On her far side are the twins, Molly and Erin. At just ten years of age, I wonder how much of Da they’ll even remember in the years to come.
On my right, my sixteen-year-old brother fidgets. Ryan can pretend to be strong all he wants, but I know losing my father may damage him most of all. Da was everything to Ryan. I reach over and squeeze his hand, but he won’t meet my eyes, and I’m sure it’s because he’s choked up and trying hard to be strong.
At the end of the row, my aunt Kathleen sits stoic, the rock of the family. My father’s only living sibling, though not his only family. Besides all of us, there’s grandfather. He’s next to Kathleen, looking handsome in his black suit. I’m sure it’s the only one he has. I think it may be the same one he wore to my grandmother’s funeral ten years ago. He looks strong, holding it together for all of us, but I’m sure no man wants to outlive his child.
I glance down at the prayer card in my hand. My father’s birthdate and date of passing is written in sweeping gold lettering with an image of folded hands holding a rosary. In loving memory of Cullen Mooney.
The priest finishes with the Rite of Committal, officially committing my father’s body to the earth, then approaches my mother with final words of comfort. Next, he stops before me, puts his hand on my head, and says a prayer. Then, he moves on down the line to my brother and sisters.
While people approach my mother to offer their condolences, I remain sitting next to her, murmuring to each of them that they’re invited back to the house for a small reception. Honestly, it’s the last thing I want to do now. I’d rather curl up in bed and escape it all, but I’m the oldest child and must put on a brave face, or so Aunt Kathleen has instructed me.
I stare at the ground as the crowd slowly disperses. I want them all gone so we can have a last moment with Da before they lower him into that looming empty hole.
A pair of expensive loafers suddenly appears before me. I lift my gaze and recognize the well-dressed man they’re attached to, but for the life of me, his name escapes my mind. He’s attractive in a slick sort of way with combed-back, too-perfect hair and a freshly shaven face.
I’m not sure how, but I think he has connections to the governor or a senator or something. He and his family are a big deal and well-known around here. They even have a park named after them. Ah, yes, that’s the name eluding me: Stanfield. Arthur Stephens Stanfield.
He sadly smiles and extends his hand. “Michaela. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. And thank you for coming.”
“Of course.”
I vaguely remember his family’s name written on a card attached to one of the floral arrangements. “You sent flowers. They were beautiful.”
He holds my hand too long and pats it. “If there’s anything I can do …”
I nod. It’s the expected gesture. “Thank you. Please, we’re having a reception at the house. You must come.”
“Of course, dear. I’ll see you there.” He moves on to my mother. “Maureen, dear.” I tune out what he says and twist to look at Ryan. He’s just staring into space, his leg bouncing a mile a minute, revealing his agitation. I glance past him and acknowledge Bethany, my best friend since high school, who’s sitting in the row behind us. When she leans forward and squeezes my shoulder, I reach up and pat her hand.
A brisk wind kicks up, ruffling the canopy. Most people are heading back to their cars, and I notice for the first time a motorcycle parked just outside the cemetery fencing, on the street beyond. A lone man stands next to it, looking this way. I squint, but he’s too far away to make out his facial features or anything else about him. Is he here for Da? How odd.
But then again, in this town, perhaps not. Everyone knows the motorcycle gang that runs everything around here, or at least it seems like it to me. Kings of something … Carnage, that’s it, Kings of Carnage. I wonder if he’s one of them.
The long day continues back at my parents’ home, well, my mother’s home now, I suppose. The men are out in the yard talking. We women are in the kitchen, making tea and sandwiches and washing dishes. It seems like everyone walking through the door has come with a cake or plate of food in hand that we hardly know where to put it all.
Mother broke down earlier so Aunt Kathleen put her to bed with a cold compress.
I pass a plate for Bethany to dry. She gives me a small smile and takes it with her waiting dishtowel.
“Michaela, there you are.”
We both turn to see Stanfield standing in the doorway to the dining room.
“I must be going. Walk me to the door? I’d like to say goodbye,” he says.
“Of course.” I dry my hands and follow him, pausing in the small foyer by the front door. Although the home is small and crowded, there’s no one in this space, and we have a little privacy. “Thank you so much for coming.”
He takes one of my hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry for you, Michaela. I know there will be trying times ahead. Please do not hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do to assist with the business details of closing out your father’s estate.” He reaches in his coat pocket, pulls out a business card and pen, then scribbles a number on the back. “This is my cell and that’s my office. Day or night, I’m at your disposal.”
I cock my head to the side, frowning. “I’m sorry for asking, but tell me again how you knew my father.”
He smiles. “He was looking to invest in a business venture of mine. Unfortunately, well, we never had time to finish the details.”
My father? Investing in something? I’m not sure where he’d have the money. It seemed he was always struggling to make ends meet. “A business venture? What kind?”
His chin lifts ever so perceptibly, and I get the feeling he’s not the kind of man who is accustomed to being questioned. “Real estate, a commercial development. The details aren’t important at this point. Again, if there’s anything I can do …”
“Of course. Thank you for your concern.”
“Will you be in town long? Perhaps we could have lunch.”
His invitation throws me. For one, I have no idea why he’s so concerned about my family; and two, he’s so out of our social circle that it isn’t even funny. I study his eyes and wonder if perhaps it’s me he’s interested in. He’s attractive and well off, and I suppose I should be flattered despite the twenty-some-odd-year age gap. I give him a polite smile. “I don’t plan to be home long. Just a few days or so until my mother is over the shock and things start to settle.”
He smiles, oddly happy with my answer it seems. “Of course. Well, give her my sincerest sympathies, would you?”
“I’ll do that.” I move toward the door, opening it for him.
He nods and steps through. I close it behind him and stare down at the business card. I can’t imagine I’ll ever have a reason to call him, but I slip it in my pocket just the same.
I look up to see Aunt Kathleen coming down the stairs.
“How’s Mother?”
“Resting. I gave her one of the pills the doctor had left for her yesterday. She’s exhausted from it all.”
I nod. It’s scary to see one’s parent in such a state, even as an adult.