Eyes on Iris

7. Wordless Lament

When Hunter arrived at the chapel where his father’s memorial was being held, he saw familiar faces he had known ever since he was a child. He kept an emotionless mask when he stood next to his father’s coffin. Inside, Old Mr Kingston lay peacefully as if he was just getting a lovely night’s sleep. There was not a single trace of struggle in his dignified expression. Instead, he looked like he was more than ready to accept his fate.

He gritted his teeth as he slid his clenched hands in the pockets of his pants.

Old man, I’m back…

When he was on the plane, he tried to sort out his thoughts. He tried to think about the things that he wanted to say or do when he arrived. But he found it hard. Now that he was looking at his father’s corpse, he found it difficult to keep a rational mind.

It was tough.

What pained him the most was that his father never gave him the chance to apologize for all his blunders. Not even on the phone. He was bitter but he knew it was all his fault. All his… no one else’s.

“Hunter…” called a familiar voice.

It was Froy Lisson. He was Old Mr Kingston’s trusted assistant. To Hunter, the man was like an older brother. So, when he spared the former a glance, he didn’t even have to ask why he looked like he had aged overnight. The somber look on Froy's face was enough to explain things.

Of course, the man was expected to be oblivious to his father’s illness, too.

Froy was an orphan that his father had brought up. Hunter had acknowledged him as his own brother due to his thoughtfulness and loyalty. There were times when the man would act as the mediator whenever he argued with his dad.

“He looks serene,” Hunter choked, the words escaping his mouth bitterly while he stared at his old man lying lifelessly.

“He does,” Froy acquiesced and gave Hunter a comforting tap on the shoulder. The sadness in his voice was clear. He was on the rather soft side and was never shy about showing his emotions – the very opposite of Hunter. But at that moment, Froy swallowed his tears and composed himself, trying to be the tougher one – like an older brother should be.

“I’m so sorry, Hunter. I should have been more careful. I should have taken care of him better. He never told anyone. I just learned that he asked his doctor to keep it between them when he was admitted to the hospital. His doctor told me that he never considered pursuing treatment,” Froy spoke again. The indignation in his voice did not escape Hunter’s ears.

Ironically, each of them was blaming themselves.

Hunter paused in silence and thought that it was indeed something his father would do. Alexander Kingston II was a proud person who would gladly accept his fate without questions asked. The man was a hardcore believer in destiny. So, he could deduce that his father thought that he wouldn’t fight death if he was bound to pass away that way.

That was just like him.

“And then…” Froy paused, his grip on Hunter’s shoulder tightened.

Hunter looked at him and all he could see was the remorse in those blue eyes.

“He’s gone,” Hunter murmured, filling in the words.

“He was a good man.”

“Indeed, he was.”

Hunter knew that each person in this room would agree because Alexander Kingston II was a generous and understanding person – as a friend and employer. He touched many lives and was content with his. This was probably the reason why he decided to accept his doom with arms wide open. He has already accomplished whatever he was supposed to do in this lifetime.

You’re not even giving me a chance to repent for my mistakes. Old man, was it so hard to share your burdens with us? To me? Am I really that incompetent in your eyes? Have you ever considered what I would feel if you left just like this?

Questions started popping into Hunter’s mind, one after another. A mixture of frustration, regret, sorrow, and agony came crashing down on his heart and his vision started to grow blurry again as he tried to control the emotions flooding inside him.

But he found it hard… so f*cking hard. He felt like an abandoned child, not knowing what to do or say or where to start after this calamity.

“Excuse me,” he whispered, averting his gaze from the casket.

Hunter gave Froy a thoughtful look and a pat on the back before quietly marching away to exit the chapel, seeking refuge in the silence of the mini garden. He was afraid that he might not be able to hold on to his sentiments if he stayed.

He refused to cry.

Not in front of his old man.

The cold air pierced through his clothes. But he felt nothing – as if he was already numb to any kind of physical discomfort. Tamping down his emotions, he stared blankly at the withering bushes.

Once more, it reminded him of his predicament.

Death was an eminent end for all living creatures. Flowers wither, animals die, and humans turn to ashes. Even the days turn into evenings and seasons must change. Hunter thought that, in this world, time was the only thing that was endless.

Sighing heavily, he sat on one of the benches and stared at the cloudy sky. As a child, he always believed the silly and baseless idea that his loved ones were observing and guiding him from a place he couldn’t see. He wondered if the tales his father told him when he was young were true. Was his mother really watching him from above?

Are you with mom now, old man? What’s it like there? I hope you guys are happy. I'll be fine here.

Maybe he was not alone. Maybe he was never alone.

Hunter decided to settle on this idea for now, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to get used to the change. He thought that there was nothing time could not heal.

So, he would take it slow.

With his thoughts wandering into his childhood and tidbits of his father’s words of wisdom, Hunter’s mood loosened up and unknowingly curled his mouth into a slight smile. His attention was dragged back to the present when he caught sight of a familiar red pick-up truck pulling over in front of the chapel. A few moments later, a brunet came out of the driver’s seat.

From afar, he could see the petite and slim figure of a woman, moving gracefully. She was wearing tight dark jeans, cowboy boots, and a black leather jacket. Her hair danced along with the wind, framing her lovely face.

Irised… his heart hummed.

Iris was the person closest to his heart, next to his father. They grew up together and had countless memories. She was wild, willful, and had always found beauty in life. She had the humor of a clown that brought so much laughter to Hunter and his father. With her energetic and bright personality, she filled their lives with color ㅡ just like a rainbow.

She was his father’s favorite girl.

Hunter found himself chuckling softly as memories flashed back into his mind. He could not count the times his father told him that he wished Iris was his daughter. Then, the latter would meaningfully nudge him in the side teasingly.

They hadn’t seen each other since she moved to another city for college, and they eventually drifted apart. Staring from a distance, he could not deny how beautiful she had grown as a woman. How long has it been since the last time they saw each other? Seven? Eight years? Maybe even a decade!

Hunter was unsure since they had about six or seven years age gap.

He felt like it had been a lifetime.

Iris moved to the other side of the truck and opened the door. A little girl hopped out of the vehicle, looking exactly like her carbon copy.

I didn’t know she had a child…