Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen
Mom fell asleep at the table.
Mid-sentence, actually. She'd been saying something about her spaghetti and whether she'd used thyme or bay leaves, trying to get me interested in the food, and then just. Stopped. Her head dropped forward and she was gone, cheek nearly in her food, still holding her fork.
I sat across from her and watched her sleep for a moment, grateful that at least now we wouldn’t have that very difficult conversation she’d been planning to have.
She looked shrunken down somehow, the lines in her face that had deepened over the last two weeks smoothed out a little when she wasn't trying to hold everything together, and for just a second I could see the version of her from before.
Before the hospital calls and the funeral arrangements and the bank letters stacked on the counter.
I got up quietly, found the throw from the couch, and draped it over her shoulders.
Then I picked up my textbook and went to my room, where I worked until three in the morning, because the alternative was lying in the dark, thinking about all the things I couldn't fix.
When I woke up, I looked around the room in panic and confusion before I got my bearings and realised I was at the Dawson compound. It was the first time in my life that I had ever slept outside my house.
I glanced around the room to turn the loud alarm off, only to find that it said Saturday.
I stared at it.
Saturday. The funeral.
I waited for the wave of grief, all the emotions that had been hitting me for the past few days would probably come crashing down in full force now, and the crushing weight of loss would come without warning and knock the air clean out of me.
But it never came.
There was only the grey morning light coming through curtains that weren't mine, in a room that wasn't mine, and the quiet of a strange house with strange people, and the date on the clock that meant today was the day.
So I got up out of bed.
The black dress was hanging on the back of the door where Mom had put it the night before, pressed and ready, caught my eye as I passed it.
I stood in front of it for a while, touching the hem, wondering if my dad would’ve liked it. Then I showered, got dressed, and went downstairs.
When I got outside the gates, I fully expected it to be just Mom and me, maybe a cab, the quiet of just the two of us going to do the hardest thing we'd ever done together.
I did not expect what I saw on the driveway.
Mrs Dawson was there in an elegantly cut black dress, her hair done flawlessly like a movie star, one hand on my mother's arm, talking to her in that low, comforting tone.
My mother was nodding at whatever she was saying, holding her bag in both hands, red-eyed and distant but upright.
Martin stood slightly to the side in a small black tux that was so perfectly fitted it had to have been bought specifically for today.
He had a train in his hands, a smaller one than usual and he was turning it over and over with his eyes on the ground while waiting next to his mother.
And then, leaning against a separate car with his arms folded and his sunglasses on and a black suit that made her feel underdressed for her own father’s funeral.
Jace.
He noticed me before anyone else did. I watched his gaze find me at the top of the porch steps and move over me once, until he looked away and set his jaw and found something more interesting to stare at in the middle distance.
Fine. I had no interest in seeing him either, not after that stunt he pulled the other day.
I came down the steps out of the house, and Mrs Dawson turned, "Lena." She came forward and took my hands in both of hers. "How are you holding up, sweetheart?"
"I'm alright," I said. "Thank you."
"You look beautiful." She squeezed my hands once. "Your mother and I were just saying, since she's been such a part of our family for so long, it only felt right that we come and support you both today." She glanced at my mother warmly. "I hope that's alright."
My mother nodded. She didn't have words right now, I could tell, she was running on reserved energy and saving everything she had for later. I understood, because I didn’t have many words either.
In fact, I realised I didn’t want to attend the funeral at all. All I wanted was to go back to sleep and not wake up if it meant I had to live in a world without my father.
“Of course” was all I could manage.
Martin looked back at me with those serious dark eyes of his and gave me a very small nod.
I nodded back.
"We wanted to bring something," Mrs Dawson said, turning to the car and producing, from the back seat, the largest bouquet of white flowers I had ever seen in my life.
It was enormous, heady and dense and absolutely beautiful. It looked like it’d cost a fortune.
She held them out with both hands, beaming, so I took them.
For approximately four seconds I held them and thought how lovely and what a kind gesture it all was, until a sneeze hit me so hard I nearly dropped them.
Then another. Then three more in quick succession, my eyes immediately stinging and watering as I held the bouquet away from my face.
"Oh goodness…" Mrs Dawson started.
"I'm so sorry, I'm not…” Another sneeze. "I'm allergic, I didn't know…"
The flowers disappeared from my hands.
I blinked through watering eyes to find Jace standing in front of me. He gently took the bouquet from my hand and held it at arm's length away from us both, with a stiff expression on his face.
He gestured for one of the house staff to come over, “She’s allergic to these, so get rid of them. Find out if there are any more of these flowers around the house and have them thrown out as well.”
“But… They’re heirlooms, they were shipped directly from…”
“Did I stutter?” Jace asked, irritation clearly written all over his face.
“No, sir. I’ll get rid of them.” The gardener immediately took the flowers and left in a hurry, not daring to look Jace in the eye.
I was grateful for his being so considerate, but I was still feeling too hurt over his words yesterday that I couldn’t bring myself to say thank you, so I glared stubbornly at the ground and refused to look at him.
If Jace minded that, then he didn’t show it. He simply picked off one flower petal from my shoulder that must’ve fallen there accidentally, then went back over to his car and waited.
Mrs Dawson was already apologising, her hand on my arm, asking if I needed anything, water, antihistamines, while my mother watched the whole exchange with a curious expression.
I did not look directly at her because I already knew what I'd find there. Even more questions.
Martin had moved to stand beside his brother, he looked up at Jace his good suit littered with white flower petals, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
"You look funny," he said.
"Get in the car, Martin."
"You really do though."
"Martin."
He got in the car, trying and failing to hold back a laugh.
We arranged ourselves between the two cars, Mom and I with Mrs Dawson, Jace and Martin following behind, and pulled out of the driveway in a small quiet convoy.
There was a guard car in front of us, and another behind, I guessed they were here to keep the powerful Dawson family safe.
I looked out the window at Jace, I could see him in the side mirrors.
I felt his gaze trained on me, making my neck prickle uncomfortably.
Yesterday, Friday, was already the longest day of my life so far, with so many different things happening at once that I got so overwhelmed that I fainted. I prayed a silent prayer that today would go smoothly.
For all our sakes.