Elevating Eve (Fairford Affairs #4)

13. Jonathan

CHAPTER 13

Jonathan

T he next thirty-six hours passed by in a dense fog. Bits and pieces stuck out in Jonathan’s mind, more like snapshots than actual memories. Eve holding his phone up to his face to unlock it. Eve behind the wheel of Maisie’s Jeep. Eve holding his hand on the jet.

Eve.

Everything came down to Eve.

When he woke up late Sunday morning in his childhood bedroom, long since repurposed into a guest room, he had only the vaguest notion of how he got there. Someone—presumably Eve—had stripped him down to his boxer briefs. The suit he wore most of Friday hung in the open closet to his right, and his sweatpants and T-shirt were neatly folded on the chair in the corner.

Sitting up, he noticed a large glass of water, two granola bars, and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. Next to them sat a single sheet of lined paper. The left edge still held jagged remnants from being ripped out of a spiral notebook.

Jonathan ,

First, let me tell you how deeply sorry I am for what’s happened. If you need me for literally anything, I’m right downstairs. Just call or text.

I haven’t been able to get you to eat or drink much since Friday night. If you can, try to drink this whole glass, and eat whatever you’re able. I got you some Advil too, because I’m sure you’re really dehydrated, and that always gives me a massive headache.

If you’re feeling up for it, come downstairs. I’ll make you some real food while you spend some time with your family. But if not, everyone understands. I promise. Take all the time you need.

Love,

Eve

He blinked at the note a few times, trying to piece together what had happened since he got the phone call.

That phone call.

Giving up the time as lost for good, he opened the pill bottle, popping two into his mouth. As instructed, he downed the entire glass of water. The granola bars still untouched, he forced himself to stand and start dressing with slow, almost mechanical movements.

He managed to get the suit and shoes on, but his fingers fumbled with the tie both times he tried. His movements felt slow and clumsy, almost like his brain and body weren’t quite in sync. With a sigh, he draped the striped, blue silk back over a hanger, returning it to the closet.

Closing his eyes, he stood in the center of the room and just breathed. He could do this. He could fucking do it. His family needed him, and he’d let them down for long enough already. Time to step up and do what needed to be done.

How could he do that when he’d gone completely numb?

“Goddamnit, Jonathan,” he said through clenched teeth. “Get your shit together.”

With one more deep breath that did absolutely nothing, he opened his eyes and stepped out into the hall.

Somber voices drifted up the staircase from below, too low to make out any words. His body froze, muscles and joints all locking into place. Panic filled his mind, his chest—a physical, pulsating thing inside of him. More than anything, he desperately wished to flee back into his room and lock the door behind him.

“Goddamnit, Jonathan,” he said again, breathing through it, pushing the feelings down, down, down, until they became small enough to ignore. Straightening his shoulders, he walked down the stairs.

As soon as he entered the living room, Maisie launched herself off the couch, slamming into his chest with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. She didn’t say a word. Simply wrapped her arms around him and cried into his already crumpled white shirt.

His mind went completely blank for several seconds. By the time he realized he should hug her back, he knew far too much time had already passed. Everyone else in the room watched—his other sister Alice, his brothers-in-law, his mom, and even his three nephews.

All eyes on him, waiting for him to comfort his baby sister. To say something. Literally anything.

His gaze slid over to Eve, who sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace with Maisie’s five-month-old daughter on her lap. She wasn’t judging him. Wasn’t looking to him, expecting him to provide all the answers.

She worried about him and wanted to help. Nothing more.

Having Eve on his side gave him the strength he needed to wrap his arms around Maisie’s shoulders, holding her close. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “We’ll figure out how to get through this. Together.”

If only he could believe it himself.

“Jonathan, can you help me please?” His mother stood at the entryway to the kitchen in a simple black dress with powder blue flowers around the hem.

He missed her usual colorful, flamboyant style, and found himself hoping it wasn’t gone for good. “Sure.” Putting his coffee mug on the counter, he kissed Eve on the temple. “I’ll be back.”

Lucy led him through the house and upstairs, moving straight into the master bedroom. “Eve is lovely,” she said, voice soft and subdued, as she headed for the walk-in closet. “She’s so sweet, especially with the kids. Maisie and Alice love her already.”

His two younger sisters had already told him as much, cornering him when he went to the bathroom earlier. “Thank you,” he said—the same response he’d given the other two. He knew it was deeply inadequate, but it felt so surreal. So entirely wrong for Eve to meet his family this way. To hear how wonderful she was when a cloud of grief hung over them all, low and thick and suffocating.

