Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
God, it’s still all such a confused mush in my head.
And now, here I am, back in the city where it all happened.
For Grandpa’s funeral.
I think it’s the only thing that could have brought me back here.
It’s raining as I step out of the cab and hurry into the church—the same church where Mom married Paul. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I enter the foyer.
Memories flash thick and heavy, one on top of another. Dominick offering his arm to me before the ceremony, shooting me that gorgeous smile of his. The sunlight through the stained window highlighting his golden hair.
My throat gets thick with threatening tears as I wrap my arms across my chest and then step into the central chapel.
Where the aisle stares me down.
But no, God, I can’t, I just can’t walk down it again. Not remembering how Paul stood at the end last time and my stupid, naïve fantasies of—
Instead, I stride down the back of the last pew and then hurry down the small walkway along the side wall. I think I would have turned and fled rather than walk that aisle again.
The church is packed, of course, and I have to dodge people, make my excuses, and arrange my face to one appropriate to that of a grieving granddaughter. All of it makes me want to scream.
God, why am I even here?
Because you’re the good girl, Sarah.
Daddy’s good little girl.
I squeeze my eyes shut against his voice that still intrudes in my head from time to time.
How long am I going to let him fuck up my life?
At least he won’t be here today. I made sure to inform the estate attorney that if Paul attended, he’d be in violation of the restraining order I have out on him. I have no qualm on calling the cops on him in the middle of my grandfather’s funeral service. Grandpa’s dead, so what do I care about sullying the family name now?
Some legacy we’ve managed to build for ourselves. I’d be happy letting all of Boston society know what a monster stepdaddy dearest is.
I finally get to the front of the church and take my place beside Mom. Well, sort of beside her. I leave enough space for two people between us. She barely looks my way. She’s dressed all in black, with a huge ostentatious hat and black veil covering her face. No doubt to cover the ravages of whatever binge she’s been on lately.
She and Paul are still married.
Doesn’t that just take the cake? But that’s fine. They deserve each other.
I haven’t spoken a word to her since that day.
It was the lawyer who called to tell me about Grandpa. And even then, the sadness I’ve felt has been more of a dull ache than what I imagine normal grief is like when losing a loved one. I always felt like just a business obligation to him. Maybe it would have been different if I was a boy, but as it was, I was just the offspring of his disgrace of a daughter and a lowlife. Tolerated, but never actively loved.
And that’s fine.
It’s all fine.
Being alone in the world isn’t so bad.
It’s better than being duped into living a lie.
After the funeral, the whole crowd travels to the cemetery where we all watch on, umbrellas raised against the rain, as the pastor says a few more words and then they take Grandpa away to be buried.
I do my duty. I stand by Mom in the receiving line and accept the wealthy and privileged as they come by and relay their consolations. I bite back my disgust as my mother fawns over each and every one. Well, at least until she’s asked for what seems to be the millionth time, “Where’s your handsome husband at?”
“Oh, Paul is at a conference he couldn’t get away from this weekend. He works so hard. Daddy was so proud of him.” Then she clutched a hand to her chest. “But Paul did so wish he could be here today. He and I just miss Daddy so much.” Cue the fake tears as she lifts a handkerchief underneath her veil.
That was my breaking point.
I pulled away from her and the woman taking her arm, pretending to comfort her with just as much of a bullshit, sugary tone as Mom.
The rain had stopped momentarily, but I pop my umbrella open as it starts again while I walk away from the group. My feet are sodden in the wet grass. I wore closed toe shoes, but they were still no match for the weather.
It’s the beginning of June, so it’s a warm rain. I kick off my shoes and step onto the wet grass, running my toes through the slick green blades. The further away from Grandpa’s gathering I go, the quieter it gets.