I ran one of Landon’s combs through my hair, frowning at my lack of makeup. I didn’t usually wear much, but today, I needed it. I looked like I could pass for the walking dead.
Every time I’d started to fall asleep last night, Landon had tossed and turned, waking me up. Around 4:30, he finally got out of bed, quietly leaving the room. Which of course meant I definitely couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t leave him to fight his demons alone, while I lay in his enormous bed and watched the shadows give way to dawn.
So we’d sat at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee together. He didn’t really speak but occasionally reached over, rubbing my back in soft circles and staring into his mug.
No one had written a manual called What to do when an asshole dies and you’re sleeping with his son, who may or may not be tormented by the guy’s death.
Maybe I would have to write it once this was all over. I mean, it had a decent ring to it.
I slipped my feet into a pair of black bumps, and then I was ready. Ready to ignore the bags under my eyes, anyway. The funeral was another matter entirely.
Landon and I left his house, driving to the funeral home in an appropriately black Mercedes. Landon pulled up near the door, and as we climbed out, a red BMW glided into the lot.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Landon said, staring at the car.
“Someone you know?”
“You could say that. Let’s go inside. I don’t want to see her.”
Her? I wasn’t sure if I should hope it wasn’t Alexa… or hope that it was, because if it was a different “her,” I wasn’t sure what that would mean. Yet another ex appearing out of thin air?
I forced myself to stare forward, to follow him inside. A muted, somber organ tune drifted out into the entry.
Landon didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Didn’t exchange pleasantries or even so much as a smile. Instead, he led me to the front row of pews.
His father’s casket sat on the dais, an enormous arrangement of white lilies draped across the lower half.
The upper half was open, revealing his father’s ashen, wrinkled face. His hair was more grey than I’d expected, a lot thinner than it used to be. It had been years since I’d seen Mr. Hill, and somehow the one in my mind had never aged.
Landon stared down at his father, his expression dark.
“I’m here for Mom,” Landon muttered under his breath, “Not you. Never you.”
I knew I was the only one close enough to hear, but I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder to see if anyone had noticed the exchange. You didn’t have to hear his words to fill in the blanks.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered, as Alexa walked in the front door. She had enough sense to wear a black dress, but the waist had a slash of red. Like even in this, she had to be defiant. Had to make a statement.
“Did she even know your father?” I asked.
“No. She never met him. Hell, I told her he’d died years ago.”
“So why is she here?”
But before he could answer, she was striding up to us, her lip jutted out and her eyebrows furrowed in a look of almost real concern.
She all but elbowed her way between us, and she went to hug him, but he took an enormous step back, holding his hand sup. “What the hell are you doing, Alexa?”
“I heard about your father. I’m so sorry. I know how you felt about him.”
I tried to ignore the prickles of unease. Did she know? It was such a vague thing to say. It didn’t prove anything.
But I hated picturing them together, hated picturing the idea of him confessing his deepest secrets to this woman.
“Cut the crap, Alexa. You don’t know shit about him. And you don’t belong here, just like you don’t belong at my company.”
“Our company,” she corrected. “And I’m your wife. I’m trying to be here for you. I don’t understand why you’re being so hostile.”
“Because everything is a game to you, and this is just another move. I don’t appreciate you being here, and I want you to go.”
His voice was rising, and I rested a hand on his arm, signaling him to quiet.
“I’m going to sit up front, with family,” he said. “I don’t want you near me.”
She turned her gaze from him to me, narrowing her eyes. Her lips pursed together, and I could tell she was debating on saying something else. On challenging me.
I stared her dead in the eye, waiting, until he tugged me away, led me to the front pew.
A pastor walked in, his head ducked in solemn silence as he made his way to the podium at the edge of the dais.
“Welcome, and please find your seats,” he said, his voice carrying across the space. He was confident, comfortable, and it felt strange to realize he must welcome different families into this space with each passing week. I wondered how well he knew each family, if he had any idea that this family wasn’t entirely mourning the man in the casket at the front.