SALVAGE PRIDE

20

I help steady her, recalling when she slipped away during the funeral service to go to the bathroom. She’d also been surprisingly quiet on both car rides. “Exactly how much have you had?”

She yanks her arm from my grasp. “I’m allowed to be upset. It’s a funeral.”

“Everything all right over here?” Zeno appears from thin air, his voice a quiet warning. “Of course, Z,” Mom gushes, suddenly all sunshine and rainbows. “We were just talking about finding the Larsons. Luisa here has always been such good friends with Grace, the poor girl.” She leans in as if imparting a great secret. “She would be such a cutie if she wasn’t so chunky.”

“Mom, that’s enough.” Mortification isn’t sufficient enough to describe how I feel. If I could, I’d jump into Silvano’s casket and let them bury me with him. Judging from the heat blazing across my cheeks, they have to be bright red.

Swallowing back any semblance of pride I may have had, I turn to Zeno and attempt a smile. “Everything is fine. I’m sorry if we were drawing attention.” I tug my mother toward the crowd and pray he doesn’t realize she’s tipsy at his father’s funeral. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, and I’m afraid to find out.

We manage to locate the Larson family among the crowd and stand with them beneath two majestic oak trees. The graveside portion of the service is short, with only a few words spoken by the priest, yet somehow, it makes me even more heavyhearted than I was at the church. So few can witness a casket perched above a deep hole in the ground while grief-stricken families struggle to breathe without sharing in the pain of the experience.

Once the elegant silver box is lowered beyond our view, Elena steps forward and tosses a single red rose to be buried with her husband. The act reduces her to sobs, her face crumpling with heartache. Zeno places a hand on her shoulder, a surprisingly cold gesture considering their relationship and the circumstances. Nevio, with tears in his own eyes, pulls Elena against his chest, wrapping her securely in his arms.

Was Z trying not to look soft in front of his fellow made men? I can’t imagine why he would be almost robotic with his mother when she was so distraught. Last night, he’d been almost tender with her, but now there’s no sign of that Zeno.

The crowd slowly dissipates over the course of a half hour. Some people feel the need to pay their respects to the family, while others simply drift back to their cars to leave the family in peace. Daddy makes no move from our spot beneath the trees, so neither do we. I’ve peered at him countless times throughout the morning and can’t fathom what he must be going through. He looks ten years older than usual today, but there is no other trace of emotion. It’s almost as though the loss has overwhelmed him to the point of emptiness. The sight makes my heavy heart break wide open.

I go to his side and take his warm, calloused hand in mine without saying a word. His fingers squeeze mine in return, assuring me that he’s in there … somewhere.

The Larsons stay with us, along with Carter and Cora Bishop. They all talk quietly, but I stand silent in solidarity with my father.

Nevio is the first of the family to free up and come our way. His bloodshot eyes draw me toward him for a hug. I don’t want to sever my connection with my dad, but Nevio is just as troubled. He was there for his mother, and I want to be there for him because Lord knows his brother won’t be.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

He nods and pulls back, taking my hands in each of his. “I just wish we’d been closer while he was alive.” His soft words are directed at the ground, only loud enough for the two of us. “Zeno found ways to make sure that never happened. He was even the reason I was sent to boarding school. Did I ever tell you that?” When he peers up at me, there’s turmoil in his mocha irises.

I’m stunned—at a loss for words for several seconds. “No, I had no idea. I thought it was all about grades.” How could this be the first time I’m hearing about this? Why hadn’t he said something long ago?

Because he was gone before you knew what happened, then your paths rarely crossed.

I suddenly feel like a wretched friend.

He smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “Grades were the story they told everyone. It’s only ever been about Zeno. That’s why I’m rarely ever here anymore; no point in coming home when I’m unwelcome here.”

I have so many questions, but this isn’t the time or place to pick at old wounds. He’s suffered enough today. All of them have.

I squeeze Nevio’s hand and look back toward my family to discover Zeno has joined them, and to my horror, Livia is chattering his ear off.

“I told Mom last night that it was so great having such a large gathering at Hardwick that you should have them more often. Maybe a Fourth of July barbecue or something.”

Holy s**t. Did my little sister just tell Zeno she had fun at his father’s wake?

I cannot even begin to understand how her mind works. All she thinks about is what Livia wants and what’s best for Livia. She doesn’t care that others are grieving, and her petty machinations are beyond embarrassing. Her words are out faster than I can apologize on her behalf. And if that isn’t bad enough, my mother voices her hearty agreement.

I glance at Gia in a silent plea for help. Her eyes slowly drift shut with embarrassment.

Zeno may have no tolerance for his brother, but he manages to remain polite, if not a touch austere, with my family, though heaven knows they don’t deserve it.