“Blaze, I’m so sorry.” Lisa said putting a comforting arm around my shoulder.
I nodded silently, sinking back into my nanny’s arm and held back the tears as my fathers casket was lowered into the freshly turned earth. I didn’t cry once during the ceremony, nor during the eulogy and I am definitely not starting now.
I automatically responded to each ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ And soon it was just me and the men piling dirt onto the shiny wood of the box that held my father.
I scoffed silently to myself when I looked over the tombstone once more. ‘Caring Father and Husband.’ He’d stopped caring about me the moment he stopped being a husband.
I waited until the brown earth obscured the view of the casket before turning away and walking back to the parking lot.
I reached into the front of my shirt and pulled out my phone, dialing the familiar number.
I brought it to my ear and waited as it rang three times. On the fourth ring he picked up.
“Hey.” His deep voice rumbled.
“Hey, feelin’ like a night out?” I asked, wiping all traces of grief from my voice.
“With you? Always.” Adam responded, a smile in his voice.
“Meet me at Loco’s at ten.” I said before snapping the phone shut.
I walked through the deserted lot until I came upon my motorcycle, stark black and reflecting the late afternoon light.
I casually pulled my long red locks into a tight bun and buckled on the riding helmet over them. I reached into the saddlebag for my riding boots and quickly switched out the black flats I was wearing for the funeral for their familiar warm casing.
Quickly tucking in the black pants I had been wearing, I hopped onto the bike, flipping up the kickstand as I went. I revved the engine and relaxed into the soft seat, swallowing past the lump in my throat once more before roaring out of the parking lot and onto the main road back to my house.
By the time I reached the main gate, I was no longer on the verge of tears and I was already planning how to forget my heartache. I left my bike with one of the servants and rushed into the house I’d grown up in.
I took my time walking up the stairs and to my room, glancing at the walls that were bare of any family pictures. I brushed my hand along the door where my dad stayed when he wasn’t away on business (which was about a week out of ever year) and the lump rose once more to my throat.
Shaking my head, I picked up my pace. I wasn’t going to dwell on the man who’d barely given me a though after my mom died.
I pushed into my room and dropped the small purse I’d been carrying on the desk.
For a moment I just looked around my room. The walls were covered in sketches, either on paper or directly on top of the white paint. The twin-sized mattress was directly on the ground underneath my window that was currently blocked by black out shades. I am not a morning person.
I felt my phone start to vibrate against my chest and promptly dug it out of the shirt I’d been wearing.
I didn’t bother checking the caller ID when I flipped it open and pressed it against my ear.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hello, i-is this Blaze?” A woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“My name is Helen Jacobson. I am- was your mothers sister.” The woman explained. “We met when you were very little, I doubt you even remember.”
