Chapter Seventy-One
Haze
Jenny spoke so beautifully about Frank that I was glad I was wearing sunglasses. She was hurting so much, and I hated that there was nothing we could do to make it better.
I’d seen a lot of death.
I’d caused a lot of death.
Knives. Blood. Cut throats. Crushed skulls. Split guts.
But nothing beat the utter savagery of the natural death of someone much loved.
We either had to watch the people we loved die, or they had to watch us die. There was no avoiding that pain. It was inevitable. How the hell did everyone walk around with that knowledge without wanting to scream?
What had we been hardwired with that allowed us to live without constantly dwelling on the pain and futility of our existence?
Was there some specially designed microchip within each of us that helped us to get up each day, despite knowing that one day the misery of losing those we loved most was going to happen—and that the only thing we could do to avoid it was die first?
It was all a cruel joke. You search for—you long for—love, connection, people who make your life better. Yet the more you love, the more pain there is to come.
How was Jenny going to get through losing him? How did anyone?
I’d never had a father. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. Better to be in the fatherless group than admit to having one who had swooped back into my life only to try and kill my husband and kidnap my daughter. Wow, did I luck out there.
Frank was a real father. He had worshipped Jenny, and wrapped her up so tightly in his love that she never questioned it. He’d been there for her when she needed him, and even when she didn’t. He’d wanted to make her life better, easier, and nothing was ever too much trouble.
I squeezed Fox’s hand. I had chosen a man who would be exactly that kind of father to our children.
I might have inherited certain physical features from my parents, they might have given me their genes, but that was all they had passed down. I had never felt supported, understood, or loved by them. They made me, and then they left me. I was long past resentment.
Some people weren’t meant to be parents. The sacrifices were too great.
Cowards run. Heroes stay.
It was easier to disconnect and break away.
I brushed a bit of soil off Fox’s elbow.
I knew how lucky we were to be alive.
The bomb had annihilated the storage locker and the six surrounding it.
As soon as we’d seen the timer and the flashing lights, we’d turned and run.
Luckily, the locker next to the blast had been owned by someone storing five superking-sized mattresses, which had taken the brunt of the blast. We’d been able to escape with bad cuts and bruises.
Drake had been right. The Corporation clearly weren’t done with us yet. We just needed to get through today, and then we had a plan for how to deal with them.
Jenny finished speaking. I wanted to give her a standing ovation, but Fox quietly pointed out that funerals didn’t really have that as an option.
The music started up and the coffin was gently carried out, with Jenny, Sandy, and our children following behind it. Bibi and Felix walked together, pushing Reggie’s pram. Jenny stopped at our pew and took me and Fox by the hands. We all walked out together, Frank leading the way.
We lined up around the gravesite to say our final goodbyes.
I stood next to Jenny. “Everything okay?” she whispered. Fox and I had done a final check of the perimeter once everyone else had filed into the church.
“Yes.”
We both watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground.
“You sure he won’t mind having company down there?”
Jenny smiled. “He’d be glad to help. It would give him a good chuckle. One last favor for a beloved daughter.”
I looked around at the gathered mourners.
Many of Frank’s old police colleagues were in attendance.
It was undoubtedly the first—and hopefully the last—time we’d buried a body knowing a good number of law enforcement would be at the site the next morning.
A loving goodbye to Frank. A “fuck off for good” to Mario.
Our family might be a little less conventional than the others in the suburbs around us, but I couldn’t imagine it any other way.