Page 2 of Dom

But he didn’t say yes.

He just shook his head.

Tears start to fill my eyes all over again, and I’m too busy blinking them away to notice the next pinch aimed at the soft spot on the back of my arm.

I jump and press my lips togetherhard,trapping in the cry that wants to escape.

I will the stinging ache to go away and stare straight ahead, looking at Dad’s photo.

We have the same hair color. His had gray in it, but he always told me mine was just like his when he was younger. The different shades of brown. The way it’s thick and straight. He even brought me a picture of himself from when he was in high school. I’m not that old yet, but he was right. Our hair is the same.

I wonder if I can keep that big photo. I know it’s printed that size just for the funeral, but the frame looks really nice, and I’d like to have it.

There’s a loud thud as someone shuts the heavy church doors behind us, and a man dressed in long robes walks up to the front of the room.

I swallow.

Mom explained to me that Dad’s heart stopped working. That it was over in an instant, and he was just alive one moment and dead the next. But I can’t decide if that’s good or bad. Is it really better to just be gone? I’m happy he wasn’t hurt. I wouldn’t want that. But wouldn’t it have been better to know? Maybe if he’d known, he could have come home one last time. Maybe he’d have let me stay with him, for just a little while.

The man in the robe gestures with his hands as he starts to talk. He must have a microphone on him since the words are loud in the room. And I’m glad, because we’re so far away but I still want to hear him.

He starts by greeting everyone and talking about being called home. I don’t really understand all of it, but then he says something that’s wrong.

“He is survived by his wife, Barbara, and their two children, King and Aspen.” His voice fills the church as he gestures to a trio of people in the front row.

That’s wrong.

Dad didn’t…

We’re his family.

I’m his child.

I look up at Mom, but her eyes are staring straight ahead, her jaw twitching as she bites her teeth together.

The room is still filling with the man’s words, but I can’t understand them.

I sit up straighter, stretching my neck, straining to see the people the man is talking about.

There’s been a mistake.

But then I see it. The back of a man’s head who is sitting in the front row. He’s taller than those around him, and his hair is the exact same shade as mine.

The exact same shade as my dad’s.

How?

I lean forward, trying to see the other person, the girl, but my mom’s hand lands on my leg. Her fingertips dig into my thigh, a silent and painful message to sit still.

Wife? Dad has a wife?

But what does that mean?

I chance another look up at Mom. This time she’s glaring down at me, daring me to make a noise.

I don’t.

I don’t say a thing.

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