57. Derek
I watch her step out of the car looking glammed up like an old Hollywood starlet, ready for a red carpet. Red lips. Dark hair falling to her bare shoulders in soft curls. Cat’s eye makeup. Body looking incredible in that gown.
My mother would approve. I assume my mother chose it for her. I know I approve.
Her eyes scan the crowd to find me immediately. And it’s satisfying as fuck.
Only the sight of my wife could soothe me right now. I need her. And more than that, I need her to need me. I need her to want me. To let me do what I want most to do – take care of her every want and need. So I can feel like I’m not powerless, the way I’ve felt the last few days. How the fuck do I get her to need me? To want me? To forget about the way I’ve gone about trying to be everything she wants.
Despite everything, I know I’d do it all again. Again and again. Because she’s it. The one. The one who makes me feel the closest to human, I guess.
A lump of something gross forms in the middle of my throat. I swallow it down and move toward her. Her eyes scan my face and then drop as her front teeth catch her bottom lip.
She’s not looking at me the way she did the last time I saw her. But that expression of hatred is already burnt into me; haunting my thoughts whether I’m asleep or awake.
I hold my arm out and she hesitates, but takes it. I press my lips to her temple and inhale her scent, hearing a shutter clicking in the distance. Fucking vultures.
I lead her to the front row of chairs reserved for the family. Jonah and Grace are already here. They rise. Jonah hugs her. My back straightens and my eyes narrow.
Jonah doesn’t notice, which helps because it shows me he’s not trying to rile me up. Though that’s more Ash’s style, not Joe’s.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Jonah,” she says softly.
I grind my teeth at the soft tone for him, at the nothing I got.
Jonah says something under his breath, releasing her.
She wraps her arms around Grace next and Grace squeezes her tight.
“You look beautiful, Grace,” Chloe says into my sister’s hair, looking like she means to share affection instead of it being simple good manners.
More jealousy flares in my system.
“Not as beautiful as you,” my sister returns. “You understood the assignment. Mom would gush over you right now. Thanks for being here.” Grace kisses Chloe’s cheek.
“Of course,” Chloe says softly.
Irritated that I’m so fucking jealous of my siblings, I gesture to the empty seat beside Grace.
My wife sits. I sit beside her and wrap my arm around the back of her chair, giving in to the urge to run my thumb along her clavicle.
She shivers, then goes stiff at my touch, but says nothing.
Her eyes land on the casket and I watch as sadness seeps into her features.
Sadness. For my mother. Kindness to my brother and sister.
Despite everything, she’s still so good, so caring. Because it’s who she is. I chose well.
In actuality, it feels more like I was chosen. Chosen to make her happy. To give her everything she wants.
If only I had more of her goodness in me. I seem to have it only where a few people are concerned, mostly her. My eyes land on the exorbitantly priced and decorated box containing the empty shell that used to be one of the other few people that I give an actual shit about.
This ceremonial nonsense solves nothing. I don’t know how it can bring anyone closure to put their loved one’s remains in a box and stare at it.
I want this over. I want to take my wife home and resume my plan of winning her over. I want to fuck her. Plant a baby in her. The math tells me she should be fertile around now. I’ve been thinking about this fact non-stop for the past twenty-four hours. The idea of planting my baby in her might be what has kept me from spinning out of control these past few days. Imagining my hands on her belly, feeling our child move. Imagining holding her while she holds a little bundle.
I’ve given her some space after her fury the other day, but I’m done. No more space. The less space the better.
I walked away from her fury the other day, partly to simmer my anger at her reaction, at her accusation despite the fact I’ve been up front about who I am and what I’ve done.
I started to feel impatient, started to get angry at her for resisting, for shouting at me in anger. For accusing me of lying. I’d never, ever physically hurt her; I know that in my gut. But in the moment, I needed to get away to make absolute sure. Because Chloe actually made my trigger finger twitch, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it and I didn’t fuckin’ trust myself. But the moment I was away from her, I felt like I was too far away.
I have no intention of staying away. She might think of me as a murderer, a psycho she wants nothing to do with, but tonight I’m going to do my very fucking best to get what I want most right now. What I need most.
Planting my child in her could give me some measure of my own closure for losing one of the few people I care about. Creating a new one to care about. One that will tie me and Chloe together permanently. I’ll show her how good of a husband, father, and provider I’ll be.
