallowed, focused his attention on the road before us and hesitantly gave a subtle nod.

“I suppose there is some logic in that.” The quiet admission came after a gruff throat clearing, just before we turned into the blacktopped parking lot of Dayton’s Funeral Home.

“Mhmm,” I absently agreed while staring at the entrance of his business.

A lump swelled in my throat. I’d been so miserable knowing I’d be sitting through all of the formalities while trying to keep it together, that I hadn’t really given much thought to it being the last space I’d share with him.

I’d walked out of that door and put a third of my world into the cold, Illinois ground.

I swallowed, only to gasp for air afterward. It felt like I was drowning, but I forced one intentional breath after the other. After the third deep lungful being blown out at a slow, steady pace, I gained control of myself.

Mr. Dayton hurriedly shifted his gaze from the mirror and opened his door. He stepped out, smoothed his business jacket, and graciously opened the door for me.

“Come on, Oak.” I nudged my boy as I slid along the seat and managed my way from the low, awkward confines of the car.