30
"Hey, bro." I settle myself down on the immaculate green grass, running my hand gently across so it tickles my palm. "I have a feeling Izzy Swan could be about to land another shit-storm on our doorstep, dude."
The sun chooses that moment to force itself out from behind a cloud, lighting up the lettering on the dark granite surface of his headstone. Seeing his name on that slab of rock is like a punch to the gut every time.
I think about the six months I couldn't bring myself to speak to him after I found out about the two of them. What a criminal waste. Tragedy does a good job of putting things into perspective.
I'm trying hard to get a handle on how I'm feeling. I'm pretty sure I should be pissed about it, but actually, the thought that there's something of him left offers a small glimmer of light in what has otherwise been a dark and depressing couple of years.
"I have no idea what to do here, Em," I admit out loud. "I feel I should be mad at her, but you should have seen her. She looked happy and vibrant and together for the first time in years. And if that is your son she's raising, then it looked like she was doing a pretty good job of it. I held onto him, he was stuck up high and I reached up and I …" An image flashes through my head of my brother lifting him down, his bulky arms flexing ever so slightly as he takes the child's weight and sets him down. A sudden sob gets stuck in my throat, the noise shocking me as much as the tears that are forging their way determinedly down my face. "It should have been you, Em," I say between deep, tortured moans, before the grief lays down on me like a heavy blanket, darkening the world and making it hard to breathe. I automatically pull my knees up, and ball up to ride it out. I've learned that trying to hold it in when it's already this far gone is impossible.
I have no idea how I'm going to handle this. No matter how rough it gets though, I'm determined not to let this piece of Emmett go.
~S~