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We buried Dad three hours ago, under a huge cedar tree with feathery leaves that will shed over his grave. Adam clung to Ilarion most of the morning, a subconscious attempt to seek comfort in the last paternal figure he has left.
Celine and I stood together, side by side, trying to come to terms with the fact that we were now orphans.
I can’t remember what filled the hours between putting Dad in the ground and sitting here at my dressing table, staring at my reflection in the mirror. All I can really recall are fleeting moments that will forever be frozen in time.
Celine taking my hand and promising we would always be there for each other.
Mila, bandaged and bruised, forcing herself out of a car to attend the funeral of a man she hated, just because she knew what it meant to me.
Adam crying hysterically and Ilarion scooping him up and carrying him around until he calmed down.
There was a lot of sadness today, but I was not so far gone that I couldn’t see the hope there, too. Somewhere amidst the tears and the grief, I looked around and saw the fledgling foundation of a family. A little broken, a little dysfunctional, a little mismatched.
But a family, nonetheless.
I blink and focus on my reflection. I didn’t apply a lot of foundation; that’s why I look so pale. My lipstick has all but faded, too, but my bun remains fixed in place. Not a hair out of place. That was Celine’s handiwork. Even in grief, her finish is flawless.
I remove the pearls from around my neck, then I pull at the pins that are holding my hair together. I put them away and comb out my hair until I look a little more like myself. Once that’s done, I duck into the walk-in closet and swap my mourning clothes for a soft cotton dress. Yellow, because I’m sick of seeing black and also because it’s what Mom would have chosen.
Once I’m comfortable, I pad over to the window of my new bedroom. Technically, it’s Ilarion’s room, but he keeps assuring me that it’s ours now.
It offers the best view of the gardens. I can see the whole expanse of the lawn sprawled out like a green carpet. Mila and Dima are sitting on white garden chairs, taking in the sun.
Dima stayed by Mila’s side through most of the ceremony. He helped her to sit and stand, brought her water and food, asked her if she needed anything again and again, even after she snapped at him to stop hovering.
There is hope there, too. Another thing I choose to cling to.
I turn from the window when I hear my door open. Adam skitters in, dressed in khaki shorts and a white t-shirt.
“Hey, baby. Where’ve you been?”
“With Daddy,” he says. “He told me that he’s going to take me to the zoo tomorrow. Will you come with us?”
“I’d love to.”
He nods and climbs into my lap. He adjusted surprisingly well when we sat down with him and explained that things were changing in our home. Grandpa was gone to be with Grandma and Uncle Illy…well, that was a bit more difficult to explain. It was Celine who swooped in and explained how Uncle Illy wasalsoa spy, which is why he had to keep things secret until now.
Things like how he’s really Adam’s father.
I kiss the top of his head and hold him tight. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Daddy says that Grandpa died a hero. Daddy says that being a hero means putting other people before yourself,” he recites, looking at me with those big, beautiful eyes of his.
I stroke his hair. “He’s right.”
“Grandpa is a spyanda hero.” He pauses and bites his lip. “I wish Grandpa weren’t a hero or a spy, though. I wish he was here.”
I feel my lip trembling, but I bite down hard and stop myself from losing it. “I know, honey. Me, too. But we don’t always have control over things. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“I don’t want to be older.”
I press him to my chest. “Grandpa will always be with us. In pictures and memories. We’ll keep him alive that way. We’ll love each other for him.”
Adam frowns. I’m pretty sure he’s understanding only half of what I’m saying. I talk anyway in the hopes that one day, what I’m saying will make sense to him.
“Did you get the present he left for you?” Adam asks abruptly.
I stop. “What?”
