Vanilla

Chapter Seventeen

            “I understand,” I told him. Because I did. I’d never experienced such a thing myself, but I could feel the words deeper than just the voice that was speaking them. My mum and dad were taken so suddenly I didn’t have a chance to remember them as anything other themselves. They weren’t riddled with sickness, their last moments spent in agony that was unbearable to watch. One moment they were here. The next, gone.

            I wasn’t sure which option was the better.

            “I want to be able to say I can feel him here, or something cliché like that,” Daniel said, gesturing toward the empty shop, its half-cleaned tiles gleaming beneath the soles of our shoes. “But I can’t. So I thought maybe… maybe it’s time to face my fears and go up there.”

            “If you feel ready, you’ll be able do it,” I assured him softly. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

            “Yeah. Well.” He shrugged. “We’ll see about that one.”

            I wanted to move closer, but some kind of intangible force stopped me before I could take a step. “It won’t be as bad as you think. The fact that you’re considering it has got to count for something, right? Maybe you’re not so scared after all.”

            “It seems like it should work out like that, doesn’t it?” he said. “But I am scared. I’m scared as hell.”

            “I know, but once you face up to this… you won’t be. You’ll be okay.”

            “God, I hope so.” He lifted the mop, going back to the cleaning, but I could tell he was deep in thought about something. And, sure enough, before he’d even completed one swipe of the mop, he stopped again. “Hey, Flo?”

            I looked up. “Yeah?”

            “Look, this is probably a really long shot,” he began with a sigh, “and you don’t have to. Like, at all. If you don’t want to you can just say no and I swear I won’t–”

            “Daniel.”

            “You really don’t have to. I was just wondering if maybe… maybe you’d come with me?”

            It wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I had imagined Daniel’s visit to the cemetery would be a private affair: a situation in which my input was limited to mere words of encouragement and understanding. But here he was, blinking back at me with sheepishness and blatant hope written all over his face. It was a lot to ask, and he obviously knew this, but there was something about his hesitance to even talk about the matter that made me wonder how on earth he’d cope alone.

            “Yeah,” I breathed. “I mean, if that’s what you want. I’ll go with you.”

            Relief flooded his face immediately, and I could’ve sworn I heard him release a breath he’d been holding. “That’s what I want,” he told me, more sure of himself than I’d heard all day. “I’m just not sure I can handle it alone.”

            “Well, that’s okay.” A smile small tugged at the corners of my lips. “Because you don’t have to.”

***

            On any other day, it took no more than half an hour past closing to clear up the shop completely, readying it for another day of hardcore ice cream serving. Today, however, we seemed to subconsciously drag it out longer; Daniel seemed to take extra care scrubbing every tile of the floor until the overhead lights produced something of a burnished glare, triple-checking every box of stock in the back room, even organising the drawer that held the ice cream scoops twice over. His nerves shadowed every action; I could see them in the way he fiddled constantly with the pocket of his apron, touched the keys in his pocket like some sort of ritual, and kept shifting his weight from the ball of one foot to the other, even when standing still.