2. Sid
SID
“ W here’s your girlfriend, Brenda?”
“You know that’s not her fucking name, Blaise.”
“I do. But I don’t care.”
I won’t let my baby brother get to me today. No one will stomp on me publicly, even though internally I’m already crippled.
Standing outside, the breeze is warm as the summer sun begins to set. Wearing a vintage black velvet pillbox cap with a black lace veil that stops just above my chin; traditionally called a widow's cap, I turn my attention away from Blaise and toward the gravesite before us in my parents’ backyard.
“Why are you even dressed like that?” He can’t stand not being the center of attention.
Rolling my eyes, I don't turn around or respond to his ignorant question. Along with my widow’s cap, I am dressed in a black Victorian mourning dress.
A high neckline is latched together with a gold brooch that Greta gifted me on my eighteenth birthday.
My lip quivers from the memory. My arms are covered, and the bodice is tight, a corset embroidered with intricate detailed lace overtop the flat black fabric.
Looking down at my bare feet, the only part of bare skin visible on me, they peek out from under the long gown that flows from the corset, my toes curling against the earth, grounding me.
My lace-covered hands hold on to the two leashes just a little tighter, knowing how easy it is to lose a loved one.
My precious pink with black-spotted babies, Jack and Sally Jr., oink while digging their noses into the soil next to me. Flappy ears cover their eyes, and I often wonder how they are able to see, but they do. I spend hours watching them in the yard, my pride and joy.
Their parents, Millie and who I thought was Sally but turned out to be Sal, produced many heirs, but these two were the last of the bunch before Sal died just days before Greta gave me my brooch.
Engraved into it is Sal’s face, so I can always keep him close.
I raised them both since birth, and they will always be a part of me.
It’s been nearly two years, and I still get emotional over it.
Clearing my throat, I acknowledge Blaise.
“Abi is at work. On a job. She hasn’t checked her phone…
She doesn’t know.” Pausing, I know now is not the time to st art an argument, but I poke the bear anyway.
I suppose it’s to take my mind off the overwhelming grief that’s about to smack us all in the face, or knowing my family, only my mom and me.
“Why are you so miserable all the time?”
“Would the two of you shut up?” Dad yells from across the yard, shovel in hand, accompanied by his ‘and I will use it on you’ face.
I know he would never, as he’s been giving us this look since we were kids. Mom would kick his ass if anything happened to either of us. She’s always been our life insurance policy, and Greta’s.
Catching myself smirking, I shift my face back to a somber expression.
“Elijah Sinclair!” Mom shouts, walking behind Dad. He waves her off as if there is nothing to worry about, but I know in a mere three seconds there will be.
“Why didn’t you ever make Mom an official Sinclair?”
And here we go.
Closing my eyes, I brace myself, as I hear the scuffle take off behind me.
Dad likely has charged at my brother for insulting his queen. A pastime Blaise has gotten very good at. He doesn’t discriminate, though, no, he is very good at insulting all of us.
A loud thud shakes the ground beneath me. My eyes prod open. Shifting my sight, I see Blaise is in a losing battle. Dad is on top of him, tattooed hand around my brother's throat, and I can almost guarantee that his eyes have turned from blue with brown specks to the darkest shade of black.
Dad grits out, “You will never speak of your mother or any other member of this family like that again. Your mother is fucking mine.” I can feel the venom dripping from each word as he speaks. “She is more of a Sinclair than you will ever be.”
“Elijah! Stop, you’re going to kill him.” Mom is the only one who can break the trance once my dad gets too deep into the dark depths of his soul.
My pigs snort, pacing, agitated by the outburst.
Taking my mom in, she stands tall, strong and confident, but I see past that and note the pain that is clearly displayed in her eyes. Something the guys would never notice or think their bickering would cause. Pain.
Dad is still focused on Blaise, but I see her. She feels it as our eyes connect warmly, for only a second.
Blinking rapidly, her mask appears just as she reaches the boys, who are none the wiser to the pain they have both caused her. She’s the best woman I know, but she will never tell them, always protecting them over herself.
Forever selfless.
