“You’re being weird.” The ice cream started to feel like gravel and acid in her stomach. Her hands were going cold so she dropped the cone into the bin near the door and she followed him inside. “What’s up?”
He waited until the door jangled closed behind them, then locked it, and steered her to the stool behind the cash desk. He waved for her to sit on it.
“What?” She sat and tucked her feet on the rail, hands in her lap.
“I don’t know how to do this, Soph, so I’m just going to say it.” He took off his sunglasses, revealing red, agonized eyes. He swallowed. “Art has passed away.”
“What?” Another of those chilling sensations went through her. A cold wraith. Something that stole a big chunk of her soul on its way by.
“I found him in his chair. I don’t think he suffered. I think he just… stopped living. I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m so so sorry.”
The pain in her hand was him squeezing it, she realized. She didn’t say anything about it, didn’t try to pull it away.
“But he was fine,” she insisted. He hadn’t been fine, though. He hadn’t been feeling well for weeks. “I was going to take him to the doctor this Thursday.”
“I know.”
“No.” She tried to stand up, but her legs were noodles. When he tried to catch her, to keep her from stumbling, her limbs stiffened in rejection. Not of him, but of this news. “You’re wrong. I’ll go—”
“Listen first,” he said, gentle, but firm, still holding on to her. “I called the hospital in Bella Bella. They said the coroner will come as soon as they can. A couple of hours maybe. You can go and sit in the house with him if you want to, but we can’t move him or anything. Okay? Do you understand?”
“You’re wrong, Logan.”
“I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop saying that.” She shoved at his hands, forcing them off her, then she leaned weakly against the cash desk, realizing she was shaking so hard her bones were rattling.
She knew how to do this. She’d been through it before. Get a grip. But it hadn’t been like this. The last time she had had time to prepare herself, even though she hadn’t been prepared. Not really. She had known what to do, though, because she and her mother had talked about it. Gramps had been there to help her…
Oh God.
Tears formed behind her clenched eyelids, leaking onto her lashes. He wasn’t here for her. The emptiness of that emptied her mind, making it impossible to form a clear thought. She couldn’t move and only knew she was breathing because each inhale felt forged in fire, each exhale nothing but noxious smoke.
“I’ll walk down with you,” Logan said, voice sounding far away. “Or I can stay with Art if you would rather not, but I need you to tell me what you want to do with Biyen? Trys will keep him. Or Reid and Emma. You can wait to tell him later if you want to.”
Clarity arrived. “No. I have to tell him. Oh my God, Logan.” Now it was coming. The agony of loss was seeping past her shock. It was becoming real.
“I know.” His arms came around her, holding her together as she shook and fell apart. “I know. I know.”
He did know. That was the excruciating, consoling, unbearable truth as she clung to him and massive sobs convulsed her. Many would mourn her grandfather, but no one else would cry this hard with her. While she wet the shirt under her cheek with her tears, he clenched his fingers against her back and released choked noises against her hair. He moaned in anguish, same as her. For long minutes, they were captives racked in the shared cage of losing someone precious.
Eventually, her nose was in danger of running all over him so she broke away and grabbed a tissue.
He took a couple for himself and ran them across his cheeks, eyes bloodshot, face lined as if he’d aged ten years. She must look equally devastated.
“Will you get Biyen for me?” she asked, voice rusty and thin.
He nodded and picked up his sunglasses, putting them on as he walked outside.
*
This was the worst day of his life.
Logan felt as though he walked through glycerin. The air felt thick enough to make every movement an effort. He could hardly breathe it in. His lungs were clogged and his throat was tight.
“What’s going on?” Reid asked as Logan strode down the wharf toward him.
Biyen was on the deck of the Storm Ridge, putting on the life preserver Trystan handed him.
“Trystan is going to take me to the fueling station,” Biyen said. “Is Mom coming?”
“Bud, I’m sorry. Your Mom needs to talk to you. She’s up at the hardware store. Can you go see her right now?”
“Aweh.” He glumly handed back the jacket.
“I’ll wait for you,” Trystan promised.
“What’s going on?” Reid asked.
Logan held up a hand as he watched Biyen walk up the wharf and ramp, then break into a run toward the hardware store when he reached solid ground.
“It’s Art. Can you…” Fuck this was hard. He scrubbed across his stubbled jaw, trying to make his numb lips work. “The coroner is on the way.”
“Oh fuck,” Reid breathed.
“Sophie’s at the hardware store? I’ll go sit with her.” Trystan tried to hand off the keys to the Storm Ridge to Logan.
“I’ll stay with her,” Logan snarled.
