Chapter 37

*Liv*

It’s been four days since Nick’s death. Six months ago, I moved out of my father’s house, saved by James. A few months later I was married. The next thing I know, I had a brother who died before I was born. Since that clearly wasn’t enough of a disaster, life had to throw in one more grenade. My mother isn’t my mother. I have no idea who gave birth to me. I’m also certain, I never will. Nick took that secret to the grave. As these thoughts ran on a loop in my mind, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Inspecting each one of my features, I tried to find some identity in the person staring back at me, but the longer I looked, the more foreign the reflection became. This is why I came home. I’ve lost who I am and need to find out. On my own. I truly love James, but I can’t live here anymore. This town, the memories. I need distance from everything so I can grieve, find myself and what I want out of life. Away from the Johnson legacy. That is a problem for tomorrow, though. Today I finally bury Nick.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I found a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers on my nightstand. A contented sigh escaped my lips, an unsettling juxtaposition from the day. James Wilson is the most considerate man on this earth. Sadness quickly washed over me, knowing I’d be breaking his heart tomorrow. I took a deep breath, and began dressing for the service. A simple black dress, black ballet flats. Add in minimal makeup and a low pony tail and its time to disappoint Nick Johnson one more time.

James and I head to the funeral home, and he maneuvers the car to the back of the building so we can enter with privacy. Nick wasn’t famous, but a wealthy business man being murdered definitely attracts local press. The detective working his case requested we try to pay close attention to each person that attends the service. He is hoping the killer will show up at the funeral. A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Why isn’t the good detective working Nick’s case? It’s a relatively small department, its not like that have a dedicated team just for homicide.”

James seems to stiffen, just for a moment at the mention of Carl Shepherd. “Not sure. Maybe he has a full case load?”He opens the back door of the funeral home, letting me go in first. The funeral director was there to greet us.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, please come in.” Marshall Whitaker is the epitome of a sweet grandpa. Roughly sixty five, with a soft voice, and graying hair, his entire presence is comforting. “If you’d like a few minutes alone, we have a privacy room here behind the main chapel. There are already a number of guests.”

“Thank you Mr. Whitaker. We are ready to get this over with.” James took my hand, squeezing it tight, and led us into the main entryway. The foyer was large enough to accommodate fifty or so people as they meandered into the chapel area of the funeral home. I took a sharp breath as I processed the sight before me. Hundreds of people were milling about and news reporters were camped just outside the front door. The mirrored glass allowed us to see them, but blocked anyone trying to sneak a peak inside.

We spent the next thirty minutes greeting guests who came to pay respects, visiting with business associates of Nick’s and trying to process all of the faces in the building. Several police officers were stationed at the front entrance, likely put there by the detective working Nick’s murder. Detective Morales was wandering around through the crowd as well, taking note of people’s mannerisms, hoping to see someone acting suspicious. James, one armed wrapped protectively around my waist, keeping the other free to greet people, stiffened next to me. Glancing around the room, I saw Carl slip inside. Is that what James was reacting to? For the first time, I took all of Carl in and noticed he and James are very similar in their appearance. Both tall, with shaggy brown hair and deep blue eyes. It’s the eyes that are most unsettling. One look and it feels as though they can read your soul. A slight tremor ran up my spine as my eyes met Carl’s, him holding my stare. Mrs. Johnson walked up to me with a cold bottle of water, breaking our stare.

“Here, sweetheart. I’m sure you’re parched.” After placing the water in my hand, she leaned in and gave me a soft kiss to my temple. The motherly action was a tipping point, and the tears threatened to run over.

“Thank you.” I choked out, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.

“Do you need a break before the service starts?” James looked down at me with concern etched through his face. Afraid to speak, I nodded quickly, and he excused us from the crowd. Leading me to the privacy room, I tried steading my breath with deep inhales and slow exhales. The closer our steps brought us to the privacy room, the more the tears threatened to take over, my strength faltering.

As soon as the door was closed behind us, the remaining scraps of my emotional control shredded apart and took me with it. I let out a sob, sinking to the floor, letting the grief overtake everything. Strong arms wrapped around me, James’s scent filling my nose. Losing all will to fight, I sunk into his embrace and let the tears fall.

*James *

Mr. Whitaker came in a while ago explaining we needed to get the service started, my mom tight on his heels. Seeing my wife on the floor, sobbing, they quickly retreated, and I trust my mom to handle everything outside. Right now, my only focus is Liv. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the grief consuming her, and no one was going to rush her right now. She’s lost the only father she’s ever known, and his wife, the only mom she knew, couldn’t be bothered to show up when Liv needed a mom more than anything. I know my mom things of Liv as one of her own, but it’s not the same as having your own mom.

After Liv seemingly cried herself out, she took a shaky breath, looking up at me with her wide blue eyes, now red rimmed. “I didn’t bring a make up bag. I didn’t think I’d cry.” A soft smile spread across my face.

“You look beautiful, no matter what.” Placing a soft kiss on her lips, I pulled my phone out, texting Beth to meet us back here. There was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later, and Beth slipped in, bag in hand.

“Never fear, the make-up lady is here.” Her words coming out like a song, pulling a giggle from my wife.

“That’s the most beautiful sound in the world.” I said as I gave her another quick kiss before standing and helping her up as well. “I’ll go calm the natives, take as much time as you need.” I turned and walked out the door, stopping to place a quick kiss on my baby sister’s cheek as well.

Entering the chapel, I made my way to the front, greeting people as I walked up the aisle. As I made my way to the front row, I spotted someone who made my blood run cold. Liv did not need this shit today. I sat in the front row, to the left of the aisle, directly across from Nancy Johnson. Nick’s estranged wife and Liv’s apparent step-mother. Poised as the grieving widow, she sat regally in the front of the chapel, features like a statue, frozen in place. My jaw clenched and a large hand rested on my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. Travis, Chris and Noah were all in the row behind me, and its a good thing because I was ready to drag that woman out of the building by her hair.

A few minutes later, Liv and Beth slowly walked up the aisle, Mr. Whitaker right behind them. They were nearly at the front when Liv spotted Nancy. Her wide eyes grew larger for just a moment before she schooled her features into a somber expression. Liv sat next to me, with Beth on her other side. The rest of the Wilson clan was in the two rows behind us, a silent presence reminding Liv she wasn’t really alone. Mr. Whitaker, standing at the podium, began the service.

“Good afternoon. Thank you all for being here on this somber occasion.” He stopped to clear his throat. “Nick Johnson was born on-“ Before he could continue, Nancy stood up.

“Excuse me, Marshall. I’d like to say a few words.” Contempt dripped from her mouth as she spoke, her face still frozen. She walked up the three steps to the platform holding the podium. Mr. Whitaker, shocked by the unexpected turn of events, side stepped from the podium, his eyes radiating concern as he gapes at Nancy.

Settled in at the podium, she began to speak. “As you know, we are here because my husband was murdered four days ago. While a few of you may be sad, I’m sure the majority are here to make sure he’s really dead. I don’t blame you. I’m here for that, too.” She paused, turning her attention to Liv. “I’m sure that’s why his son is here also.”

What the fuck.