Belly laughs fill the room, some from Gage as we tickle him senseless, and more from Lily as she watches the show.

Gage finally breaks free, and I fall to the carpet in exhaustion. I hear Celia’s body flop down beside me, and I turn my head toward her. She searches my eyes, looking for what I’m not sure, and a wide smile slowly emerges, lighting her face all the way to the depths of her blue eyes. And that quickly, I know I’m forgiven.

“Hey Gage?” she calls out, lifting her head to see him.

“Yeah, Aunt Cece?”

“What’s a cratchel?”

Before I can put my hand over the little traitor’s mouth, Gage jumps up and runs away from me.

“It’s right between a dude’s crack and his satchel. You should never kick a man in his jewels, Aunt Cece.”

I chance a look to the side. An incredulous Celia is staring back at me—mouth open, eyes rolled, and head shaking from side to side. I do the only thing I can in this situation—I have the good sense to look sheepish and shrug.

“How was I to know he’d repeat every single word I say to him?” I turn to Gage with my hands in the air. “Seriously, dude, you’ve got to let some sh-stuff slide.”

Celia pops me lightly on the back of the head as she jumps up and walks to the kitchen. She turns her head to me and smiles. “Clueless. Completely and utterly clueless.”

No matter what her mouth says, her eyes twinkle brightly and her look is gentle and affectionate. It’s not all for the kids—some of that look is for me, too, I just know it.

Yeah, I’m still forgiven. Cratchel and all.

I almost don’t make it to the phone in time. It nearly rolls to voicemail as I wrap the towel around me and trail water on the bedroom floor.

Every thing about this night has been rushed. With the opening of duck season, I’ve been on patrol all day today. I step off the boat and find two tenant messages waiting for me. Busted pipe. Broken air conditioner. What a great fucking way to spend a Friday night. Since I fixed both issues in record time, my hope is to salvage the night with a six-pack of Heineken and a little ESPN.

“Yeah?” I say as cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear, trying my best to dry off at the same time. In a hurry to catch the call, I don’t get a glance at the screen before answering.

I’m met with several sniffles and a tiny whimper. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end because I know that voice. Even the smallest sound can give her away.

“Tink, what’s wrong?”

“I … I,” she stammers. “I locked myself out of the house, Cain. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know who to call. Adam’s not home.”

A full-on sob escapes, and it’s a punch to the gut. I grab clothes from my dresser and pull my jeans up my still-damp legs. It fucking kills me to hear her this way.

“Hey, it’s okay, Celia. No big deal, sweetheart. I’m coming right now. Just calm down, all right?”

“I’m really sorry to call you. I didn’t know what else to do. I gave Adam a key so I wouldn’t have to bug you—”

“You’re not bugging me. I’m leaving right now,” I say as I grab my keys off the counter. After getting dressed in record time, I throw a “Sorry I’m leaving again so soon” treat to my dog, Mr. Biscuit, and fly out the door.

“Celia?” I call out into the darkness, walking around the side of her house, but I’m met with silence. She’s not sitting on the porch this time. As I round the corner to the rear of the house, I hear the sniffles coming from the back porch.

Twinkle lights snaked through the wooden arbor cast a small amount of light, and I’m able to see her body curled up on the wooden swing. She’s folded up into a tiny ball, trying to disappear, vanish from this world, by the looks of it. If I thought her voice on the phone was painful to hear, actually seeing her unraveled is unimaginable. I rush to her side and kneel on the brick, my thumb swiping the tear trailing her cheek.

My arrival unleashes the floodgates yet again, and sobs rack her body as she covers her face with her hands. Without a second thought, I lift her up and cradle her into my chest, lightly shushing this new onslaught of grief. I don’t speak—it’s not the time for that. I pull her head to my chest and rhythmically rock back and forth on the swing, hoping to lull her into a sense of calm. Her legs, her torso, every piece of her—I meld her into me, hoping to relieve some of the burden. I wish I could carry her heavy load.

When the sobs downgrade to whimpers, I pull her far enough away so I can meet her sorrowful eyes. I swipe her wispy bangs across her forehead and cradle her face in my hands. Even with tear-stained, splotchy cheeks, and eyes swollen from crying, she’s beautiful … absolutely stunning. She still sparkles in my eyes.

“Now, I know this has nothing to do with being locked out of the house, Celia. What’s this all about? How do we fix it?”

She shakes her head somberly. “There’s nothing to fix, Cain. This is how it is for me. This is how it will always be. I’m beginning to think nothing will ever change.”

I search her eyes for answers, but only see despair. I can’t change what I don’t understand, and I desperately want to make things better for her.

“I can’t let you off that easy. You’re gonna have to give me a little more than that, Tink.”

She releases a heavy sigh, and her head falls to my chest. Her shoulders heave with labored breaths, and her delicate hands fist the edges of my shirt. She lifts up slowly, her head weighing a hundred pounds, and faces me with lowers lashes.

“I’m exhausted,” she whispers, her words labored and raspy. “I’m so tired of loving someone who no longer exists.”

Her mouth turns down on her last words, and she hangs her head, seemingly ashamed of her confession. I feel her shrinking away from me, wishing herself invisible, and grasp her shoulders and shake gently.

“Hey now, stop that. You don’t have to hide from me.” I cradle her delicate neck and drop a quick kiss to her forehead. I bend down to meet her lowered gaze. Her lashes flutter, and she reluctantly complies. There’s no hint of laughter in those blue orbs tonight.

I’m a man who knows who he is—I always have. I stand up for what I know is right, and I fiercely protect what’s mine. Once I make up my mind about something, I don’t waver. I may joke around and keep things light-hearted most of the time, but unflinching loyalty and steely conviction are at the very heart of me.

But there are moments that have marked my life—where an overwhelming sense of clarity washes over me, and a new sense of purpose arises. Like the click of a kaleidoscope bringing everything into focus, or veins of water running down a window to leave a clear pane of glass, these flashes make the pieces of my life fall firmly into place. This … right here and now … is one of those moments.

“Remembering? Feeling loss? It’s a normal part of the human condition. I think grieving can be a way for us to stay connected to the ones we’ve lost. Do you know what else is part of the human condition?” A slight head tilt is the only answer she gives me. “Living, Celia. Even in the face of unimaginable loss, it’s okay to live.”

Her lashes flutter closed, and her body shudders as her forehead taps mine.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she tucks her head under my chin.

Slowly, her breathing evens out, and I fear I have a sleeping fairy on my hands. While looking for the keys I dropped when I found her, I spot the empty glass and turned over bottle of wine next to the swing. Now the pity party makes sense—alcohol-induced grieving at its finest.