Storm
You always think there will be time. Time to apologize, to make things right, or to say sorry. But that isn’t always the truth. Sometimes, your time runs out before you are ready. And you lose the chance to fix things.
My phone clatters to the floor as Hadley screams, but she sounds so far away. Like my head is underwater and I can’t hear properly. Hands cup my face and tilt it up to look into bright-green eyes. The concern is etched on Pope’s face.
How did I end up on the floor? Where is my phone? And then it hits me like a ton of bricks. My sister is dead.
My sister died.
My sister, who I haven’t spoken to in ten years, the only family I had, has left me alone in this world.
My body is no longer under my control as a gut-wrenching, soul-shattering scream is torn free from my lungs and tears stream down my face. My body is wracked with tremors as I sob uncontrollably. Panic consumes me and although I can hear Pope speaking to me, there is no way to hear him above the shattering of my own heart or the unstoppable sobbing. My chest feels like an anvil is pressing down on it and I can’t seem to catch my breath. As the world goes dark around me, I see the panic clearly in Pope’s eyes and it breaks my heart just a little bit more.
****
I wake up with a start and bolt upright. Looking around, I’m unable to recognize the room or bed I am in. The walls are painted a dove gray and the bedding is the same color. Color accents in differing shades of red are scattered around the room. Rising from the bed, I look around. In the corner is a burgundy reading chair and a bookshelf most people would be jealous of, stacked with all the greatest horror and thriller writers. Black curtains hide a window from view but as I draw them back, I can see the parking lot for the Gypsy Bastard compound.
In the back of my mind, a thought niggles, something important, something I need to remember. Yet, every time I try to grab on to the thought, my mind pushes it away, trying to protect me from something I instinctively know will be painful. Instead of trying harder to remember, I leave the room. As I walk into the lounge area, I know exactly where I am. The presidential quarters, where no woman or man, besides Pope, is ever allowed. Turning in a circle, I take in my surrounding with a new perspective.
As I turn again, a blown-up photo catches my eye. In the middle of the living room wall, where any other man would usually have a big-ass flat-screen TV, Pope has a blown-up canvas of a photo I took on a run. All the guys are together, some of the wives and girlfriends as well, having a beer. Tears prick my eyes as I stare at it, remembering what a great day that was.
He has large chocolate-brown couches set about the room with an open plan to it. The kitchen is off to my left with beautiful black granite counters. The thought strikes me that his place is a lot cleaner and tidier than I would have expected for a guy living alone.
“You’re awake.”
Spinning around with my hand clutched to my chest, I stare at Pope.
“Jesus, make a fucking noise or something. You nearly scared me to death.” The accusation flies from my lips.
Pope looks pained. “You did scare me to death.” He holds my gaze, and the torment in his eyes helps the memory my mind was fleeing from to come back instantly.
My sister is dead. Tears start streaming down my cheeks again as I stumble backward. Pope rushes toward me, wrapping me in his embrace. I bury my face against his chest and sob.
“She died and I never got the chance to make things right between us.”
Pope soothingly runs his hand up and down my back, trying to comfort me. He leads us toward the couch in his living room before taking a seat and pulling me into his lap. He doesn’t ask questions, simply holds me and lets me cry.
Sometime later after the tears have subsided and I have calmed down, I take a deep breath. Knowing me well enough, Pope reads this as his opening to ask me questions.
“Love, who died? What’s going on? You are freaking me the fuck out. I have no idea how to fix any of this and seeing you this way is driving me insane.”
Scanning his face, I see the worry and frustration. He has never been the type of person to just let something go. When Pope cares for you, he cares for life.
“Winter.”
The word leaves me on a whisper. My voice won’t cooperate, no matter how much I want it to.
“Winter died. Her lawyer called me to assist in the final arrangements. I don’t know anything other than she died.”
“Oh, love.” The emotion in his voice fills me with an ache for more than we can ever be. “I’m sorry that you’re going through this. You know that we are all here for you, me and the guys, and if you need anything, you only have to shout.”
“I need my phone. I need to call him back and find out what’s going on. There’s so much to do and I have to get started.”
Pope reaches into the inner pocket of his cut and hands me my phone. “Let me get you something to eat while you call him. Give you some privacy.”
His voice is pleading, as if me eating is something really important to him. Even though I’m not hungry in the slightest, I nod and move off his lap. I pull up the last number in my call log and dial.
“Murphy,” a gruff voice answers.
“Hi, this is Storm Lin. We spoke earlier in regards to my sister, Winter.”
“Yes, Miss Lin. Again, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But we need to discuss the arrangements.”
“Okay. But I have some questions before we move on.”
“Shoot. I will answer anything I have the information for.” His reply puts me at ease, but I only have one question.
“What happened?” The words sound weird but it’s hard talking while you are trying to keep a fresh batch of tears at bay.
“Yes, you are unaware of everything. Let me start by saying that I had known Winter for the last eight years, and I was well aware of the fact that the two of you were not on speaking terms. That said, she did put you in charge of her last arrangements. There is a will that will be read after the service as there are two other parties included.” Mr. Murphy takes a deep breath before continuing. “Winter got sick two years ago. Breast cancer. She started to make all the arrangements but didn’t want to contact and bother you. Although she went through all the therapy and had the heart to fight a war, she didn’t win the battle.”
Tears stream down my face and a hiccup escapes me.
“Let me get your email address, and I will email you all the information. If you could get down here by tomorrow or the day after, I will be able to assist you with all the arrangements.”
A moment of silence passes between us while I regain my composure.
“Where is here, Mr. Murphy?”
“Louisiana.”