Chapter 35
July, LA
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of the resurrection…” The minister’s words start to blur as Cara’s casket is lowered into the ground.
Hannah presses her face into my side, her tears soaking through the cotton of my dress shirt. Sweat clings to my skin beneath the fabric. It’s hot as hell, and the velvet canopy we’re standing under is a goddamn slow cooker.
“Canopies are standard,” the funeral director said.
Standard should be an air-conditioned funeral home. Or a church service like my grandparents had in Tennessee. Like they wanted—and didn’t get—for my mother.
Not some designer tarp that traps heat like it’s trying to braise us.
I gather Hannah’s thick, strawberry-blonde hair and pull it off her damp neck. I knew she should’ve worn it up. I actually thought about it this morning, but it was just the two of us at the house, and I have no idea how to do it.
I have no idea how to do any of it.
My heart starts to hammer, and I have to work just to breathe. These quasi-panic attacks keep coming now that Cara’s gone. Now that it’s finally hitting me what it means to raise a little girl on my own.
Gabi glances at Hannah, then gives me a quiet, knowing smile.
Maybe not completely on my own. Gabi’s been a godsend.
“Lilies were her favorite,” I hear my father mutter behind us. “Odd not to see any.”
I catch Gabi’s eye roll and try not to laugh.
They were sunflowers, I suddenly remember. But leave it to my fucking dad to weigh in.
Reinhold opted to sit in the second row with his pregnant wife, like an extra in one of his own productions, just waiting for someone to call cut.
Not once does he reach for his daughter.
The minister bows his head, Bible tucked against his waist. “May she rest in peace.”
Mourners begin to file out while a few step up with flowers. Friends, I assume. Cara kept a small circle, and aside from Hannah, Cade’s the only family she had.
Which means, what—maybe a dozen people here actually knew her? Everyone else is industry. Here to support my “grieving father.”
What a joke. Cara was two wives ago.
Gabi taps my shoulder, and I start to nudge Hannah forward, until she shakes her head and nods to the crumpled rose in Hannah’s hand.
Dammit, I mouth to her.
Get another. They’ll wait, she mouths back.
I kneel in front of my sister and gently pry her fingers from the stem. “Hey, Banana.” Her eyes are red and puffy, her face blotchy and wet with tears. “It’s time to go.”
“Wait, I—” Her gaze lands on the rose, and a sob tears from her throat. “No…no, no, no…”
“Hannah!” Dad snaps from behind us. “This is not the place for that.”
“This is literally the place for that—” You piece of shit.
I wasn’t allowed to cry at my mother’s funeral either, I want to tell her.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Han,” I say instead. “We’ll come back first thing in the morning with a whole bouquet. She’d love that, wouldn’t she?” I brush her damp hair away from her face. “Promise.”
I pull out my phone and text Amar, just to make sure I didn’t lie to her.
On it, he texts back.
Then I stand and brush the grass from my black pants. Most of the chairs around us have emptied, my father’s included.
Gabi catches my eye. “I’ll be right back.”
I have no game plan. Not for the next five minutes, not for the next five years. So I just sit, Hannah sitting beside me. She leans against my arm, hiccupping softly as the last of the crowd thins.
“We’ll leave soon,” I tell her, just as Cade steps forward, carrying a sunflower, the size of a plate on a stick.
Of course.
Like Cara, he’s tall, with dirty-blond hair pulled into a man bun only a rock star could get away with. He’s in all black, naturally: slim suit, graphic T-shirt, heavy boots, dark shades.
I bet he wears those indoors.
Hannah lifts her head, watching him like she recognizes something. Cara told me they’d never met, but maybe she talked about him. Showed her some pictures.
Or maybe it’s the sunflower. Big, bright, unapologetic.
Also like Cara.
Hannah tugs the lapel of my suit jacket. “Holden,” she whispers, voice barely there. “That’s Cade Corban.”
“You know him?”
“Of course I do. He’s the lead singer of Cross to Bear.” Her eyes widen as he approaches. “Mom used to listen to them all the time.”
“Right. Makes sense.”
They stop in front of us—Cade and a woman I only now notice—and he holds out his hand. “You must be Holden.”
I push to my feet. “Nice to finally meet you.” His grip is firm but guarded. Like he’s not sure where we stand yet.
“And this is my—”
“Jane,” the woman says before he can finish.
She’s about a head shorter than Cade, with brown hair and brown eyes, and a summer tan that stands out against the black of her dress.
She glances at Hannah. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I met your mother once. She was…very kind.” Her voice catches on the last word. For a moment she looks like she might say something else, but then she straightens. “I’ll, um…be at the car,” she says to Cade. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Same,” I say, watching her as she heads toward the parking lot.