I’ll love my own child, won’t I? I think so. A piece of me, yeah, but more importantly, a piece of both me and Chloe.
I’ll never give up on my goals, on working at convincing her. But the past few days, I’ve asked myself, what if it never happens? What if I find myself doomed to want something in my grasp but still out of reach? My trigger finger starts to twitch now at these thoughts. I frown at it and sit on my hand. It’s been happening a lot the last few days, since my mother died, especially since Chloe screamed in my face that she’d never love me.
I need to hold steady, get through this funeral, get home and make love to my wife. Make our baby. Find my center. Daily goals. Is Chloe happy? Does Chloe love me? Once I get checkmarks on all of that, the twitching will stop.
I’ll make her the family she's been wanting. She’ll have a man who will desire her endlessly. A group of people around her that she can shower with love while having it reciprocated. I’ve done the math, and it has to be the answer.
It’s not only the answer for Chloe. It’s my answer, too. My mother didn’t share the love she got from her husband with us, her kids. She kept my father’s affection like a hoarder; all for herself. The second he aimed any of it in our direction, she suddenly needed more from him.
If she acted like she might spiral, he’d turn from anything and everythingto focus solely on her.
I looked at Chloe that first night and sensed such thirst. So much need. But she didn’t seem like another emotional vampire. She gives. If only Mom had what Dad gave her but shared it with us. Rewarded him for giving it to all of us instead of hoarding it all for herself.
But… if I give my wife a baby, what if she only showers that baby with her love? What if she only focuses on the child like my father only focused on my mother?
The twitching in my finger starts again and I see Chloe staring at my hand.
Elijah and Sabrina arrive and both her and my focus moves to them.
Sabrina is dressed in black, despite Grace’s request. Sabrina is probably making a statement about being in grief, but not for her mother-in-law, I don’t think. Those two butted heads; Sabrina never hesitated to play my mother’s game right back.
Those who don’t know her might think she’s grieving, hiding under those big sunglasses, her mouth tight, but I’m sure it’s because she doesn’t want to be here. I can relate.
Eli has his hand on her lower back and she’s stiff.
Grace handled all the arrangements including choosing the casket, flowers, set up, even wardrobe for everyone. She channeled our mother for certain, becoming almost manic about precision. She won’t be happy at Sabrina’s rebellion, but unlike my mother who would make cutting remarks about it, knowing Grace, she’ll let it slide out of relief that Sabrina came.
Grace ran through today’s details with us repeatedly, driving the point that she needed to create the perfect event to honor our mother as part of her own grieving process. The rest of us were more concerned about security. Particularly me and Jonah. With everything pointing to Eli’s enemies in New York running our parents over and only succeeding in killing one of them, of course we believed we should have a more lowkey funeral to keep the rest of the family safe.
My father balked, insisting my mother’s wishes for her funeral be carried out. To mimic that of other Steele family members. My dead brother’s. My grandfather’s. My grandmother’s. Because Steele family members belong in the Steele family section of the cemetery near their home.
We were all invited to arrive early by the funeral home, to “visit” with my mother privately in order to say our goodbyes. As far as I know, each of us declined. Nobody would dare set eyes upon her for the last time with her looking less than her best. She made this request in a drunken monologue after Thad’s funeral. Nobody would be permitted to look upon her dead body with sadness, lying about her looking like she was at peace when we would know there would be no peace for us because she’d haunt us, shrilly screaming to remember how she looked when she was alive instead of frozen in death. She wanted the casket closed and for no one who knew her in life to see her body.
Ash didn’t show up for last night’s meal and pre-funeral meeting. Grace has had several phone chats with him, but none of us has seen him since the day we landed in New York, at the hospital.
Security won’t be seating any of the guests that aren’t part of the immediate family until all of us are in our seats and I can see clusters of people waiting beyond security. Attendance is by invitation only, photo identification required.
Eli and Sabrina step up to greet Jonah, Grace, then Chloe.
Eli also hugs my wife, then shakes my hand and I pull my hand back early because my finger is twitching. He eyes my hand and our eyes meet. He wraps both arms around me and claps my back once.
“Easy, brother,” he says into my ear.
I return the back slap, though I say nothing. I want him to move along. Sabrina has just hugged Chloe without exchanging words, but the two of them exchange loaded glances that I find peculiar since they haven’t met.
