Page 49 of Drum Me Away
It was real.
“Why are you all standing out here in the lobby? Your positions are either at the door, greeting guests, or near the body so those guests can express their condolences to the immediate family.”
The woman speaking was an older version of her daughters, with the same dark hair (Faith’s natural color, at any rate), same eyes, same nose and lips, although this woman’s nose was flaring with obvious indignation.
Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot behind her neck. Not a lock dared to curl out of place. She wore pearls like Ava, although hers had three strands with a chunky, square-cut pendant at her throat that was without question a diamond. Her black suit had absolutely no adornment, although the cut and material screamed wealth and privilege.
So this was Mom.
As if a puppeteer were on a scaffolding near the ceiling, pulling their strings, all three girls straightened their spines and threw back their shoulders, all with downcast eyes, like they were waiting for punishment to be doled out.
Damn, this woman had done a number on them if they reacted like this as grown adults. For Christ’s sake, they were all in their thirties, and yet she’d reduced them to children simply by her presence.
Stepping around Faith, I offered my hand to shake. “Lucas Lloyd. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hearsy. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her nostrils quivered. Apparently, she’d figured out a way to store all of her emotion in her nose, because it was the only part of her that reacted to anything.
“Who are you?” she asked, without taking my hand. Wow, what a snub. As proper as I’d been led to believe she was, to not shake someone’s proffered hand while in public spoke volumes.
“Lucas Lloyd,” I said again, deliberately not giving her anything more.
Her gaze raked over me. I knew the suit would pass muster, and while I hadn’t shaved, I’d trimmed my beard short enough that it didn’t look any less acceptable than the dozen other men I saw here with facial hair. Yes, I had long hair, but I’d pulled it back into a slick bun behind my head, and I’d spotted plenty of guys—mostly high school and college age, admittedly—with the shaggy, mop-like locks that were currently all the rage. My tattoos were covered, and I’d taken out my earrings and the curved barbell in my eyebrow. Given all that and the way Faith was steadily ignoring me, this woman would have no earthly idea she and I were connected or that I was the drummer in a rock band.
“I heard you the first time,” she said. “What is your connection to the deceased?”
To the deceased. She didn’t even refer to the woman as her mother.
“He’s Faith’s hottie,” Maria announced.
Faith cringed. Her shoulders came up, her head went down, she even wrinkled her nose.
Was it really so bad to be referred to as “Faith’s hottie?” I didn’t think so, but clearly this was one thing Faith and I did not see eye to eye on.
There went that nostril quiver again, while Mrs. Hearsy’s gaze once again dragged over my person. What was she looking for? Something to criticize?
Or proof that Faith’s chosen lifestyle was really as terrible as she wanted to believe?
“You should see him without a shirt,” Maria added, fanning herself for emphasis. She used her finger to draw an imaginary line across her chest. “And he has this really cool tattoo, right here.”
Uh-oh. Officially busted.
Mrs. Hearsy dropped her gaze to Faith, her lip curling into a sneer. “You brought those hoodlums after all. To your grandmother’s funeral.”
Hoodlums? Really?
“I didn’t bring them,” Faith protested, and I swear, she inched away from me. “They came of their own volition. The obituary is public record, after all.”
Jesus, was she seriously distancing herself from us? From me?
For this woman, who did not deserve any of Faith’s attempts at placating.
Now that I’d met the woman, Faith’s desire to steer clear of her family made perfect sense. Hell, I didn’t blame her, not anymore.
But I couldn’t accept her brushing me to the side. Not after everything we’d been through for the last thirteen years, but, more importantly, for what had bloomed between us during this trip. We’d finally connected, and I finally admitted—to myself—that I was in love with her. I was pretty certain she had strong feelings for me, too, and I was willing to wait for them to grow.
But I wasn’t willing to step back, to let her pretend we weren’t together.
“Faith—”
