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Trent stared out the window, his left foot setting the rocking chair in motion. It was a beautiful spring day outside, and he absolutely hated it. The cool sunshine was too happy, too bright, too wrong. He wanted a gray, sad rain to be falling. He wanted a day to match the pain in his heart.
Choking back the sound of grief rising up from his gut, he clutched the lavender sweater close, wrapping its fuzzy warmth around him as he buried his face in the soft wool, inhaling the subtle fragrance that still clung to it. Tears began to fall afresh, trailing down his pale cheeks to be caught and absorbed by the fleecy fabric.
He pulled out the picture frame from its hiding place underneath the sweater. He traced the woman's features, his fingers shaking. Bringing the frame close, he pressed several kisses to the glass.
"Why God? Why did my mom have to die?"
Trent left the rocking chair and wandered around his parents' room, touching objects that had belonged to his mother. He opened her closet and gathered several dresses, hugging them, hiding his face in the familiar textures. He then walked over to the nearby vanity table and opened the jewelry case. Reaching in, he removed a treasured piece worn by his mother on a daily basis. Clutching it in his hand, he gathered together the sweater and picture and settled back in the rocker. He curled up with his treasures, his body trembling with silent sobs as he rocked back and forth, completely lost in the memories of his mother.
A hand shook his shoulder. Trent looked up and found his Aunt Macy standing over him.
"Come back in the living room, Trent. Your grandma wants to see you."
He shook his head. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to see. Well, that was a lie. Blaine had been by his side all day but had gone home to check on his dog. Lady was expecting her first litter of pups any day now.
His aunt pulled on the sweater and picture frame. "Put this stuff away, and come see your grandma. She has to leave in the morning, and you won't see her again 'til Christmas."
The items were taken from his hands and thrown down on the bed. Trent cried out and reached to retrieve them. His attempt was prevented by his Aunt Cathy, who obviously had followed Aunt Macy into the room. She forced Trent to look at her. "Boy. You need to quit all this crying. Your momma wouldn't want it. She'd want you to be outside playing with your friends. Now, come see Grandma Evans and then you can go."
Trent allowed himself to be guided down the hallway, but the instant he felt his aunt's grip loosen, he was gone. He slammed out of the house, stumbling into various relatives while making his escape. His long legs ate up the distance as he ran to the one place he knew he would be safe from prying eyes and meddling aunts.
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Devin was shaking hands with the minister when he saw his son bolt from the house. With sorrowful eyes he watch Trent trip and fall, a cry of pain echoing back to him. His son wasted no time in jumping to his feet and racing out of sight. An understanding grip on his arm refocused his attention to the young boy standing beside him. Blaine looked up at him, his dark blue eyes wet with tears.
"It's okay. I know where he's going."
Devin hugged the boy, his son’s best friend. "It's been so hard on him, Blaine. Watching his mother die." He released a weary sigh. "It happened so fast. There was no time; the cancer was everywhere. She was gone before Trent and I knew it."
Blaine looked down the street in the direction Trent had gone. "Don't worry, Mr. Anderson. I'll take care of him. I'll help him through this."
Devin offered Blaine another hug before leaving to deal with his wife's grieving relatives.
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Blaine quickly made his way home, going straight to the ancient oak that held his beloved treehouse. He discovered a trail of clothes that led to his childhood hideaway and with patient care, he picked up Trent's shirt, tie, socks and shoes. Folding the clothes neatly, he placed them at the base of the trunk.
He slowly climbed up the tree and crawled inside the wooden structure, standing silently at the entrance, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. A mournful sob alerted him to Trent's whereabouts. He moved toward the far corner, his gaze taking in his best friend’s huddled form, hidden under a tattered quilt, a quilt Trent's mother had made years ago.
He knelt in front of Trent and picked up a corner of the quilt. Peering underneath, he saw the weeping boy had curled up in a ball, his slender frame still shaking with silent sobs. He crawled inside the cloth cocoon and sat right next to his friend, putting his arms around him, drawing him against his chest. Unwilling to share his grief, Trent fought him, pushing him away with surprising strength.
"Go away Blaine. Don't want you here."
Blaine bit down on his bottom lip and tried to ignore the pain his friend’s words had caused. "Trent? I'm really sorry about your mom, and I bet it hurts real bad right now. But I want you to know I'm here for you." He brushed his hand over the boy's tangled blond curls. "I'm your friend, Trent. Let me help. Please."
