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We shouldn’t have come.
I told Erin we should just go to the reading of the will, but she insisted on being here for this too.
But Mr. Baker, Ronnie’s lawyer, told us we had to be here after the service, that we were all to meet down the block at his office to discuss the provisions of the will in person.
But that didn’t mean we had to come to the funeral; this is all Erin. Probably a way to hurt his family even more than she already has.
I only came because, despite the truth of the situation, I know in my bones Ronald Aldridge loved us, and we should pay our respects.
What that means for our future is the question.
Last night, Erin sat me down and told me Ronnie had another family. That he was estranged from them.
Ronald Aldridge was not the man I knew. He was a criminal, apparently. For these past few years?the ones I spent worrying about him?he was in jail for murdering someone.
Erin claimed he was innocent, but after all the lies, how could I believe her?
She squeezed my hand, acting like a sister for the first time in years. “He didn’t want you to know.”
So, she’d accused me of sleeping with someone I considered a father instead of telling me the truth? But it got worse.
Her hand retracted. She swiped at her hair, then stared down at her nails. “He said if I told you the truth, he’d stop paying our bills.”
Something must have happened between them when he was in jail because he stopped paying hers. Cue the freak-out and daily calls to me these last few months.
At the time, I tried to piece the puzzle together. Now I finally know the truth.
I will never see him again.
Ronald died in prison.
Someone got ahold of a knife and killed him.
The police have no suspects, but from what Erin told me, Ronald didn’t lack enemies.
My stomach turns every time I think of how he died. Yet, despite everything I found out, I still love him.
Which is why I’m here, paying my respects even though no one wants me here.
The service goes on, and I’m surprised no one in his family speaks. It’s short and lacking emotion. It feels sterile, and I want to get up myself and speak of the man who was the only person to put me first.
I don’t, though.
It’s not my place.
By the time they conclude, my sister is standing and walking out the door before anyone can see her. I’m quick to follow, adjusting my glasses.
“Go to Mr. Baker’s office.” She points at the building a block away from where we are now standing. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“Okay.”
Mr. Baker instructed us to meet him in one of the meeting rooms in the building. Apparently, things wouldn’t take long.
I’m surprised we are doing this now. Surprised we aren’t going to a cemetery first. But I guess the shock of the location isn’t enough.
The speed of the cremation and service and now, the reading of the will have my mind swirling.
Is there no burial because his family found out about us and are still angry? Did they care about him? They went to the service, but no one spoke . . .
