Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What the hell?” Madelena mutters.
Why the fuck would anyone attend a memorial service for someone they don’t know, have never met, have zero connection with, and couldn’t give a flying fuck about?
“Ignore them,” I tell her as Camilla, satisfied with herself, turns to face the altar where the priest is just beginning the service.
Marnix De Léon checks his watch and glances back at the door. I assume he’s looking for his daughter. When he sees us, he gives me an angry glare and whispers something in Odin’s ear. Odin gets up and walks along the center aisle toward us. I watch, noticing how he still limps. Although it’s better than it was when I first met him, it will never really go away.
“Maddy, Dad wants you to sit with us.” He glances at me, the invitation very clearly for one.
People turn to look, and I see the whispers that begin as soon as they spot her. I want to tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.
Madelena shakes her head. “I can’t.”
I study her in profile, and I don’t think I realized how hard this day is for her. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but after sixteen years, her pain is more intense than I’d imagined.
Odin takes her hand. “I need you,” he tells her. He does. I see it in his eyes.
“Go. For your brother,” I tell her. “I’ll be here when it’s over.”
Odin glances at me. I guess he’s not expecting that, but when his sister acquiesces, he exhales and takes her hand to guide her through the center aisle to her seat. As they walk up, the priest momentarily stops the mass. I don’t know if it’s in annoyance at the disruption or simply to watch as if he, just like his flock of sheep, enjoys the spectacle of the suffering of another human being.
Asshole.
As soon as he resumes the service, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out to silence it, but when I see what it is, I do my second double take of the day.
I watch Madelena settle into her seat. I see the glance she sends back as if to make sure I’m still here, like I said I would be. Once she looks forward, I walk deeper into the unlit corner and look at the screen again.
Because the text I sent to Thiago Avery’s phone days ago has just been delivered.
It’s been read.
And the three undulating dots signaling a message is being composed have me holding my breath.
13
MADELENA
I try to block everyone out as I sit between my father and brother and listen to the priest saying mass. He’s the same priest who buried Mom sixteen years ago.
Sixteen years.
I don’t remember the funeral itself, but there’s a feeling to this day. A darkness. Today is a day to get through, because today my life is on display. After sixteen years, they don’t expect tears anymore. Not that I ever gave them tears, not even when I was little. I think I was too numb for tears.
People would whisper that I didn’t understand what had happened, and I’d just remained silent holding my brother’s and my uncle’s hands. Not my father’s. He offered no comfort. Ever. But when the adults around me would talk about how pitiful I was, how sorry they were for me, how evil of my mother, I just stood like a little porcelain doll. Emotionless. Glass-eyed.
Once those public displays were over, I pretended not to have heard any of it. I locked all their words away, all their eager glances too. I learned early on how much people like to watch the pain of others. Like watching it happen to someone else somehow lessened the chances of it happening to them.
The mass is long, over an hour. I look at the photograph of Mom on the altar. She was so pretty. So young.
Odin squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.
When mass is over and the priest leaves the church, we stand and follow. The people who have come to the service wait for us to go before leaving their pews our of respect.
I can see the Averys from the corner of my eye and think of Thiago.
How he saved my life.
How he lost his in the process.
I glance over at them. I can’t help myself. Mrs. Avery’s face is stony. Liam’s is bored. But Camilla has her eyes locked on me. The way she’s grinning, I wonder if she feels anything at all—if she is worried about her brother, or if she even wonders about his whereabouts.
“You’ll ride with us to the cemetery,” Dad says without bothering to look at me. “Your husband can meet us at the house since you insisted on bringing him.”
I search for Santos as we near the back of the church. I wonder if he’s already outside. The incense is suffocating in here.