Savage Pride

15

My eyes are drawn to him and greedily consume his suited form. My ears strain in curious anticipation of what he might say. My heart falls to my feet when his searching gaze locks on mine. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The evening breeze tugs at strands of my hair, but Zeno’s gaze is unnervingly steady. Only after the crowd has quieted does he clear his throat and release me from his hold. I take a shaky breath to center myself as he begins his address. “On behalf of my family and me, I want to thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate the life of my father, Silvano De Rossi.” He pauses, his throat bobbing as if he’s struggling with his words. “I didn’t always agree with my father, but my respect for him was immeasurable. He was insightful, clever, passionate, and his loyalty was beyond reproach.” Zeno’s gaze drifts back to mine, his features hardening before he looks away. “He has touched all of our lives in ways we will never forget. But if he were here with us tonight, I’m confident he wouldn’t want us to mourn. ‘Life is about finding the silver lining,’ he’d say. So please, raise your glasses with me in honor of a man who lived life with abandon and who will never be forgotten.” He lifts a crystal champagne flute in his hand, the crowd mirroring his movement in a choreographed wave. “To Silvano.” His voice thunders overhead. “To Silvano!” A chorus of voices cheers to the memory of a cherished family member, friend, and associate. The voices are mostly buoyant, but sniffles can be heard all around. Nothing blurs together gratitude with sorrow the way death does. Even for those not particularly close to the deceased, the mix of emotions is unavoidable. I grieve for the family who is clearly hurting, but I am so grateful it’s not my father dressed in his best suit, laying stiff in a silk-lined casket. The emotions are so intense that I even take a long look at my mother and say a silent word of thanks that my time with her is not yet over. These not so gentle reminders of our own mortality are a blessing in that way. I wonder if Zeno feels the same. If this display of the fragility of life will spur him to embrace his brother and heal old wounds. I could only imagine that would be the ultimate silver lining for Silvano. For his death to unite his children. What father wouldn’t want his sons to be close? Judging by the way Zeno purposely ignores Nevio’s presence as the family accepts condolences, not even death will bridge these troubled waters. OceanofPDF.com “Gia!” The excited cry draws my attention behind me to where two kids have ambushed my sister in a double hug, a girl clinging to her middle and a boy giving her a shy one-armed side hug. The joy on Gia’s face warms me from the inside out. “Boston, Emily,” Cora Bishop hisses. “What did I say about behaving yourselves?” She yanks at their arms, tugging them away from Gia. G tries to discreetly assure the kids that she appreciates their affection without further upsetting Cora. “They’re only children, Cora,” Carter says in a soothing tone. “No one will begrudge them a little happiness at seeing a friend.” “They need to learn to be respectful at times like these. They can’t grow up laughing and giggling at funerals and such.” Carter’s eyes darken unexpectedly. “They know all too well about loss and funerals, in case you’ve forgotten. Let them be.” His clipped warning is the first backbone he’s shown in my presence and helps raise him, in my estimation. His children lost their mother, so it’s imperative that he protect and nurture them. The hole in their hearts will never fully heal from that loss, but the wound may be less destructive with the right influence. I peer at my sister and the adoring way she gazes at the Bishop kids. Her forgiving, loving nature would be the perfect balm for their souls … if fate would give them that chance. “Gia, I think I need an introduction.” I raise my brows at the two blond children. “Of course! This young man is Boston, and he turned twelve last month.” I extend my hand with a broad smile. “Hello, Boston. It’s lovely to meet you.” He grins bashfully, eyes flicking up at his father’s approving smile. “And this,” continues Gia, “is Miss Emily. She is ten and going into the fifth grade in the fall.” She says the last part with emphasis to impart the impressive nature of such an accomplishment. Again, I extend my hand. “How exciting! Will that be your last year of elementary school?” Emily shakes her head. “No, at my school, sixth grade is the last year of elementary.” “Ah, very good. You’ll just get more homework once you move to middle school, so no rush,” I assure her. “That’s what I keep telling her,” Boston pipes in with the puffed-out chest of authority. All of us adults, except Cora, of course, smile at the innocence of youth. “Have you two had a chance to get some food?” Gia asks. When the two shake their heads, she scoops their hands in hers. “Come on, I’ll take you over to the food table.” The three disappear into the crowd, giving room for Zeno to slip into our circle. I’d been too distracted to notice his proximity and wonder how long he’s been standing there. “Zeno!” The scowl falls instantly from Cora’s face, which is now alight with devoted concern. “How are you holding up?” “I’m fine, thank you.” His response is respectful, but I get the sense he’s growing tired of issuing the same assurances. “I hope everyone is enjoying themselves as much as can be expected. Did you try any of the champagnes?”