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12

Heather

When the Darkness Comes

Grandpa died last night.

His chemo, his medications, everything just broke down his poor, tired body. He went to sleep, and when Oma got into bed after watching I Dream of Jeannie with me, he was already gone.

All the money I gave to help him didn’t work.

I… I didn’t do anything.

He’s gone.

I can’t really believe it. That’s probably why I’m at work. I haven’t told Claire or Jen anything. I’ve plastered on my best fake smile, my best cheerful attitude. I tried to convince Oma that I needed to stay with her, I needed to comfort her, but she has amazing friends, and they’ve swooped in to surround her. Oma seems to know that I need to work. I think she knows that if I stop, even for a minute, I’m going to break. If I lose myself in my job, I won’t have time to think or remember.

The monotony of making coffee is appreciated this morning as I can hardly focus enough to get the orders right. I’m managing somehow, but I did accidentally give Mrs. Carter real sugar instead of Stevia, and Mr. Jim has one shot of caramel and one of hazelnut instead of his usual two caramels.

My hands are trembling, and I’m not sure why.

I haven’t had a chance to grieve.

I won’t allow it.

So why do I feel on the edge? Why, the harder I work, the more I focus, does it feel like I’m about to start sobbing? The whole point of being here was to escape.

“Mr. Hottie’s here,” Jen teases, bumping me with her hip.

Of course McKenzie’s here. He’s here every morning.

I can hear him talking in that low, luxurious voice of his, but I can’t decipher what he’s saying. Claire has to remind me that he’s ordered his regular latte. I try to form a smiley face in the cream, but it isn’t working. My hands won’t function.

Nothing’s working!

I manage the most basic leaf possible and carry the coffee out to him. He’s in his usual seat, one leg folded across the other, the newspaper on the table. I place the latte in front of him, hear his murmured, “Good morning,” and can’t bring myself to look at his face. I don’t really know why. Something just tells me that if I look at him, if I acknowledge him, I’ll burst into tears.

“I wanted to talk to you about something coming up,” he says, his words blurring together.

My vision’s starting to get fuzzy at the edges. I can feel tears creeping in, and I hate myself for it.

“Heather.”

Is that the third time he’s said my name?

“Are you okay?”

Oh no. He really asked the question. The question I knew was going to break me.

I force myself to meet his gaze, to look into those gorgeous green eyes, to match his steady look. I can’t let him see the hurt here. He’s a customer here for a nice breakfast, and I refuse to ruin that for him. Besides, he’s already seen me on the edge of tears before, and it’s getting embarrassing.

“I’m good,” I say with a plaster smile.

“No.” He reaches up as I turn away. Cool fingertips catch my chin. He guides my face back to look at him and studies me for several long seconds. “What happened?” he asks, examining my eyes as though he’s looking for my soul.

“My grandpa died last night.”

Somewhere between the waterworks and the mind-numbing pain, I find myself sitting in McKenzie’s chair, tissues in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon in the other. I’m not sure how I got here. My entire chest hurts from crying. My eyes are burning, and everything has a misty haze to it.

“Heather, I’m so sorry.”

McKenzie’s voice is close. I feel him take my arm, help me out of my chair, and assist me into my jacket. I’m hardly aware of him wrapping a scarf around my neck and informing my manager that I’ve had a family emergency. Even when we step outside, I don’t notice the biting cold that decided to grace us on this bitter, wet day.

It takes me longer than it should to realize I’m not getting wet as we walk away from the café. It’s raining cats and dogs, and I finally discover McKenzie’s holding an umbrella over us both.

He isn’t talking, and I wish I could tell him how much I appreciate that.

I don’t want to be pitied or coddled. I don’t want attempted words of understanding.

There is peace to be found in silence.

He brings me to Columbia Square.

With all the squares in the Historic District, Columbia is often overlooked. It is quiet, and today, with the rain and cold, it’s empty.

