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“And Colleen, you know how she is. She kinda gets around.”
“Do youwantme to beat you up, Bryce?” he growled. “On the day of your father’s funeral? Because if you say another word, I will.” He paused. “And don’t say that about her.”
Bryce slumped back against the seat of the limo. “Sorry.”
“She is something of a tramp,” Didi said.
“Didi, shut up, or you can walk the rest of the way to church. I’m the one paying for this funeral, after all.”
At the mention of money, Didi’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Lucas. No need to be rude.”
He didn’t bother answering.
“Mom, you should stick around,” Bryce said. “You really going to Wisconsin tomorrow?”
“Bryce, sweetie, you know how I am. I’d rather do my grieving privately. And I had vacation time to use up.”
Lucas suspected she was already on the prowl for a new husband. Play the widow card ASAP. She wouldn’t be around for the reading of Joe’s will, either. Bryce was still unaware of how much he’d inherit, and that Lucas would be trustee.
Lucas wouldn’t need to stick around, either. The will was straightforward, with only a sealed letter from Joe addressed to Bryce.
There was no letter for him.
They pulled up to the church. Bryce and Lucas were both pallbearers, along with four of Joe’s friends, two from college, two from Manningsport. They slid the casket from the back of the hearse and lifted it, carrying it slowly into the cool stone church.
This was the last thing he’d do for Joe. He was leaving after the funeral, and honestly, he’d be glad to get away.
The church was packed. There were Steph and the girls, all of them weepy. Faith and Levi, Tom and Honor. Gerard and the pretty woman from the bakery. Everett and Emmaline, the Manningsport cops, and the mayor. The woman who lived on his floor and watchedGame of Thronesall the time. Jeremy Lyon, who’d been Joe’s primary doctor, and Jeremy’s boyfriend, whom Lucas had met one night at O’Rourke’s. Paulie Petrosinsky, wearing a long black sweater that dangled almost to the floor, stood in the back, as the church was packed. She gave him a sad smile, and he nodded in return.
Everyone had loved Smiling Joe.
And there was Colleen, sitting with her family—her mother, Connor and her little sister.
He looked away.
They set the casket down, and the minister began. Mercedes did a reading, from the Bible, and Stephanie read a sad poem by Robert Frost.
Then it came time for the eulogy. Bryce stood up, took his notes from his pocket with shaking hands and went onto the altar.
He cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. “My dad...my dad...my dad was...”
And then Bryce was crying so hard he bent over. He tried to get control of himself, failed, and just clung to the podium, sobbing.
Any anger Lucas had toward him—over Colleen, over Bryce’s easy, shallow life, over the love that was so endlessly showered on him and that seemed so taken for granted—evaporated.
Bryce was just a big kid. A big, sweet, dopey kid who wasn’t sure how to be an adult.
Lucas got up and went to his cousin. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, putting his arm around Bryce’s shoulders and pulling him away a few steps. “Hey. You can do this.”
“No, I can’t,” Bryce sobbed.
Lucas pulled him into a full hug. “Sure, you can. You need to. For your dad, and for yourself.”
Bryce wiped his eyes on the heels of his hands. “Will you do it for me?” he asked. “Read what I wrote?”
“No. This is yours. You can do it.”
Bryce looked at him with his blue eyes, so like Joe’s, swallowed and nodded.
