Page 162 of Never Die for a Sinner
They always leave out the nasty bits. Like how she had to raise me because her daughter failed. How she took in all the local strays because, in her words, no one else would. The way she wasn’t like other grandmas who bake cookies and watch Jeopardy every day.
She was completely and authentically herself.
Now she’s nothing.
As I’m standing there, Levi’s arm wraps around my waist, but he doesn’t say a word. I’m grateful for him, though I know his being here goes against everything we agreed upon. He hasn’t mentioned it and neither have I, but there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach I’d prefer not to dwell on.
It’s not until halfway through the service that someone’s hand slides into mine, and I look over to see Mila standing beside me. She gives me a soft smile and a gentle squeeze, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so lonely.
Beyond her, the rest of the Cross family has arrived, all silent as they listen to the pastor’s service. I didn’t even see them arrive.
Shamefully, I want to cry because I feel accepted. Not because my grandmother’s dead.
I want to cry because even Paulina showed up, dressed in her mourning clothes as she would for someone she’s known her entire life.
Christian, Bella, Mila, Paulina. . . the whole family came in support, and it sends a chill through me knowing that at least for these few moments, I’m not alone.
I lean on Mila’s support through the service, knowing that if I chose to lean on Levi, it would only cloud this thing between us even more, and I don’t need any help in that department.
He remains beside me through the entire speech. Through the harrowing moment when we toss dirt on the casket, then finally,when we make our way across the lawn to the church where the after-party of death is being held.
I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like celebrating the death of someone who deserved to live for eternity. I’m not hungry. I don’t know most of these people, and all I want to do is go home, but I know Gran deserves more than that, so I go anyway.
I feel someone’s eyes on me as I make my way through the tombstones, and suddenly, Levi’s pulling me to a stop in front of a pair of shiny shoes. My gaze travels over him to the older man standing in front of me, who’s looking at me with a slightly disturbed look in his gaze. Like he wasn’t expecting to see me here, even though there’s nowhere else I’d be right now.
“Ava,” he greets, holding out his hand. “Nolan. I was a friend of your grandmother’s. I wanted to offer my condolences.”
I pause, letting him shake my hand, though I feel like I’m under a stormy cloud that’s threatening to drown me at any moment.
All I can do is stare blankly at him.
“Ava’s had a long day,” Levi grits, his voice rougher than usual, as if he’s conveying some secret message to the stranger. “I’m sure she appreciates your presence.”
I don’t understand the meaning behind that statement, but I don’t care either. Right now, all I care about is getting this done and over with so I can go home and climb into bed.
The two men stare each other down, but I’m in no mood to play peacekeeper, so I release Levi’s hand and walk away without a word.
Sometimes, you just don’t feel like speaking to anyone.
It’s not until I’m in the bathroom, taking a few moments to breathe and clear my head, that the door opens and I finally come face to face with my mother for the first time in six years.
“Ava,” she greets, as cold and unfeeling as ever on the day we buried her mother.
“Mother.”
“It’s good to see you.” I can tell by the tone of her voice that it’s not.
Rebecca Ryan was never meant to be a mother. She hates children with a fiery passion, and she hatedmeeven more because I was a reminder that my father didn’t stick around.
“I was surprised you came,” I say without thinking. Is it rude? Yes. Do I care? Not anymore.
“She’s my mother.”
“She was sick for two years. Was she not your mother, then?”
“You don’t understand the bond between a mother and daughter.”
“You’re right,” I retort. “I don’t.”
