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Men hated being challenged in that way but she couldn’t help it. There was no legitimate excuse for him not to attend the funeral. No excuse at all!
She lowered the phone and pressed the button to end the call, tempted to throw the darn thing.
A noise sounded behind her, and she whirled around to find Dara, Michael, and Oz all standing there, all watching her.
“We, uh, came to see if you wanted to go to the funeral home and meet with the director,” Dara said. “The Babes are going to stay with Mama.”
Devon swallowed the lump in her throat and shoved the phone into the pocket of her dress. “Let me get my purse.”
She felt Oz’s gaze on her as she stalked by them and wondered if he’d overheard the comment she’d made about him being a friend. That it should’ve been Ted holding her. It had probably hurt Oz, but it couldn’t be helped, she thought as she left the room.
“Did I hear that right?” Devon heard Michael ask after she’d stepped out. “Dev is engaged even though we’ve never met the guy?”
“I’m not,” she informed them softly. “Not anymore.”
Thirty minutes later, Devon stared at the coffins on display and wondered if she wasn’t having a conversion disorder symptom.
Because this?
This didn’t feel real. Not on any level.
Losing a parent was inevitable, but she’d hoped she wouldn’t face this day for a very, very long time.
And under the circumstances?
She’d purposely kept herself away from the news and social media, but she knew she couldn’t hide forever.
“You know, you haven’t said much about all of this,” Dara said softly.
“I don’t care which coffin. It’s going into the ground so what does it matter?”
“I meant about Dad, the accident… the woman. Even last night when we were in the kitchen talking, you didn’t say anything. Not a word, even though I know you’re boiling inside. I can tell.”
She’d almost forgotten how she and Dara shared that twin thing. Sometimes it felt like they shared the same brain waves or something. “It’s best I don’t comment. Nothing I have to say would be kind at the moment.”
Dara released a whoosh of air that resembled a grunt.
“You’ve definitely got more willpower than me, then. ’Cause I’m pissed. I mean, come on. She was twenty-freaking-three. Was his ego really that big that he thought a woman—any woman—that young would be interested in anything other than his money? How could he do this to Mom? To us? That girl was twelve years younger than we are. It’s just sick.”
Devon closed her eyes and squeezed them tight to ease the burning. “This isn’t the place, Dara.”
“No one’s around. The guys are down the hall with the director.”
“But there are probably cameras on us, maybe microphones.”
“Like I care at this point. It’s not like people don’t know. It’s all over the radio, the papers, the internet. Have you seen all of the memes?”
Memes? Okay, so no wonder Justin was doing damage control.
“It’s a good thing Mom checked out. I wouldn’t mind it at the moment if it meant escaping this train wreck.”
Devon wandered over to a black casket with only a few silver accents. “This one. It’s… subtle.”
“Like that’s going to help,” Dara muttered. “I wonder if they have red. You know, like a scarlet letter? Let him be what he is.”
Devon turned and faced her younger-by-eight-minutes sister. “Dara, I get it. I’m angry, too, but our anger is only going to hurt us. Not Dad and not… her.”
“I know but how can you be so calm? It’s annoying.”
