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“You want something?” Rickey reached over me and filled my place with fried catfish and waffle fries.
“I’m not hungry.” My stomach growled.
“It appears you are.” He grabbed the bottle of ketchup and squirted a big pile on my plate, and then sprinkled hot sauce in the pile. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. How did he know about the ketchup and hot sauce?
“What?” He sucked hot sauce off his finger and grabbed his own plate. “I do pay attention. Just like you.”
I grunted. My mouth watered. I broke off a piece of fish, dipped it, and popped it in my mouth and groaned as the spice hit the back of my throat.
The rest of the guys devoured the food like it was the first good meal in a while. It was for me anyway. It seemed like nothing tasted the same in the last few days.
The guys bantered back and forth, I listened. The noise from the main dining room spilled into our room. Animated conversation. I peeked between the guys. Every table was full and covered with food and drink like ours. Conversation flowed like ours. Stories peppered with the name of the guys, Bishop, the punch line in most stories. My brother was the instigator or the savior in whatever activity they involved themselves in during high school and college.
The stories didn’t bother me, nor the animated conversation. It was the laughter. The raucous laughter. The exuberant giggles and flat-out loud snickers and guffaws of merriment, not only in the main room, but surrounding me. I found myself smiling, nodding, and giggling when inside my heart ached.
I took another bite. I sighed in contentment but stopped and put my hands in my lap and scooted away from the table.
“What’s wrong, Ciara?” Ricky’s voice vibrated against the shell of my ear. It felt good. “It’s your favorite.”
“Yeah, it’s good.” A tear fell and I wiped it away.
Ricky looked at my plate and then at me and back at his own plate. He sat his fork down and pushed it away. He pulled my chair closer and took my face in his hand.
“You feel guilty for enjoying it?” Anger radiated off him, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. He was angry at Bishop. We all were. Angry because instead of dying during one of his crazy adventures like sky diving onto a mountain in Colorado, or deep diving in Coast Rica, he died in a car accident driving home from work. He was stopped at a red light, minding his own business, and was hit from behind, and pushed into the path of a cargo truck. The cops said he died instantly. He lived his life on the edge and enjoyed the hell out of it. In the end, he died in the most unextraordinary way. It made it worse somehow.
“Ciara.”
I blinked.
“You’re going to shut yourself off from life too. Is that it? Is that how this is going to go?” His hands dropped away from my face. I missed his touch.
“Ricky—“
He stood up abruptly and bumped the table. A beer bottle tipped over and the plates of food jumped.
“Fuck.” He rubbed his face and stepped away from the table. He looked back at me and then bolted from the room, weaving his way between guests, ignoring people vying for his attention.
“Don’t worry about him, Little Tree.” Michael squeezed my knee. “He’ll be okay.”
“Shouldn’t someone go after him?” No one at the table spoke or moved. Since we heard the news five days ago, they’d had each other. Ricky had been on his own. We didn’t know he was going to be here.
“Fine.” I stood from the table. “I’ll go check on him.”
The guys spoke up, but I ignored them and made the same path through the restaurant to find Ricky. Keith’s parents tried stopping me, but I put my head down and bobbed and weaved through the crowd.
I busted through the front door and gasped. My mother had Ricky in an embrace, whispering in his ear. Ricky was my mom’s favorite among Bishop’s friends. He nodded and offered her a small smile. She kissed him on the cheek and then released him. He strode off toward the back of the restaurant. My stomach twisted in knots.
“Ciara.” My mother’s eyes grew wide.
I blinked and took off after Ricky.
“Ciara.” She grabbed my arm. “Please, I’d like to talk to you.”
“About what?” I didn’t turn to face her.
“Look at me.” I did but crossed my arms over my chest. My eyes darted around. She grabbed my arms.
“You are not the only one having a hard time, you know?” She stepped back.