I’ve given my wife space the past few days, doing my best to resist the urge to check trackers, bank accounts, or external surveillance. Either they’ve spoken on the phone or simply feel a commonality at the moment. Ken hasn’t reported her having company. She shopped two days ago, and he followed her. He’d have reported it if she had met with Eli’s wife.
I give Sabrina a perfunctory hug as she moves in front of me, expression unreadable under her sunglasses. I’ve never embraced my brother’s wife before, not even on their wedding day. She’s a curvy beauty with a curtain of long, black hair. I’m not sure I’ve ever even exchanged more than hellos and goodbyes with her in the year and a half they’ve been married.
These hugs are all phony, all a show for the shutters that are undoubtedly clicking in the distance. Grace and my father are the ones most concerned that we appear to be a close-knit family leaning on one another in our time of grief, because it’s what Mom would’ve wanted.
I’ve heard that phrase too many fucking times in the past week. Too many times in my life, in fact.
Sabrina moves past me, past my brother, and sits in the next empty chair.
A moment later, a gust of cold wind blows through us and Chloe shivers and is about to put a wrap from her lap around herself, but I immediately remove my blazer and settle it over her bare shoulders. The sun was out this morning, an extra-warm late-autumn day. The few light snowfalls we’ve had so far haven’t stuck. But I suspect this sudden chill speaks of things to come. Not only due to the weather but my father’s arrival, which is happening now.
Carson appears at Grace’s side and hands out thick red blankets to Grace, Chloe, and Sabrina, reserving one for Naomi who is approaching, walking beside her husband Josh. Chloe settles the blanket across her lap but she’s shivering under my coat. I put my arm around her.
Josh pushes the wheelchair my father is in. He’s in it just temporarily and despite his casts and arm sling with his other visible injuries, he still looks ten feet tall. Nothing frail about the man. His eyes are hard as they lock on the fire lily-covered casket.
He was released from the hospital yesterday, but didn’t come down for the family meal last night. I haven’t seen him since I left the hospital, shortly after he regained consciousness.
The first thing he uttered was, “Shan?”
Elijah broke the news that she didn’t make it. Dad’s eyes coasted across the five of us that were there before they closed and pain flooded his face. Grace and Naomi climbed onto the edge of the bed he was in and wept, failing at trying to comfort him, but comforting one another.
It was one of the ugliest moments of my life, and I’ve had quite a few.
His next question was, “Where’s Asher?”
“He was here until a few hours ago,” Grace answered. “We’ll call him and ask him to come back.”
Our father said, “Don’t bother,” then the nurse and doctor came in and ushered us out of the room. He wanted to be alone after that, so we all went back to their local apartment.
At my father’s arrival, we all rise as he’s wheeled past our row of seats to the end, directly in front of a tall easel holding a large collage of photos beside the casket. Photos of them. Of us. Of Mom’s modeling campaigns. Childhood pictures of her that I don’t think I’ve ever seen. I know there aren’t many. My wife’s eyes are on that collage. Naomi and Josh double back and greet everyone one by one.
I catch the look of surprise in Chloe’s eyes as Naomi introduces her husband. Because Josh is a near spitting image of Asher. No tattoos, ten years older than my brother and not as fair, but he could pass for being Ash disguised with a darker wig and facial hair. This is not discussed, not since Thad died. Thad made cracks every chance he got, enraging Naomi who categorically denied the resemblance.
I’m vaguely aware of movement in my periphery as the crowd thickens behind the velvet ropes. Still no Ash.
Snow begins to fall in fat flakes as the man who presided over their vow renewal stands at the podium beside the casket and talks about my mother as if he knew her well.
I pay no attention to the words he says. Instead, I think about the people that need to pay for this. My father, due to his arrogance. Maybe also my brother Eli due to his negligence in letting his enemies fuck with him repeatedly. Though I guess I can relate somewhat as I know his resistance to dealing with that problem sooner involves his wife.
Eli has moved his wife back into their home to keep her safe, against her wishes. He also arranged today’s security and went over the details at the dinner Grace arranged last night. Eli said this team had the cemetery reconned yesterday and that there would be twenty-five skilled security team members guarding the event. Jonah and I both argued we shouldn’t have it out in the open, in public. That it would be better to have it in a church. Eli and Grace had met with Dad just before dinner and said he insisted we have the funeral Mom would have wanted.
“Go ahead, seat everyone,” Grace says to Carson who is leaning over her, whispering.
