12. The Eulogy
12 THE EULOGY
Cal
“I cannot imagine what they are feeling right now,” Joanna Reed, my Chief of Staff, said.
A line of mourners led the procession at Holy Name Cathedral. Joanna—we called her Jo—took it all in. As a former teacher and then alderman, she had seen many things. However, being in a billionaire businessman and philanthropist’s motorcade was new. Following David’s casket bewildered us.
“Did you call the widow?” My mother asked, exasperated. “You spoke to her, right?”
“I called Lady Danna, yes, of course,” I said. “She wanted an overview of my speech, so I sent it. I didn’t want to spring it on her. She’s okay, though. I get the feeling it’s been a process.”
“That and she’s never been emotional,” Mom said.
I turned and glared. My stepfather, Tom, followed suit.
“Lanie is okay,” Chloe, my younger sister, said. “She said it’s been hardest on Daphne and Dora. Dora is always sensitive. But Daphne seems to carry the world around.”
Lanie Delphine was Chloe’s best friend. Lord knows our mother tried and failed to separate them. Chloe was twenty years my junior and more like a niece than a sister, as she grew up differently—with everything—and was accepted into society like any heiress. Mom did well for herself over time. She’d built a beauty empire and bought up enough real estate to turn handsome profits, but only after people read her as the teenage single mother.
“Daphne is the oldest daughter,” Tom, my stepfather and Chloe’s father, said. “Oldest daughters always take the brunt. You’d know, Elise.”
I didn’t have to look at my mother to see her roll her eyes.
“Danna has so tortured Daphne,” Mom said. “No wonder she chose to live across an ocean.”
“Hey!” I said sharply. “Danna Delphine just lost her goddamn husband. Can we maybe give her a little respect? Yes, Mom, Lady Danna can have a challenging personality, but you don’t give her much of a chance, either.”
“It would take her coming down from her ivory tower for me to give her a chance,” Mom muttered.
“Mom, it’s Lanie’s mom and her dad. They’ve been through hell, okay? Let it fucking go. What is this about? Cuz she didn’t invite you to a fucking party twenty years ago? Cry me a fucking river and grow up!”
I looked at Jo, stifling a snicker. Chloe told it how it was. I admired my baby sister’s passion for blazing her own path. My mother didn’t accept my sister’s nomadic influencer lifestyle, but I found her belief in herself an asset.
We pulled up to the cathedral door and departed. Spring rain poured, so I booked it up the steps. Jo, more than a foot shorter, cursed as she tried to keep up.
“Your mother is… something. What did this Delphine woman do to her?” Jo asked over the organ playing as we slowly filed in.
Thousands lined the aisles—packed like sardines to pay respects to a great man.
“These people are royalty,” I said. “A girl who grew up in Stickney and never went to private school cannot hang. You know what it’s like.”
Jo shrugged. “I guess. Going to private school as the lone Black girl wasn’t easy. But you all… I don’t want to point it out… but?—”
“New money versus old money. It never changes. They are the Astors. We are the low-rent Vanderbilts. And nothing my mother does will make her an Astor. Now, you have nothing to worry about. Lady Danna is plenty welcoming and grateful we are here.”
“Why do we call her Lady Danna?”
“Because she was born Lady Danna Carlisle, daughter of a Scottish Baron. And trust me, call her Lady Danna.”
“Oh… okay,” Jo said.
“I’m not helping you relax, am I?”
“Not at all, Cal.”
“You’ll be fine.”
We made it to the front of the Cathedral. I dropped the family off in our row before going round to the Carlisle-Delphines and paying my respects personally.
“Cal, it was so nice of you to do this,” Danna said.
“Lady Danna, it was the least I could do.”
She squeezed my hand. I looked down the row of her brood. Davey gave me a kind nod. Derrick, the younger son, stared into the distance. Dora cried on Dahlia’s shoulder while Dahlia’s partner, Susanne, tried to calm them. Lanie and I hugged.
My eyes settled on Daphne, looking at her hands. I couldn’t get over how small she looked compared to our last run-in years before. I observed her inverted posture—more fearful than sad—and wished I could say anything to her. Her husband didn’t so much as wrap an arm around her. He looked ahead like you might if called into a meeting that could have been an email.
* * *
Daphne
I sat shaking through Cal’s eulogy so much that I forgot to listen. As everyone cried for the loss of my father, I wept thinking about a return to London with a man who I no longer felt anything for. This was it—all laid bare. I couldn’t deny my suspicions or concerns.
I seethed beside my husband. I longed to grieve and cry at the loss of my father rather than fear my husband’s impending retribution, but tears wouldn’t run. We followed the casket outside like good little poppets, but resentment poured over me. I pulled my hand from Chandler’s grasp, but he held so tight I nearly winced.
Lanie swooped in on the steps. “You’re coming back with us.”
The glare she gave Chandler suggested he was not invited.
“She and I will travel together,” Chandler insisted.
“No. You will go back with the boys. The girls need time to chat.”
I stared, mouth gaping while figuring this out.
“Who died and made you queen?” Chandler chuckled, playing his thread off as a joke.
Chandler turned, almost pushing Lanie out of the picture. He gave me a long kiss—one I bristled against, then shot my sister a nasty look as he left.
Lanie took my arm gently and pulled me to where my other sisters waited with Susanna.
“Are you okay?” Dahlia asked.
“I’m… I’m holding on,” I fought tears.
My pulse raced from concern about how Chandler might act or what he might—probably would—do to me later in retaliation for Lanie’s brave attempt to extricate me. I was emotional, but thankfully, it played well.
We climbed into the waiting car. I held my breath as the driver pulled away. Back on Lakeshore Drive and far from the prying eyes of the press, I lowered my guard. I sobbed, collapsing on Dahlia’s shoulder.
“He’s cheating on me. I need a divorce, but… I’m scared.”
There was a flurry of chatter.
Lanie shouted, “Fuck him with a rusty nail!”
“Really?” Dahlia asked. “After all you’ve been through for his sake?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He is seeing an intern. I saw her texts and confronted him about it this morning. It didn’t go well.”
“I’m sorry,” Dora said.
“It’s going to be impossible! I feel so fucking dumb!” I groaned.
“You aren’t dumb,” Dora said from the backseat. “He is. Because you’re a winner, and he’s not.”
“Can’t you just hire an attorney?” Susanna asked.
“In the UK. I must find a barrister willing to go up against him.”
Dahlia clarified. “Because people will fear going up against a member of the government?”
I nodded in agreement. “And honestly, I cannot even focus on that right now. I worry he will destroy everything I own—as well as the house—in the interim.”
“I will break him into a million pieces before I let that happen,” Lanie insisted.
“Same,” Dahlia added. “He’s a fucking mess, isn’t he?”
I shrugged. “He’s just an older man who does the same thing to every woman he’s with. I was stupid enough to think he loved me, and it would be different.”
“Stop calling yourself stupid! You’re like the smartest person I know!” Dora declared.
Dahlia wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed them. “We’ve got you. I can take a moment from Paris to ensure you are safe.”
“I’m going to have to quit the firm,” I sobbed. “They will set me ablaze now.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when you come to it,” Dahlia said. “You can stay with us in Paris if you need to. Promise.”
Susanna nodded. “Anytime.”