Page 196 of June First
I’m so fucking grateful.
Bubbles was returned to me at the perfect time, helping to fill the gnawing void as well as the multiplying holes in my heart. I’ll never know what prompted June to call my aunt, but I’m convinced she saved my life that day.
I let out a sigh and glance up at the cloudless sky, grazing my fingers along the blades of grass. Turning to Aunt Kelly, I murmur, “I’m sorry it took me so long to come with you. I saw how much it hurt you every time I said no.”
Aunt Kelly sniffles, sticking the handkerchief back into the front pocket of her peachy blouse. “I understood, Brant. I was never angry or resentful.”
“But it still hurt.”
The sun sets a little lower, shadowing my words.
She glances my way. “It hurt that we lost her. It hurt that asking you to visit your mother’s grave with me was even a question—not that you said no.”
I bite my lip, skimming over the carving of my mother’s name. “Well, thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for giving me time.”
“Sometimes that’s the greatest gift we can give someone,” she says. “Time.”
Her words tickle me as I internalize them.
Time can be the most painful thing in this world, but sometimes it’s the only way to heal.
“A memory found its way to my heart today,” Aunt Kelly says to me, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Her voice is soft and willowy, and her eyelashes are clumped with mascara as she blinks in my direction. “Caroline was pregnant with you…eight or nine months, I think. She was about ready to pop.” She smiles wistfully, the hazy sunset bringing out the orangey tones in her hair that mingle with silver and white. “She was stressed because she couldn’t decide on what to name you. It’s a huge responsibility, after all—naming a human. We’d taken a walk through the park that day, sipping on hot cocoa as winter melted into spring, watching the children scatter around the playground.”
My eyes water, thinking about my mother so content and carefree as she prepared for an exciting new life chapter. I swallow, leaning back on my palms as Aunt Kelly continues.
“We took a seat on a park bench, catching up on life. People-watching. She was so happy in that moment. I don’t think Luke…” Her jaw tenses as she glances away. “I don’t think Luke had become violent at that point. Controlling, yes, but…”
I glance down at the grass, hating him more than ever.
“Anyway…” She swallows, inhaling a choppy breath. “There was a little boy across the park, maybe seven or eight. He was the cutest little kid with shaggy dark hair and a crooked smile. But what stood out the most was the girl.”
Our eyes meet, and my brow furrows.
“There was a little girl in the sandpit,” she tells me. “She was younger. Tiny. She’d arrived with her own parents a few moments earlier, and the second they plopped her down into the sand, she started crying. Awful, terrible screams.” Aunt Kelly smiles again through her welling tears. “The girl made the whole park go running for the hills…except for the boy. He stayed. And while everyone else packed up their things to leave, he ran straight to her, patting her back. Comforting her. Telling her she was going to be okay.
“He calmed the little girl down, then sat beside her in the sand and played with her for the next hour until her tears were replaced by laughter and joyful squeals. They made sand castles. They made moats. And let me tell you it was the sweetest darn thing I’d ever seen.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I clear the emotion from my throat. “What happened?”
Aunt Kelly’s smile widens with memory. With sweet nostalgia. “Your mother walked over to the boy before he could leave. Well, she hobbled, really. Her belly was enormous.” She laughs. “She went to the boy, and she asked him what his name was.”
My breath hitches.
“He said his name was Brant.”
A lengthy silence stretches between us for a moment, only fractured by the sound of singing cicadas. I run a hand through my hair, sitting up and watching as she stares off between the headstones, the heartwarming memories lighting up her eyes.
“She told me she’d finally decided on your name, and that any boy with that name was destined to become a good, honorable man,” she explains. “And then when she got home, she researched the meaning behind the name, just out of curiosity. Do you know what it means?”
I shake my head. I never bothered to look it up.
“Sword,” she tells me. “Brant means ‘sword.’ Brave, gallant, a stalwart defender.” Aunt Kelly reaches into her purse and pulls out an opened bag of Skittles, quirking a smile as she tips the corner toward me.
Cupping my palm, I hold it out to her.
She pours the candies into my hand, the purple ones already plucked out. Just like she’d done when I was a small child.
“You’ve lived up to your name, Brant. More than you know.” We both glance at the headstone, feeling my mother’s presence swirling around us, wrapping us up in a warm hug. “I know she’d be so very proud.”