Chapter 2: My Boys

Jocelyn All four men turned when Valerie called them. It didn’t matter that one was speaking to the funeral director and another was halfway through putting on his sunglasses. They heard her voice, stopped what they were doing, and came toward her. Some things hadn’t changed in eight years. “There’s my boys.” Valerie spread her arms as though they’d come to comfort her without being summoned. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Tag reached her first. She drew him down by the shoulders and kissed his cheek, then fussed with the collar of his leather cut. He smiled through it, holding a hand against her back while she straightened something that wasn’t crooked. “Looking after us again?” he asked. “Somebody has to, darling.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead. “You’ve never learned to leave it alone.” Tag laughed. I remembered that laugh. I remembered him sneaking me candy from the clubhouse kitchen and teaching me how to bluff at cards when I was too young to be any good at either. I also remembered Valerie running her fingers through his hair while he sat at her feet, and the way everyone treated it as perfectly ordinary. Ditch stepped up next, taller than I remembered and wearing the same expression of mild impatience he’d had when he was younger. Valerie reached for him, but he caught her hand before she could pull him into a hug and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “What do you need?” he asked. “The flowers need to go to the reception, and nobody seems capable of organizing anything.” “I’ll speak to the director.” He left before she could adjust his collar, too. Valerie’s mouth tightened for a moment. Then she turned to Rook, and her face softened in a way that seemed to change him as well. He stood close enough for her to touch his cheek. She did, speaking quietly while he listened without interrupting. Whatever she said, he nodded and went to collect the framed photographs beside the chapel doors. Brian remained a few steps behind them. I deliberately kept my eyes on Valerie. I’d seen his PRESIDENT patch outside the chapel, and I wasn’t ready to examine everything that went along with it. She hooked two fingers around the edge of his cut. “And you, sweetheart, have been running yourself ragged. Have you eaten?” “I’m fine, Val.” “That’s not what I asked.” “I’ll eat at the reception.” She smoothed his lapel anyway, slowly enough that I noticed. Brian let her finish before stepping aside to answer a question from the funeral director. Watching the four of them, I remembered why Valerie had always made me uneasy. She’d fed them when they were hungry, let them sleep at her house, helped with repairs and clothes when their families couldn’t. I knew those things had mattered. Brian had once spent nearly an entire winter at her kitchen table doing homework while she made sure he had dinner. But somewhere along the way, her kindness had begun to resemble ownership. She called them her boys and seemed to expect them to stay boys, no matter how old they got. “Jocelyn?” I looked up as Tag noticed me. His smile widened, and for a moment he looked exactly like the kid who’d laughed when I beat him at poker with a pair of twos. “Holy s**t. Lyn.” He crossed the space between us and wrapped me in a hug before I could respond. “Look at you.” “I’m looking at you, too. You’ve gotten old.” “Thirty-three is a distinguished age.” “Is that what we’re calling it?” He laughed, keeping his hands lightly on my shoulders. “Eight years. You could’ve called once in a while.” “I did call. You were usually somewhere loud enough that neither of us could hear a damn thing.” “Fair point.” His grin eased. “How’ve you been?” “Good. Mostly.” I glanced toward the funeral home entrance, where Dad was thanking someone for coming. “Today isn’t a great example.” Tag followed my look and squeezed my shoulder once. “No. It isn’t.” “Price, sweetheart.” Valerie appeared beside us, her voice warm enough to sound harmless. “Don’t monopolize her. She’s had a long trip, and we still have so much to take care of.” “Just saying hello,” Tag said. “Of course you are.” She slid an arm around his waist and turned to me. “It’s sweet that you two remember each other so fondly. I imagine Chicago keeps you much too busy for all this now.” “For funerals?” I asked. Tag gave a short cough. Valerie smiled at him instead of answering me. “Tell Brian we need the cars brought around,” she said. “And make sure your stepfather has somewhere to sit at the reception, Jocelyn. He looked very tired during the service.” I felt myself go still. She knew perfectly well that I’d never called him my stepfather, regardless of what our relationship looked like on paper. “My father,” I corrected. “And I’ll take care of him.” “That’s what I meant, dear.” Her expression didn’t change. “You’re fortunate you’ve always had him.” I thought about my mother, and how she’d trusted Dad to love me long after she was gone. I thought about the man standing ten feet away who’d never once suggested I was anything less than his daughter. “I am,” I said. “And he’s fortunate he has me.” For the first time, Valerie’s smile looked like an effort. Tag glanced between us, apparently deciding whether there was something he ought to say. “Come on,” she told him, giving his waist a little squeeze. “The reception won’t organize itself.” He gave me an apologetic look as she steered him toward the exit. Dad reached my side a moment later. “Everything all right?” “Yeah.” I took his arm. “Are you ready?” “About as ready as I’m going to be.” We followed the others into the afternoon sunlight. Valerie stood by the waiting cars, assigning people seats and directing the four men around her. Tag did what she asked with a smile. Ditch negotiated the practical details. Rook watched her face for the next instruction. Brian listened, then spoke to the funeral director instead. They were grown men with lives and responsibilities of their own. Yet Valerie still seemed to believe the most important thing about them was that they came when she called. And after eight years away, I was beginning to wonder how much she’d resented that I hadn’t.