Page 7 of Loss and Damages
The night wears on and it seems as if every person in St. Charlotte has come to say goodbye. I’ve never wanted a drink more.
Tomorrow, there will be a long, drawn out funeral, and I’m a pallbearer along with a few of my cousins, a task I’m not looking forward to. The day will end with a party at Jimmy’s restaurant, closed to the public, and we’ll get drunk and share stories and celebrate his life. I’m hoping that spending the day with my family will give me the closure I need to forget that Leo and I could have had a better relationship, but I don’t think anything will be able to do that.
It’s a guilt that will eat at me for the rest of my life.
I’m counting down the minutes until I can leave and escape this living hell when a woman tentatively steps into the room. She’s holding a dripping black umbrella and water runs down her black trench coat. She looks around, her eyes darting to every corner, expecting...I don’t know. Someone to stop her, maybe, but no one pays her any attention. People have been in and out all evening to pay their respects, express their condolences to my mother, and shake my father’s hand, and a new face simply adds to the crowd.
She’s gorgeous, in a wholesome, farm-girl sort of way. Her hair shines, and her skin is clear. She had a light hand with her makeup, and from my place in the corner I get a glimpse of dark eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and red lips. I can’t tell what color hereyes are, but I won’t approach her to find out. I don’t want to scare her before she’s done what she’s come to do.
She must have seen the notice in the paper. The wake tonight is open to the public and will be more personal than the huge fiasco his funeral will be. To say a proper goodbye, she was smart to come now.
Gracefully, she weaves around people standing in small groups speaking in hushed tones about the sensitive soul who killed himself to avoid a deer in the road.
I’ve tolerated the furtive glances at my dry eyes. I haven’t broken down and don’t know if I will. How much time will pass before I realize Leo is never coming back?
She stands in front of his casket, her head bowed. Her hair falls in a curtain around her face and I can’t see if she’s crying, but her shoulders are steady. She lets the umbrella fall to her feet and grips Leo’s hand, and for one brief second I want to leap off my chair and tell her to stop touching him. Why does she think she has a right to touch him?
The woman leans over and presses a kiss to Leo’s forehead...or maybe his lips. When she straightens, she tucks her hair behind her ear and I have a clear view of the side of her face. Tears streak her cheek, and she wipes them away with the tips of her fingers before elegantly bending her knees and lowering to the floor to retrieve her umbrella.
I swallow. This is Leo’s girlfriend, the woman he spent his last night on earth with.
The most inappropriate thought rushes into my head.He had exquisite taste.
Father Dan strides to her side and she steps back, unaccustomed, perhaps, to talking to a priest. He holds out a hand and slowly, maybe reluctantly, she reaches out to shake it. They trade a few mouthfuls of words before she tries to sidle away, but Father Dan won’t have any of it and presses a card intoher hand, perhaps inviting her to the funeral tomorrow. She lifts a shoulder.
I’m going to miss talking to her if I don’t move, but just as I stand from my chair, my father says, “Dom, will you see your mother home? I have business.”
I know what his business is, and I fight between being envious he has somewhere to go and disgust he can’t spend the night of their son’s wake with his wife.
“Yes, I just need—” I nudge him aside.
He steps out of the way, but the mystery girl is no longer talking to Father Dan.
She’s gone.
Chapter Four
Jemma
Once the priest lets me go, I hurry out of the funeral home as quickly as I can. I don’t stop to use my umbrella, instead running in the rain to my car. My chest heaves, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch my breath. I blame it on the storm and the rain pelting my face, but it’s not that, oh God, it’s not that.
Leo, my poor Leo, so lifeless in that coffin, his skin so cold when I kissed his cheek, the way he’s done for me in goodbye hundreds of times. I lean my forehead against the steering wheel and finally keen so loudly it hurts my own ears.
Never will he drop off another painting at the gallery or spend a lazy afternoon painting while I fire my china to set the paint. Never will we drink wine and talk all night or walk along the path near the lake watching the ducks on our way into town where we’ll buy ice cream to eat on the way back.
My time with Leo was simple, uncomplicated, and now he’s gone.
The rain streaks my windows. No one can see inside and I cry uninhibited until my throat’s raw. Cars all around me turn on their lights and drive slowly out of the parking lot. I arrived lateon purpose, hoping I wouldn’t have to see many people, but Leo never talked about how big his family is and I was unprepared. Everyone in that room was a Milano. They all had the same coloring, the black eyes and pitch black hair. The tears and the scowls. Only Father Dan’s blond hair and bright blue eyes stood out. I’ve never met a priest before. My brother and I were raised without religion, and while Father Dan was nice enough, I wasn’t comfortable, trying to hold in my grief while his kind expression encouraged me to pour it out.
For the past couple of days between his accident and the wake, I didn’t believe Leo was truly dead, and seeing his body was a shock.
My poor Leo. For a deer. My weeping gives way to a hiccup of amused disbelief. It would be so like him.
I try my best to get myself under control, and while the sobs aren’t quaking in my chest, tears still run down my cheeks. I can drive, at least, and I’m just one of the few cars left in the parking lot.
As I back out, I turn to look behind me, and Dominic Milano is standing at the edge of the parking lot holding an umbrella for an older woman. He looks exactly like her, and I assume she’s his mother, or possibly an aunt. He stares at my car through the rain, and I hope the water running down the windows obstructs his view. It’s like I told Gloria. He scares me, and I was never so glad than when I was able to say goodbye to Leo without having to meet him.
I’m not in the city often, and between the Friday night traffic and the rain, I’m a nervous wreck by the time I reach my brother’s building and park in a guest parking spot. I could have driven home, but I’m afraid I’ll break down again any second. I can’t get the picture of Leo lying in that coffin with a rosary wrapped around his hand out of my mind, and it’s safer to stay at my brother’s and sleep in his spare room.