How could he possibly find the words and the strength to express how much Eve meant to him when his heart was breaking?

Lucy looked up at him for several seconds, a searching look in her eyes. He stared back impassively, not sure what else to do.

Sighing, she stepped into the closet and turned on the light. “I need to take Orson’s suit to the funeral home this afternoon. You know more about suits than the rest of us combined, so I thought you should probably choose.”

Jonathan froze on the threshold of the closet, staring at the row of suits behind his mother. She couldn’t be serious. No way could she really be asking him to choose the suit his dad would be buried in.

No, no, no, no, no.

She began examining the suits one at a time, sliding each one down the rack when she finished with it. “I talked to the girls last night, and we all think you should give the eulogy,” she went on, completely oblivious to what was going on behind her.

Panic exploded through him again, making his chest so tight and painful that he couldn’ t breathe.

“The Episcopal funeral service usually doesn’t have one, but Uncle Warren is Catholic, and he got really upset when I told him. He’s already furious we’re doing it at our church instead of his.” She rolled her eyes. “So I talked to the priest, and she said it was okay. You’re the best public speaker by far, and you’re the only one who will really do it justice.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck...

Those words spiraled through his mind again and again, pushing out his ability to think.

“Jonathan.”

He jerked back as if he’d been slapped. His mom had half-shouted his name, and he got the impression this wasn’t the first time she said it. Blinking several times until his vision came back into proper focus, he drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

Lucy placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t easy for any of us.”

And yet, he was the only one completely losing his shit. How could he not? Why was everyone else so much calmer about this?

“I talked to him that afternoon, only hours before...” Jonathan pushed out a jagged sigh. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “I don’t understand what happened. He was perfectly fine. He’s always been perfectly fine.”

Orson Hale had one of those magical immune systems where he hardly ever got sick, even so much as a cold. He played squash twice a week and had been obsessed with his Peloton bike ever since the shutdown in 2020. Nothing about this made any fucking sense.

Tears glistened in his mom’s eyes, making him feel like a complete asshole. Dealing with his bullshit was the last thing she needed right now.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, inching around her in the packed closet and moving toward the row of suits. “Let me take a look at these.” He reached for the first one, ready to do this for her no matter how much it tore him up inside, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

“Sweetheart. Look at me.”

Swallowing down the lump once again threatening to choke him, he turned .

“Sometimes these things just don’t make sense. You hear about vegans who run marathons getting cancer in their forties. Then there are people like your great-grandfather, who smoked two packs a day and basically stayed drunk for the last forty years of his life, and he died peacefully in his bed at ninety-three. There’s only so much we can control.”

“But I’m not ready for this,” Jonathan admitted, finally making himself say the words out loud. For the first time, hot tears splashed against his cheeks. “I’m not remotely fucking ready.”

Lucy’s face crumpled for only a moment or two, but she wiped the new tears away, standing tall and strong before him. “I’m not either,” she whispered. “But we have to figure out how to get ready pretty damn quick, sweetheart, because God didn’t give us a choice on this one.”

This time, his body knew what to do all on its own. He wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her close as they both gave in to their tears.

Jonathan still had no idea how to handle any of it by the time people began arriving at the church four days later. But with Eve’s help, he at least figured out how to pretend enough to get through it.

“No one expects you to act like everything’s okay,” she told him earlier that morning, as he donned one of the suits Zach overnighted from Vermont. “So you need to stop trying, or you’re going to completely break.”

“Don’t they, though?” Jonathan said, flipping up the collar of his stiff, white shirt, looping a somber grey tie behind his neck. “I’m supposed to give the eulogy. The fucking eulogy . If I screw this up, they’ll never forgive me.”

When his hands couldn’t muster the fine motor skills to knot his tie for the fifth day in a row, she stepped in and did it for him. “I gave the eulogy at my dad’s funeral, too,” she said, voice haunted by the long-ago memory. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“How did you get through it?” Desperation clung to the question— a plea to save him from what he was sure would end up being the biggest failure of his life.

She thought about it as she finished adjusting his tie and popped his collar down into place. When at last she answered, she sounded almost wistful. “I realized I wasn’t giving the eulogy for other people. I was giving it for me.”

Frowning, Jonathan admitted, “I don’t understand.”