Grace is stuffing her phone under her thigh, looking irritated. But I almost immediately see a flash of relief on her face and follow her gaze to Ash, standing under a tree near our grandmother’s headstone. He’s unshaven, hands in his pockets, and with the same pained look on his face as when I saw him in New York.
I heard Grace fighting with him on the phone this morning, warning that if he didn’t come not only would he never be forgiven, would never forgive himself.
He’s even wearing a suit.
I see Naomi has spotted him, too. They’re staring at one another. Naomi’s chin quivers and she tries to keep it together. They were so close when they were kids. Inseparable. I wonder if this tragedy will help them get over their beef. Looking at how they regard one another right now, I think it might be possible. I know Ash misses her, but Naomi is stubborn in her grudge-holding.
It’s odd; I don’t generally ponder shit like this. Don’t generally give a fuck. Maybe my wife is rubbing off on me after all.
But whether Ash and Naomi repair their relationship or not, this family is not only fucked, it’ll be beyond fractured after this. Without our mother there won’t be much reason for us all to be in the same room. My father won’t organize family dinners and holiday celebrations. Grace will try to be the glue, will try to carry on the way she knows our mother would have wanted, but looking at Ash and Naomi now looking away from one another, I’m sure I’m not the only one with no desire to keep playing the game.
Something catches the corner of my eye. One of the security guards pointing to the sky, looking at another guard.
There’s commotion beyond the trees where Ash stands and Naomi shouts, “Asher!” as a ball of fire erupts in the branches of the big oak tree directly behind him. The spark is quickly a fireball as Ash dives out of the way, disappearing behind our great grandfather’s headstone just in time to miss a bunch of fiery branches falling to where he was standing.
Before any of us can fully digest what we’re seeing, another fireball erupts to the left of that, behind a concrete fountain.
“It was a drone!” Josh gasps.
What the fuck?
People move fast and security guards surround my family as I turtle over Chloe while the sound of another explosion pierces the air.
What the fucking clusterfuck bullshit is this?
And now it’s also blizzarding. The air is filled with smoke, snow, and sparks. And I’m on the ground amid all the chairs, on top of my wife, and I need to get her the fuck out of here. And now!
Her frightened eyes hit my face as I help her to her feet, but crowd her, herding her through the human security guard wall toward the cluster of vehicles outside the perimeter of the service area. I lift her up and hold her close, glancing over my shoulder to see Josh pushing my father’s wheelchair as five suited guards form a wall around them.
“Don’t protect me, protect my fucking daughters you goddamn dimwits!” he cusses.
Guards surround all of us, so his statement doesn’t make sense to me.
I move faster but catch the fury on my father’s face as he’s wheeled away from his wife’s casket. A fiery tree branch lands on the ground beside it and sets the easel holding the collage of photos on fire.
Grace cries out in hysterics from Jonah’s embrace and Jonah pushes her in my direction so he can go stomp the fire out before it gets to my mother’s casket.
“Stay close, Grace,” I advise. “Hold onto my shirt.”
Ash joins Jonah, but Naomi grabs Ash and tugs on his arm, pulling him out of the way as another branch falls, just missing him. Eli is putting a crying Sabrina into my father’s limo. He rushes back to my mother’s casket. I have Chloe and Grace, but Ash, Jonah, and Carson along with two male cousins and Eli grab the handles for my mother’s casket and act as pallbearers, carrying her away from her gravesite as the fire spreads. Naomi rushes and puts her hand on the same handle as Ash, helping.
She’s already dead. No way am I leaving my wife unattended during this shit in order to rescue a dead woman.
“What the fuck!” My father shouts hoarsely as he’s helped by Josh and his driver into his stretch limo. “Fucking deal with this. You hear me, boys? Elijah!”
Dad stares at Eli with murder on his face.
“We will,” Eli vows with a mirrored expression as he backs away from the Hearse.
My eyes hit my own wife, who is where she belongs. In my arms. But she’s terrified. Pale. Also crying.
“I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you,” I swear to her, pressing my lips to hers. I move us and get her into the passenger seat of my car. Grace gets into my father’s limo.
“Stay together. Convoy, Derek!” Eli shouts at me.
Carson pipes up. “Back to the Steele homestead everyone, please. And carefully.”
Chloe stares over her shoulder at the flame-engulfed cemetery as I drive away, hearing the sirens of the coming emergency responders.