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“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “Serena doesn’t know what’s happened.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“She thinks her dad’s in the Cayman Islands.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where she got that from.”
“Me either,” I said. “Inside. The bodies will have to show up.”
“Don’t worry about it, bro. I’ve got it.”
“You do?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“What has everyone been saying about Dad and Luisa?”
“A lot of people said they saw it coming.” He shrugged. “They said it was obvious Luisa’d been in love with him and that she was a little bit psycho. Everyone thought it would happen a lot earlier.”
“And his wife?”
“She’s already in France spending the money.” He shook his head. “She didn’t give a shit.”
“I don’t blame her,” I said.
“Me either. You think we should have a funeral for him?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I only go to one funeral a year, and this one’s for Jimmy.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Dad doesn’t deserve any last rights. He doesn’t deserve a sendoff.”
“Sendoff to hell.” I chuckled. “You know he’s burning right now.”
“Yeah. He deserves it,” he said. “I don’t want to go that way, Antonio. I don’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps.”
“We won’t,” I said. I looked up suddenly as I realized that the crowds of people were leaving the church.
“Antonio,” the priest said as he walked up to me, “we’ll make our way into the cemetery now, have him buried.”
“Sounds good. Thank you, Father.”
“Jimmy was a good one,” he said. “Known him since he was a little boy. Pity. I thought I’d marry him and Chris and his kids. Didn’t think I’d be burying him.”
“I know, Father,” I said, nodding, looking down.
“Well, I’ll expect a donation to the church?” he said.
“Of course.” We followed behind him outside of the church. I went and stood next to a tree as he said some passages and Jimmy’s casket was lowered into the ground. I could hear footsteps approaching me, but I didn’t turn to look. Then I smelled her. My beautiful, my darling, my wonderful lamb.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi,” I said back, looking over and taking in her beautiful face. She straightened her hair, and it hung down her back. She wore a simple, long black dress, but it still clung to her body as if it were made for her. Her brown eyes looked up at me. I could still see the wetness of tears in them.
“It’s been a beautiful service.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I can’t really claim that I did much, but—”
“But it’s still nice,” she said.
“Thanks.”
