“Mom, you’re scaring me. Please, call Eric, he’ll arrange security once you land.”
“Eric is already informed I’m traveling. He and Matt were the first ones I reached out to,” I tell her, making a left toward Amsterdam. Only twenty minutes to go and I will reach the airport.
“What about Carice? Did you call her?” Petra keeps asking, her tone laced with concern. “She was so worried about you.”
“Yes, I did,” I say as I keep my eyes on the road. I just hope there are no cops around given the fact I’m driving and being on the phone at the same time. The last thing I need is for the police to ask me to stop. “Well, I have to go. I love you so much. See you soon.” And I hang up, tears stinging my eyes. It hurts having to end a phone call with my daughter so abruptly but I can’t risk being pulled over. If everything goes according to plan, tomorrow I will finally be with her.
Chapter 8
Bedford Hills, February 14, 2021
Petra Van Gatt
It’s raining again. Crap. I hope the guests brought umbrellas. Standing by the window of Alex’s office in Bedford Hills, I remain motionless observing the rain as it pours heavily on the gardens, drenching the pathway that will lead us to the burial. I hope Father Thomas won’t mind such bad weather. The sound of thunder shattering not too far away makes the day even more sinister and gloomy. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have expected anything less for a funeral—especially for her funeral. Jeez, I still can’t believe Mom is no longer here. Death is such a strange thing. On one hand, I hated her for everything she did to Alex and me. Yet, on the other, knowing that she’s dead doesn’t bring me any sort of happiness or relief. Especially with the circumstances––God! Maybe she was right for hating Alex so much. Death, in her case, was… well, unnecessary.
Yes, her death was unnecessary.
Killing her was unnecessary.
To me, killing someone is an irreparable mistake. Once done, it’s done. Forever.
I give a long sigh, knowing Mom will never meet her grandchildren. And they’ll never meet her—the fierce and stubborn woman who kept her head high no matter the adversity, no matter how much hatred she had toward her. Now that she is dead, we’ll never reach an understanding—an understanding I’m sure time could’ve brought us. Yes, time could’ve brought us much-needed healing and peace. But she’s no longer here so why am I even thinking about it?
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three knocks on the wooden door are not enough to make me blink. There comes three more. But I don’t answer.
“Petra, it’s Emma.”
Petra—when was the last time Emma called me by my first name? I can’t even remember. She always called me baby girl, baby, babe, or girl, but Petra? It feels like an eternity since I’ve heard her saying my actual name.
“Are you alright?” Her voice now sounds louder, so I turn around to find her standing in the doorway. As I look at her, Emma closes the door behind her and walks toward me, with a face unusually grave and serious. Approaching with caution, she stops in front of the desk and asks again, “Are you okay?”
I follow her with my gaze, but I don’t find the will to talk, so I just nod in return and make an effort to compose a smile—a small one that goes just as fast as it came.
“Guests are here,” she informs, her tone unusually low. “Father Thomas too.”
“Oh,” I utter, giving a quick glance at my watch. No wonder they are—it’s already ten o’clock. “It’s still raining though. I don’t know how we’ll manage to do the ceremony in the gardens.”
Emma creases her brows in confusion. “We are doing the ceremony on the terrace,” she says, before cocking her head to the side. “I told you yesterday I’ll transform it into an indoor place.”
“Ah yes, you did.” The corners of my mouth softly lift at my lie. The truth is I don’t remember much since the day Alex was arrested. I barely remember the meetings and calls with Carice and Emma about the funeral. What I do remember is the prenatal checkup and how I haven’t seen my husband for days. I wonder if he received my envelope with the photograph. At least Ryan told me that he gave it to his butler and he said he’d place it on his nightstand, so he should have seen it. I just hope it helped him somehow to not forget to be here today as I bury the woman he or his family killed. Fuck… I should forget this asshole once and for all and move on, but we need to clarify a few things first.
“Petra?”
Hearing Emma’s voice again pulls me back from my thoughts and I blink twice, looking back at her.
“Carice would like to have a word with you,” she informs me. “Do you want me to let her in?”
“Sure.” As Emma goes to open the door, I smooth out my black dress and straighten my posture.
I smile, seeing Carice stepping in and, without thinking twice, I give her a hug. She accepts it and her arms go up to embrace me.
“Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper, looking me in the eye.
I nod, concealing my emotions the best I can. The truth is I’m not sad because Mom’s gone, I’m sad because of everything that happened as a consequence of her death.
“The dutch reporters are asking if you can give them an interview after the funeral.”
“What?” My lips part at her request. “That’s not what we agreed on.”
“I know, but you are her daughter. If they could get a few words from you they’d be so grateful.” Since I remain quiet, considering her request, Carice proceeds, “They came all the way from the Netherlands to be here. Give them just a few words.” What a big contrast compared to Alex who always advised me not to give a single word to journalists.
“I don’t know, it’s such a private matter, Carice.”
“Just answer a few questions,” she insists, seeing me visibly undecided. “Kenneth from RTN is here. He used to interview your mother before. He knows her well. Just give him a quick interview and the other channels will share it.”
I heave a sigh, thinking something through. “I want to know the questions beforehand,” I tell her assertively. “And I won’t answer any question that I don’t agree with upfront.”
“Okay, I will let him know.”
Emma opens the door, inviting Carice to leave. “Oh, Mr. Van Gatt,” she says upon seeing my dad standing outside in the corridor.
I turn just as fast to welcome him. “Hey,” I greet as Dad walks in, sporting a black suit with a long, black overcoat. Dad has always dressed quite formally, and today, not surprisingly, he isn’t making any exception. I look at Emma, giving her a nod of acknowledgement and she goes outside with Carice, closing the door behind them. Alone with my dad, I plunge myself into his arms, and shutting my eyes tight, I keep quiet, reveling in the moment. It feels good to have him here. After everything he went through because of Mom, I’m glad he came to give me some support. “Thanks for being here,” I whisper.
“Always,” he answers, matching my low tone. “I wouldn’t let you do it alone.”
This office has witnessed so many hard moments but I never thought one day it would witness my dad and I getting ready for the burial of my mom.