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Beloved father and friend. Doctor Davis was an inspiration to everyone he met, a hard worker, and a genuinely good person.
“Bullshit,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” the older vicar asks.
“I said, beautiful.” I grin, and he nods but frowns, looking confused.
Heading through the ornate entryway, I scan the packed pews. I don’t see the familiar blonde head of hair until she stands at the front, wearing a knee-length black dress, cardigan, tights, and flats. She is completely put together and perfect, right down to the gracious way she accepts condolences and greets people. I can’t tear my eyes away from her, but I hear the door shut behind me, so I quickly duck into the end of an empty pew.
A man in the next pew looks over at me and gives me that sad smile everyone wears at funerals. “Did you know him well?”
“Probably better than anyone,” I reply.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he offers sadly.
“Don’t be,” I retort, leaning back and kicking my legs up onto the pew. I watch the vicar wander down the aisle to the podium at the front.
The man I was speaking to gawks before leaning in to mutter to his wife who then glances at me. I pull down my sunglasses and wink. She gasps before quickly turning forward, making me chuckle as organ music starts to play.
I almost fall asleep, but then the vicar starts to speak. He drones on about my father, his speech intersected with hymns and loving tributes, and then it comes to her.
Ana.
She stands with her hands clasped at her belly and heads to the microphone, her eyes sad and downcast. Her hands shake slightly, and I know she’s nervous. She hates public speaking and being the centre of attention.
Ana clears her throat delicately as I notice her fine features are the same, just grown up. She has the same button nose, slightly round face, naturally thick eyebrows, and light lashes. Freckles dust along her cheeks and nose, and her icy-blonde hair hangs straight over one shoulder. Her makeup is simple, with nude lip gloss, brown eyeliner, and mascara, showing just how naturally beautiful my sister truly is. She possesses the type of beauty everyone envies, even me. Ana was always so graceful and soft spoken, but when she did speak, it was with a level of intelligence surpassing her age.
She is so perfect, unlike me.
“My father was a good man.”
Fucking hell, Ana, really? I jerk like she slapped me and close my eyes.
“He gave his life to better this world, first in his service to the country, and then with his innovations in the medical and scientific fields. Given more time, he would have completed such great things. He was a good soul that was lost too soon. My family . . . My family is empty.” Her breath catches. “After the tragic death of my sister when she was just seventeen—”
Fucking hell. He told her I died? I didn’t expect it to hurt so much, but it does. Did she wonder what happened? Did she miss me like I missed her? At least she had closure and didn’t have to wonder if I was out there.
“—my father was never the same.”
“I bet he wasn’t,” I mutter. The people in front glare at me, and I stick my tongue out, but I hear a low chuckle and turn my head, meeting the dark gaze of a huge man on the end pew opposite mine. Four other men sit at his side, each more striking than the last.
They are too beautiful and too smiley to be mourners, so who are they?
Ana’s words drag me from their gazes, and I quickly look away, wondering who they are. They are dressed differently than the mourners, more like me.
“And now that I am alone, the last of our legacy, I miss them both so much.” A tear, as if she were a paid actor, rolls down her cheek, but I know it’s not forged. She’s too genuine to lie about something like that. No, she’s trying to hold back her emotions, her voice choked. Ana always tried to be the perfect, sophisticated woman he wanted. They don’t cry in public, after all, and in his mind, emotions were the mark of a weak or soft person.
“I ask that you remember him for his brilliance, for the love he brought into the world, and the great things he did as we stand together in his memory.” She turns to the casket. “Goodbye, Father. May we meet again.”
Oh, I fucking hoping we meet again too. I’ll kick his ass.
The rest of the funeral is uneventful, and I lean on my bike as I watch them inter him in the ground. Good fucking riddance. My eyes stay on Ana the entire time. She’s the perfect daughter—sad but not crying, polite, and quiet. She shakes hands, smiles sorrowfully, and talks with everyone until they finally leave. When she’s alone, Ana turns and stares at the grave, then her shoulders finally slump. Her hands twist the material at her hips, showing a little weakness.
I push from the bike and head towards her, only stopping when I am standing silently behind her. My heart skips a beat. Of all the times I thought of seeing her again, of being together, this wasn’t how I imagined it. Fear blooms inside me, fear she won’t remember me . . . or worse.
“I’m all alone,” she whispers, and I flinch.
I wish I could tell her that she’s never been alone and explain, but I can’t. It’s better she never knows and safer that way. But can I do this? Can I step back into her life? And will she just let me?