Dad gets up first, dusting himself off, followed by Blaise, who acts unfazed, but perhaps he feels the deepest. This will destroy him later, and in return, he will destroy himself.
He will push everyone who loves him further away and convince himself he isn’t worthy by forcing others to say it to him .
Mom’s warm embrace encompasses me; the fresh scent of her floral perfume is comforting.
“Let’s get this old bitch in the ground.”
Dad isn’t trying to be funny; this is genuinely how he deals with everything. Emotional intelligence is nonexistent in this man.
“E, please. Try to show some compassion. This is hard for some of us.”
I lean into mom, thankful for her presence.
“I don’t get why I’m here. It’s just a fucking pig,” Blaise mumbles, and Dad is quick to take the opportunity to lay another one on him.
“Don’t speak of your grandmother that way in front of your mom and sister.”
Looking over, both men have their arms crossed over their chests; it’s something they do when they are pleased with themselves but don’t want to show it.
“I’ll bury you both in that fucking hole if I hear another word, you fucking Neanderthals.”
Smiling, that voice is music to my ears. It’s nails to a chalkboard to others, but never to mine.
Greta.
“Show some respect for the dead. Millie was a member of this family. Her children are here, grieving, while you two roll about on the ground. Fucking embarrassing.” She continues.
Once reaching us, the lowering sun catches her walker in just the right light. Yellow crystals shine beautifully, it’s captivating, as the glimmer dances around us .
“Millie knows you will take good care of her babies. She and Sal are reunited. No tears, my girl. Only happy memories.” I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Only Rylee, Mom, and I get to see this soft, comforting side of Greta. She has a reputation to uphold, after all.
“Do you want to say any words?” Mom asks, but I shake my head no. I’ve said what I have needed to as she passed lying next to me in her pen earlier this evening.
Taking that as their signal to proceed, Dad and Blaise begin to push the heavy black tarp where Millie rests into the grave that is next to Sal’s; the only two marked graves we have in our family compound.
Bending down, I grab the shovel Dad dropped while battling my brother, then pass the leash to my babies for Greta to hold on to. Looking down in the hole one last time, I nod and silently thank her for being mine and for giving me such joy while learning about life with my dad all these years.
Sticking the shovel into the pile of soil, I take one scoop and sprinkle it on top of her before stepping back and passing it back off to my dad.
I appreciate my family. They don’t have to be here; they don’t need to humor me like this, but they do. Even my brother, who acts like he hates all of us and everything.
And even my dad’s one friend, Thomas, messaged me sending his condolences. It’s strange that Papa and Rylee aren’t here, but perhaps business called, which I completely understand, as they are the heads of The Devil’s Society.
Papa is already counting the days down until his retirement; he says he has missed many precious important moments and doesn’t want to miss any more.
The time is approaching faster than I expected, and a tiny part of me wishes time would slow down for many reasons, but lately there’s been just one on my mind.
It’s an overwhelming situation, being prepped to become the next Diablo of The Devil’s Society.
My grandfather has built such a legacy, an empire with Rylee, D, and my dad by his side. All are shoes I fear can never be filled. Shoes I am not worthy of even attempting to fill.
I am terrified.
But now is not the time to stress or be anxious over things that haven’t happened yet. I will save that for tomorrow. Because tomorrow is one day closer to the rest of my life.
Before I get too far gone into my thoughts, I casually inform the family, “The pest is dead in my tunnel. She’s all yours if you want her.
” I had hopes of hanging her high from the peaks of the church, to make an example of, but I need to distract my brother from destroying himself later, even if he doesn’t deserve my generosity.
Papa has always said that a good leader can see their opponents’ moves before they do.
Blaise isn’t my opponent, but he is a challenge, and my brother .
If he won’t save himself, I can’t either, but I can try and prolong his life just a tiny bit longer.
Reaching out, Greta places the black leather leashes back into my gloved hands. “Now, go kick some ass, girl.”
So with my head raised and my middle finger held high, my girls and I begin our short walk home.
Not sure I’ll be kicking any ass tonight, but I’ll definitely be licking some pussy.