Hannah leans forward, hands gripping the edge of her chair. “You’re Cade Corban,” she says, the words coming a little too fast.
No way. Is she starstruck? My sister’s brushed elbows with celebrities her whole life. First time for everything, I guess.
Cade looks to me, and I give a small nod.
“You were my mom’s favorite singer,” she adds proudly. “She loved Cross to Bear too.”
He smiles, eyes glistening, and takes the seat beside her. “That’s nice to hear. Because your mom…” He pauses, his voice thick. “Your mom was my sister.”
Hannah’s mouth falls open. “Your sister?”
“Which makes you my niece,” he says, quiet but steady. “And I brought something for you.” He reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a small velvet bag, pressing it into her palm. “This was hers. She wore it every day when we were kids.”
Hannah pulls out a gold locket, round and delicate, with—what else—a sunflower etched into the top.
I hate that I didn’t know this about Cara. I don’t even know this about Maggie. I got her delphiniums because the florist said they were blue, but what if she likes roses or peonies or orchids? Or hell, the hydrangeas her aunt sent her?
Hannah pops open the locket. “Is this my mom?”
“It’s both of us,” Cade says. “We were about your age, I think.”
My dad clears his throat behind us, and I let out a silent curse.
“We should be going,” I say, shooting a glare over my shoulder.
Cade and I both stand, and we shake again. His grip is stronger now, jaw tight, eyes pinned on my father.
I rest a hand at Hannah’s back. “You still in Miami?”
“Texas. San Antonio, actually.” His gaze returns to me. “Moved for a girl.”
Texas…
My throat goes dry. I tug at my collar, unfasten another button. “When are you headed back?”
“Thursday.”
“Let’s get together. I’ll call you.”
He nods, tells Hannah goodbye, then starts for the parking lot—only to be intercepted by my dad.
I feel a vein twitch in my neck.
“Mr. Corban,” Dad says. “So glad you could make it.”
Cade’s fists clench at his sides. “She was my sister, Reinhold. Honestly, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Why’s that? She was my daughter’s mother.”
Cade lets out a wry laugh but doesn’t take the bait.
“Later, Holden,” he says, tossing a final glance my way.
“Later, man.”
My sister clutches the back of my pants as Dad rounds the row of chairs, stopping in front of her—looming, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun.
“Hannah,” he says sternly. “I think it’s time you come home, don’t you?”
Her grip tightens. “No, Dad, please. Just one more night. Please.”
“Come on,” I hiss under my breath. “Can we do this tomorrow?”
“No, son. You’ve played house long enough. It’s—”
“Hello, Mr. Crenshaw.” Gabi appears behind him like a goddamn guardian angel. “So good to see you again.”
My father turns, instantly softening. “Now, Gabi, how many times have I told you to call me Reinhold?”
I bend to Hannah’s ear. “Go with Gabi, okay? I’ll handle Dad.”
She nods and slides off the chair, arms going around my waist.
“Gabi, you mind taking her to the car for a minute?”
Dad’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t dare say a word in front of Gabrielle Martin.
She smiles. “Of course.”
I wait until they’re gone, then step up to my father. Loom over him. “I’m taking her with me for now,” I say, low and final. “But tonight, where will you be?”
His nostrils flare. “Now, look here, son—”
“Tonight,” I repeat.
A few mourners at Cara’s grave turn around. Dad sighs. “At the office.”
“I’ll see you at seven.”
“You want your usual?” I ask Gabi while I punch in an order for Hannah at her favorite Chinese place.
I’ll have to start cooking for her. Healthy stuff, I remind myself. Because I’m it now. I’m all she has.
I take a slow breath and let it out.
At least sweet and sour pork has bell peppers, not that she’ll eat them.
Do bell peppers even count as a vegetable?
“Oh God, no,” Gabi says, curled up beside Hannah on the couch. “I need comfort food. Just get me what she’s having.”
My dad’s probably drowning in sympathy casseroles. Or whatever rich assholes send each other when someone dies. Meanwhile, Hannah’s getting takeout.
Again.
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I say, pocketing my phone. “You sure you don’t want me to call Lois?”
“Nah, we’re good, right, girl?”
Hannah gives a weak nod against Gabi’s shoulder as Wicked queues up on the screen.
I bend to kiss the top of her head. “Love you, Banana.”
Then I grab the parting gift Cara left me and head out.
“Of course I’m serious,” I said. “What’s the alternative? I let him torture her for seven more years?” I took the key and hung it around my neck. “What will I find in the box?”
Cara raised her bed a few inches. “A couple years back, I was at your dad’s office picking up Hannah, and a black matchbook fell out of his coat pocket. I almost left it, but I’d never seen him use anything but that stupid monogrammed DuPont. It just felt off.”