Trent turned and looked at him, his eyes filled with tears. Without a word, he threw himself into his open arms. Blaine guided Trent's head to his shoulder and began to rock back and forth slowly.
It took the better part of an hour before the crying abated. Blaine listened as the sobs dwindled down to sniffles. The stuffy confinement of the heavy quilt soon became too suffocating, and he flipped back a corner and took a deep breath of fresh air. Concerned, he gently lifted up his friend's face. A beam of sunlight had found its way into the treehouse, allowing him a better view of his best friend.
Trent's eyes were puffy and red, his face tear-stained and his blond curls damp with sweat. His friend looked like a lost little boy, and Blaine knew he had to do something, had to help him with his loss. He just wasn't sure what that entailed. In the end he decided to just hold him tight, and somehow that seemed to be the exact thing Trent needed.
"Blaine?"
Blaine grunted when Trent tightened his hold. "Yeah?"
"Promise you won't leave me. Never. Please?" Trent pleaded, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
Blaine brushed away an errant curl from Trent's forehead. "I'll never leave you, Trent. You're my best friend. I love ya."
"Mom . . . she used to say that, too. That she would always be there for me, but she was wrong. She . . . ."
Trent started crying again, his sobs wounding Blaine's tender heart. He felt so helpless, so confused about how to help his friend. He remembered how special Mrs. Tracey was, how he thought of her as his second mom. He remembered how she . . . .
"Hey, Trent? You remember how your mom used to make us chocolate cookies every Friday? How she let us eat some of the dough and then lick the bowl clean when she was finished?" He pulled Trent close, his hands rubbing over the younger boy's chilled skin. He patted a bare shoulder and kept on talking, hoping his friend would hear him.
"Do you remember how she would take us to the store to buy comic books? And then we'd come home and she'd make us popcorn and let us bring it here, to the treehouse?"
Blaine felt Trent nod his head just a little. He smiled and snuggled closer to his friend. "And Trent? What about those times when she played football with us?" He chuckled. "She had the funniest touchdown dance I ever saw."
Blaine thought he heard the ghost of a giggle.
“She was pretty good at baseball, though. Taught me how to pitch a curve ball that even Dad can’t hit.”
This time he was sure he heard laughter.
"The best thing I remember about your mom was how she always had time for us. She was never too busy doing stuff if we needed her help.” Blaine bent down and whispered in Trent's ear. "Your mom was the best, and I'm gonna miss her a lot."
The threat of tears made him hurry out his next words. "But you know what, Trent? I'll share my mom with you. She loves ya just like I do."
Trent buried his face against his neck. "I doubt your mom wants another kid hanging around." Sniffing loudly, he looked up before swiping at his snotty nose.
Blaine reached in his pocket, glad his dad always insisted on him carrying a handkerchief. He handed it to his friend. "Nah. My mom won't mind at all. Darn it, Trent. You're over at my house all the time. You're practically family."
Trent scrubbed his face clean before looking up. A deep sigh was accompanied by a shy wobbly smile. "Do you think she would mind if sometimes I called her Mom?"
"No problemo, squirt. From now on my mom is your mom. Okay?"
Trent looked down at his hands. " 'k . . . but Blaine?" He held up his treasure, a gold locket and chain. "I really loved my mom, and I don't ever want to forget her."
Trent offered the locket to him. He opened it and gazed down at the photos inside, a baby picture of Trent and a picture of his mother. He reached across to his friend and placed the chain around his neck. The locket rested against Trent's heart. Blaine reached out and covered the locket with his hand, letting it rest there for a moment. He then gathered his friend in another comforting hug.
"That's the way it's supposed to be Trent. Your mom will never forget you. Even now that she's in heaven, she's always gonna be looking down at you and making sure you're happy."
Fingers brushed away the tears falling unknowingly down his cheek.
Blaine gently bumped foreheads with his friend. “Thanks.”
Trent timidly offered him a somewhat hopeful smile. "I'm always gonna be happy, Blaine, cause we're gonna be best buds forever. Right?"
He hugged his cherished friend tight and looked off in the distance.
"Yeah, Trent. I'm gonna love ya and be your best bud forever."
To be continued . . . .