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Her bright smile dimmed, and fear widened her dark eyes. I focussed on the emotions flitting across her face and stepped closer.
“What happened?” She whispered, then turned and walked outside to escape the noise of the bar.
I grabbed her purse off the back of her chair and followed her out.
Right outside the door, she came to a full stop, blocking the entrance. With a firm hand to the small of her back, I gently propelled her off to the side.
“What do you mean, ‘Pappou is gone’? Where the hell did he go?” She snapped.
Her pretty face went slack with shock. She fell back against the outside wall, and I barely broke her fall before she hit the ground.
She sat with her legs splayed out in front of her. Dropping her head, she bent low over her knees, pulling air in through her nose and pushing it back out forcefully before dragging in another breath.
Hunkering down beside her, I listened shamelessly as her sister explained that their pappou had a heart attack at work.
Fuck.
I dropped my chin to my chest for a moment, not wanting this for her, then sat down beside her and gathered her up in my arms. I slipped the cell phone from her hand.
“Hi, Amber. This is Vander,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get her to call you back in a few minutes.”
“Is she okay? What is she doing? Is she okay?” Amber panicked.
“She’s shocked. I’ll stay with her. Please email her any pertinent information, and I’ll get her to call you back as soon as she can.”
Ruby needed to see everything in print to process it. She couldn’t retain information that she received verbally. It felt odd to ask her grieving sister to send an email, but we both knew Ruby needed it, and in her grief, Amber needed the reminder.
A full half hour later, Ruby climbed off my lap. She swiped her palms across her cheeks and released a shuddering breath.
“I’m going to head back to my apartment and call my sister back,” she stated, her eyes red-rimmed and slightly glazed. She looked without seeing, seemingly having retreated deep into her head, and disconnected from everything around her, including me.
The change sent a chill down my spine.
“I’m coming with you.”
She looked vaguely in my direction. “I don’t want to ruin your night. Go back in with everybody else, and I’ll call you tomorrow when I know what’s going on.” She nodded decisively.
She lifted her chin for my kiss, and I obliged her before pulling her in for a hug. She shivered. I pulled off my university hoodie and slipped it over her head.
Drawing her close under my arm, we began the walk back to her apartment. She held herself rigidly at first, but by the time we reached her place, she leaned, soft and yielding, against my side.
Twelve hours later, I slipped my cross from around my neck and looped it around hers, tucking it inside her t-shirt.
“Vander,” she gasped. “I can’t take this!”
It was my baptism cross that I’d had since I was a baby. It was sacred, holy, and I wore it every day. It represented my heritage, my family, and my faith.
“Wear it, moro mou. Wear it and keep me with you until you come back.”
She placed her hand over the cross, and that action alone took away some of the chill of her impending absence. “Thank you.”
She gifted me with the ghost of her smile, and I soaked up its faint warmth. I kissed her gently, then released her to catch her flight.
Six weeks later, when she made the decision to leave school, I got on a plane and flew to her. I had only two days to change her mind, and at the end of those, I’d made exactly zero headway. Standing in the minuscule vestibule of her house, before heading to the train station, she turned to me and started to slip my cross over her head.
“No, absolutely fuckin’ not,” I stated grimly.
She looked at me in shock. “It’s yours. You need it back.”