McKenzie helps me sit on the edge of the water fountain. The fountain bubbles softly behind us, its music intermingling with the raindrops pattering into the surrounding pool. It is quiet, calm, beautiful. And McKenzie… He is these three things as well.

Still, he doesn’t speak. He sits next to me, his arm pressing against mine as he holds the umbrella over us.

After what seems like an eternity, I stop crying.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I know you don’t like it when I do that,” I say.

My throat is raw. Perhaps from trying to swallow back tears.

He doesn’t say anything.

I look at his face to find him gazing down at me with nothing short of compassion and kindness in his eyes. He touches my cheek with his fingertips and wipes my tears away with his thumb. It is tender, sweet, and draws fresh tears from my eyes.

He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet before guiding me to a large row of hedges. I’m not garden-savvy enough to know what they are, but that doesn’t matter. He reaches out and pushes several branches aside, revealing one small bush sheltered within the hedge. A solitary white bloom glows in the dreary darkness of the stormy day, and I can smell the faintest, prettiest hint of the gardenia flower smiling up at me.

“She is surrounded by harsh, rough bushes,” McKenzie says quietly. “And this is where she shines the brightest.”

“Gardenias never bloom in the fall,” I whisper.

He smiles, a dimple pulling at his cheek.

“They can’t without something harsh and painful to make them stronger.”

“You didn’t come to the café to comfort me.” I sigh, suddenly exhausted. “I’ll be okay. We can go back now.”

“You will be okay,” he agrees. “But not today.”

“Kenzie…”

“Today is for mourning. It’s for realizing that grief is beautiful in its own way and for embracing it. I know you have the ability to go back and work, Heath. But I also know you loved your grandfather dearly, that you miss him painfully, and that you need time. Your manager gave you the rest of the day off. Let me drive you home.”

“Thank you, but my car is at work.”

“I can pick you up and bring you to work tomorrow.” He takes my hand and loops it over his arm. “You don’t need to be driving right now.”

He’s right.

I give him my address and let him walk me to his car.

The fact that it’s a luxury sports car doesn’t matter to me. Nothing really matters right this minute. My grief has shifted from overwhelming and sobbing to a dull, steady ache. He closes my door for me, and I stare out the window as he drives me home. I don’t know how long it takes. I don’t care.

I’m almost asleep when he parks in front of my grandparents’ simple house in Richmond Hill.

There are already cars lining the driveway, and I’m not eager to step into the house and be surrounded by people, even though I know they all want to help and comfort.

“We can stay out here as long as you like,” McKenzie says, as though reading my thoughts.

“I have to go in eventually.”

“Eventually, yes.”

I stare at the windshield and watch the rain streaking across it. It suddenly strikes me that I’m alone in a car with, admittedly, one of the sexiest men in Savannah.

My grandpa was a wonderful man. He used to always tell me how God gave him broad shoulders so he could help carry others. He also had a witty sense of humor, and I can just imagine what he would be thinking now if he looked out the house window and saw me in the car with McKenzie.

I laugh and reach for the door handle.

“Heather?” McKenzie asks, and I look over my shoulder with a smile.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“What’s so funny?”

Dang it, those tears are building again.

“My grandpa would have had far too much fun at my expense over me being in your car. He would have teased me incessantly as soon as I walked in the house if he saw me here with you. He would have accused me of all sorts of tomfoolery.” I swipe at my eyes. “I needed this today. Thank you.”

“Wait. Let me help you to your front porch.”

McKenzie opens his door and makes his way to my side of the car, umbrella ready. I let him open my door for me, then smile up at him as I step under his umbrella.

“I wish he was here,” I say quietly. “I miss him.”

McKenzie wraps an arm around me and gives me a friendly side hug.

It’s just that. Friendly. But in that simple embrace, I can feel so many emotions.

Kindness.

Warmth.

Comfort.

And I know I’ll be able to get through the next few days with a friend like him there to bless me with occasional hugs.