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Borrowing from Mattie’s wisdom, I say, “You have to focus on the parts that were good.”
“Ha.” She yanks a handbag from the dresser. “Which parts would that be?”
“The affection and the love.”
She snorts, stuffing tissues and lipstick into her bag.
“Mattie and me.” I lower my head to catch her gaze. “We’re part of the good that came out of your marriage, aren’t we?”
Her face softens only for a moment before she dons her armor again. “Let’s just get this ordeal over with.”
Marching to the door, she leaves me to follow.
Ryan and Celeste wait downstairs. Jared and Mattie went ahead to make sure the flowers are set up in the church. Colin and his parents meet us outside. Clara, Colin’s sister, is on vacation with her friends. Just as well. The less people who witness our humiliation amidst our grief, the better. I go with Colin while Ryan drives Celeste and my mom.
Even though Mom decided to keep the service a private family affair, the lawn outside the church is packed with spectators and media. Cameras flash when we make our way inside as proudly as we can. A few opportunistic journalists shout questions at us, but Ryan had the foresight to hire a few guards who keep the press and curious people at bay. A television crew runs behind us, filming our entry until a church elder closes the doors.
Outside, Mom was strong and proud. When she finally shifts into the front pew facing the pulpit, she all but collapses. The organist is playing a Psalm on the organ. The deep notes vibrate with somber dignity through the acoustic space. The minister enters from the vestry. He gives my mom a sympathetic nod before mounting the pulpit.
The organ music fades and dies. A moment of silence stretches. Just as the minister opens his mouth to speak, the doors open again.
We turn in our seats. Dressed in black silk and lace, Laura and Daisy enter arm in arm. My mom goes rigid. The lines around her mouth turn hard. She makes to stand, but Ryan, who sits next to her, places a hand on her arm to stop her. The look he gives her says,Don’t make a scene.
That’s what everyone outside is waiting for—a juicy show to exploit in their newspapers and on their online sites.
Mattie glares at the women as they take a seat in the back of the church. Celeste stares until Ryan puts an arm around her and gently nudges her attention to the front.
The minister takes a sip of water from a glass that’s conveniently left on the pulpit. Keeping his head down, he launches into a sermon about forgiveness and redemption, but I only listen with half an ear.
While concern, guilt, and grief swamp me, it’s Laura and Daisy who steal my focus. I can’t help but home in on them, feeling their presence even though I’m not looking in their direction. I can’t help but blame them for taking this moment from my mom too. Mom deserves to grieve without the bitter reminder of Laura’s presence. This is already hard enough as it is.
The minister keeps the service short. Afterward, he wisely doesn’t greet the mourners at the door as per the custom. How can he? He can hardly shake Laura’s hand and tell her how sorry he is for her loss while my mom is looking on. He can’t ignore her either. She and Daisy lost someone dear to them as well. He can only slip away, leaving us to deal with another painful situation.
The media stay on the outskirts at the graveyard when the coffin is lowered into the earth. That doesn’t stop them from snapping photos of Laura and Daisy on one side and us on the other. It’s a nightmare. Keeping up a brave show takes its toll. I’m grateful for Colin’s arm around my shoulders that keeps me steady. Through it all, I’m scanning the surroundings for a dark, tall man, frightened that I’ll recognize his features in the sea of faces.
As the minister says a prayer, the scene of Angelo bending over the body of my dad flashes in front of me. The memory comes uninvited from nowhere, wreaking that silent havoc inside me that will neither let me breathe nor drown. Instead, I’m trapped in a horrible place of suffering.
It’s hell.
I imagine snatching the gun from his hand and pushing it against his head, but even in my fantasies I’m a coward, because when it comes to the part where I pull the trigger, I can’t do it.
All I can do is hate myself more.
By the time the ordeal is over, Angelo hasn’t showed up except in my head, and I’m a mess, empty and hollow inside.
ChapterSixteen
Angelo
When I arrive on Corsican soil, my father is dead. Disappointment and dread fill me as I walk into the hospital, but my sorrow and dejection weigh heavier.
I’m too late.
My family wait in the hallway outside the room to which a demure nurse directed me. Someone stacked chairs along the wall. It’s highly irregular to let that many visitors into the ICU, but my fatherwasdying, which meant they would’ve made an exception, and we’re not just any family.
Uncle Nico sits with his head hanging between his shoulders. Uncle Enzo has his fingers steepled together as if in prayer.
Prayers won’t help any of us. It won’t bring my father back. It won’t make the last moments of my mother and sister’s lives less terrifying, and it won’t bring peace to anyone.