“It didn’t need to be this perfect, beautiful speech. I wasn’t being graded, and I wasn’t some politician trying to win people over to my side. Everyone was already on my side.” Reaching up, she straightened his hair, putting it back to the way he liked it. He really needed to stop running his hands through it so often. “Once I realized that, I knew all I needed to do was say what would be helpful to me.”

“But how am I supposed to know what that is?” he asked, fucking up his hair before he realized what he was doing.

Her sad little smile as she fixed his hair again soothed the pain in his chest the tiniest bit. “It might be something different for you. But for me, it helped to talk about all the best times I ever had with my dad. Forcing myself to say it out loud helped me remember how lucky I was to have him in the first place.” She shrugged, an almost apologetic look in her dark eyes. “And I guess it kind of tricked my brain into forgetting what a fucking wreck I was. Long enough to get through the funeral anyway.”

Now here he was, shaking hands and hugging people as they filed solemnly into the church, saying, “Thank you,” over and over again as they offered their condolences. And in the back of his mind, he ran through the best memories he had of his father, like his own personal home video montage.

When a large group of people from the Manor appeared at the open double doors, he almost lost his resolve. If Eve hadn’t put her hand in his at that moment, drawing him out of his racing thoughts, he may well have broken down. Instead, he steeled his nerves and approached his closest friends in the world.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hearing how utterly grateful and bewildered he sounded. He held his hand out to Leo, his oldest friend, who hauled him into a hug instead .

“What kind of question is that,” Leo said in his ear, letting Jonathan lean on him until he got himself under enough control to pull away. “We all wanted to be here for you.”

“But the Manor?—”

“Will survive if we close it down for a couple days and reschedule a few people,” Rafe interrupted in his deep, gruff voice.

Camden hurried to add, “All the guests understood.” For once, his fuckboy grin was nowhere to be found.

Blinking back tears, Jonathan hugged Aiden next, and then Olivia. “You’re supposed to be in Bali.” The two still hadn’t taken a proper vacation since they got married over a year ago. “I can’t believe you left your honeymoon for this.”

“You’re a hell of a lot more important to us than a fucking trip,” Aiden said, the threat of tears already heavy in his voice.

“And you know how much we all loved your dad,” Mason said, the usual icy intensity of his deep blue eyes replaced by a compassion rarely seen in the man. For only the second time in over twenty-five years of friendship, Mason hugged him. “We’re all here for you, literally anything you need. That’s a promise.”

Jonathan had to wipe away tears as Mason pulled away, and Zach handed him a handkerchief before he could retrieve one from his own pocket. A bright orange poppy had been embroidered into one corner, a lavender and white columbine into the corner opposite. The state flowers of California and Colorado, he realized with a start.

When he tried to hand the handkerchief back after dabbing at his eyes, Zach waved him away. “Keep it. I made it for you.”

At Jonathan’s surprised look, Remy pulled another handkerchief from his pocket, holding it out so he could see the red and orange hibiscus flowers artfully arranged around one corner. “He got bored with calligraphy and took up embroidery last winter. Our house looks like an old lady lives there.”

Before he knew it was coming, Jonathan huffed out a short laugh. His eyes widened at the sound. How was laughter even possible on a day like today?

Zach hurried forward and flung his arms around Jonathan, not giving him the chance to fall too deeply down that rabbit hole. “I’m so, so sorry,” Zach said as Jonathan hugged the man’s slender shoulders. “You need anything at all, you call me first, okay? You had my back when I needed it most, and now I have yours, no matter what.”

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why it astounded him that they’d all come. He turned that over in his mind as he accepted hugs and condolences from Remy, Sophie, Rafe, Nell, Addison, and Camden in turn.

The group shuffled off to find seats, Camden stopping to whisper something in Eve’s ear on his way by. Eve moved up beside him after they were gone, slipping her hand into his.

“What did he say to you?” Jonathan asked.

She gave his hand a little squeeze. “He said, ‘Jonathan is like my brother. Thank you for being with him through all this.’”

Tears welled in Jonathan’s eyes yet again, and he blinked them away.

“Remember, you’re not alone,” she said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Not like I was. We’re all here for you, no matter what.”

Knowing all the people he cared about most in this world were right here in this church carried him through the rest of the arrivals.

When it came time for everyone to take their seats, Eve tried to sit with the Manor group near the back of the church. “I think it would be more appropriate,” she whispered as she attempted to pull away.

He didn’t let go of her hand. “Please sit with me,” he said, letting his fear show on his face for only a moment. “I don’t think I can do this alone.”

