Page 111 of Savior

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

LUCA

The setting sun through the fur of the pines is beautiful. If I could choose where I would eternally rest, this would be at the top of the list. The Ricci men chose a spot away from the house but with a clear view of the setting sun this time of year—not that Rich could see it. We like to believe loved ones linger around and are grateful for how their bodies are handled after death. It’s natural.

I haven’t had to perform a death prayer in some time. Of course, I often do last rites in the hospitals, but this felt different. Close to home.

Sloane is beside me, my arm around her as everyone says kind words over the makeshift casket they’d built this afternoon while I held her together inside the cabin.

She picked flowers on the way here, shaking in her unsteady hands as she gripped them tightly to her chest.

She hasn’t stopped crying. Guilt does that to us.

It’s not her fault, though.

One can’t control how someone else behaves or lives. Our choices are our own; it’s the beautiful thing about life: the chance and the choice to carve our own path.

They lower his body down the best they can so the casket doesn’t hit bottom too harshly, and then they begin covering him over with dirt.

I turn Sloane for the cabin, but she steps forward, and all the men freeze.

She tosses her flowers into the grave, and they land with the lightest sound against the wood.

When she turns for the cabin, she walks past me, leaving me in the dust as she picks up her pace and runs.

I let her go.

Sometimes, we need solitude.

When I get back to the cabin, she’s sitting on the first step, sobbing.

I sit beside her, straightening my legs and crossing one ankle over the other. I’d chosen slacks, loafers, and a button-up shirt in respect for Rich.

Sloane chose a tight-fitting dress that made me dizzy.

“God, how does anyone live with guilt?” she asks.

I shrug, even though she’s not looking at me. “Your guilt is misplaced, as I’ve already explained. It hurts right now, but that’s how grief is: overwhelming.”

“Even if it was his choice, he shouldn’t have been out there with me.”

I laugh softly, brushing my hand over her bare shoulder. “It was his choice, and that’s the point, Sloane. He lived his life to the fullest. He wanted to run with you, so he did. His last moments weren’t spent hiding inside or lying in a hospital bed. They were spent living.”

“Do you think there is an afterlife? You don’t think he’s trapped here anymore, right?”

I look around at the beauty of the Pacific Northwest surrounding us. “It’s not a terrible place to be trapped,” I answer.

She turns towards me, a scowl on her face.

“What?”

“No one should be trapped somewhere that has no visitors. Who will he haunt?”

I laugh at her absurdity, and her scowl deepens.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… Oh, you’re serious.”

She turns on the step and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s the youngest I think she’s looked since she walked into the nave of St. Andrew’s Cathedral.

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