Her eyes melted, and she nodded without hesitation. They took their seats in the front row, between his mom and Alice. Neither of the women looked surprised to see Eve at his side.

Most of the funeral passed in a blur, the priest reading several bible verses that he only half paid attention to. Despite being raised by moderately religious parents, Jonathan was agnostic at best—not against the idea of a God per se, just not convinced either. His mother had been the one who wanted a proper religious funeral, in the Episcopal church his parents attended since moving to this corner of California in their early twenties .

When at last the priest announced it was time for Jonathan to give his eulogy, his legs felt almost too weak to stand.

“It’s okay,” Eve whispered as he wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his slacks. “Remember, everyone’s already on your side.”

Bolstered by her words, he managed to rise to his feet and button his jacket. Holding his spine straight and his head high, he walked up to the lectern. He could do this. Not for all the people out there, but for himself.

He needed to say goodbye.

“Thank you everyone for being here to support our family today.” He cleared his throat, wishing he had a glass of water. “My father was...he was...” He swallowed, trying to force the lump in his throat down again, but this time it wouldn’t go away. Christ, he was going to start crying up here and completely fail this whole fucking thing, disappointing everyone.

But when he looked out at the gathered crowd, he didn’t see a single angry or disappointed face. Alice leaned against Dillon, her husband, watching Jonathan with the same stoic expression she’d worn since he arrived in California. For as long as he could remember, she didn’t like to show too much negative emotion when other people could see. Even so, she clutched a tissue in one hand.

Maisie, who had been crying for the last half hour, continued to wipe at her nose and eyes with the endless stream of tissues Sean provided for her. She watched him with shining eyes, grief and hope making up equal parts of her expression.

Then there was Eve. Her beautiful eyes held nothing but support and her unwavering belief that he could do this.

It was his mom’s expression that affected him most of all, though. She, too, had been crying for most of the service. But now she looked at him with so much pride that it strengthened his weakened body, resolved his mind.

Pulling the embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it against his eyes one at a time, gathering his tears. And then he started to speak.

“My father was the funniest, most laid-back man I’ve ever known. I have no idea how I happened, because I’m pretty sure I came out of Mom’s uterus wearing a suit.” A chuckle rolled through the pews, and his mother smiled for a moment. “But that never bothered Dad. He didn’t tell me to relax, or act more like he did at my age, or that I’d give myself an ulcer before I turned twenty-five.” He paused, then admitted, “Okay, maybe he said the ulcer part.” More laughter.

“But my point is, he never tried to change me. Never. Even when I made some rather unorthodox choices these last ten years, he always embraced exactly who I am. Do you have any idea how lucky that makes me?” He looked over at his sisters, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “How lucky it makes all three of us?

“No matter what we did, we always had someone to go to for support and advice. Someone who wouldn’t judge us or condemn us or tell us we were out of our minds. If one of us told him we wanted to reach for the stars, he asked how he could help build the spaceship every single time.”

Alice’s stony exterior finally cracked, and she buried her face against Dillon’s shoulder, whole body shaking with her tears.

“Losing my dad has left a hole in me I can’t even begin to fill. Perhaps if we’d known it was coming—if we had time to...to say goodbye.” He wiped fresh tears from his eyes as he fought to regain his voice. “But I keep reminding myself that I had over thirty-eight years for this man to teach me. For him to love me and show me how to love others. For him to make me laugh when I got too serious. Not everyone gets that.”

He looked at Eve, who lost her dad at such a young age. Then at Aiden and Rafe, whose parents wanted nothing to do with them anymore. At Olivia, who ran away from her abusive home at eighteen and never looked back. He didn’t know much about Addison’s story yet, but he knew enough to know her childhood hadn’t been a bed of roses either, though she’d recently connected with her biological dad for the first time.

“My dad was the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, and I’ll miss him every single day for the rest of my life. But I’m also going to use everything he taught me to make that life the best one I possibly can.” He met Maisie’s eyes again, and then Alice’s. “I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Dad would want that for us. He’d want to know that he left behind a legacy of joy. Of acceptance and peace and love. We can give him that.”

He looked out over the whole congregation. “We all can. When you leave this place today, try to remember something Orson Hale taught you. Remember a time he cheered you up with a ridiculous story when you were having a bad day. Or remember a time he showed up for you, even if maybe no one else did. And try to put that kind of energy out into the world. It’ll be a better place because of it.”