“The funeral’s tomorrow,” he said. “Dotty wanted to get it over with.”
That was good to hear. It meant Mrs. Lone was intent on getting the body in the ground before anyone outside Mr. Lone’s cohorts thought to look at it too closely.
“The truth is,” Rick went on, “I’m glad. This isn’t a great week for me to take off from work. She’s got all the boys here anyway, so she doesn’t need me right now. I’ll come back soon, when they’re gone. She’ll need the support then. But right now, she’ll be okay. That means you and I will drive back first thing in the morning, day after tomorrow. Can you pack by then?”
Livia looked around her room. She almost told him she could leave right now. But she’d already revealed some of her eagerness, maybe even too much. So instead she just said, “I don’t have much.”
And that was true, up to a point. The real truth, though, was that the things she cared about most were things that couldn’t be packed. Things that nothing could separate from her.
Or that she couldn’t take where she was going, no matter how much she might want to.
38—THEN
It snowed the morning of the funeral. There were limousines to drive the family from the house to the church, and a police honor guard to escort them. Livia went with Rick, and as they pulled up, she saw there were mourners standing outside already, huddled under umbrellas against the falling snow, far too many to fit inside. The casket was closed—a good sign, Livia thought, as it indicated Mrs. Lone’s commitment to ensuring no one could see whatever damage might have been visible on his neck—and surrounded by so many flowers, they must have been flown in from out of state. Senator Lone gave the eulogy, going on about the family’s long history with and love of Llewellyn, and how they all owed it to themselves and the town to try to live by Fred Lone’s example, and to continue his great work on behalf of prosperity and blah blah blah. If Livia hadn’t been so glad he was dead, she might have thrown up.
The Lones owned a family mausoleum in Llewellyn’s oldest cemetery, and that was where they buried him, alongside his parents and a sister who had died when he was young. Hundreds of people stood silently on the frozen grass, among the markers dusted in white, while the priest Livia had been forced to listen to so many times at Sunday services said some words about how Mr. Lone, a good and God-fearing man, was now with his Lord.
Livia hadn’t seen Sean or Malcolm at the funeral, and assumed they hadn’t been able to come inside because of the crowds. But they were at the cemetery. She’d never seen them dressed up before. She was surprised at how much older Sean looked in a suit and tie. And handsome.
When the priest was done speaking, they came over and told her how sorry they were, though Malcolm was looking at her in a way that made her feel he understood she wasn’t exactly traumatized by her loss. Then he went off to express his condolences to Mrs. Lone, leaving Sean and Livia to themselves under the gently falling snow.
“I missed you at Katy’s party,” Sean said. “I wanted to call you, but I know you don’t like getting calls at the Lones’ house.”
That was true. A few kids at school had cell phones, but not her. Mr. Lone had claimed they were frivolous. Probably he just didn’t want her to have more access to the outside world than necessary.
“I thought you blew me off,” Sean went on. “And then I heard about Mr. Lone. I’m really sorry.”
Livia looked down, then back at him. “I would never blow you off.”
“I know. I was being stupid. I’m sorry.”
They were quiet for a moment. She was dreading what she had to tell him. She didn’t know how.
Sean wiped some melting snowflakes from his cheeks. “So . . . will you be back in school soon?”
His expression was so open, so concerned. It hurt to look at him, and she glanced down again.
“No,” she said. “I’m going to stay with Mrs. Lone’s brother for a while. In Portland.”
“What? Why?”
“Mrs. Lone . . . she needs some time to herself.”
“But . . . when will you be back? What about school?”
“I’ll finish school in Portland.”
“B-but . . .”
He stopped. It was the first time she’d heard him stutter in longer than she could remember, and it made her want to cry to think she was the cause of it.
“You don’t have to go to Portland,” Sean said. “You could stay with my dad and me. For as long as you want. I could ask him. I know he’d say yes.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“But why?”
“I just can’t.”
There was a long silence. Sean said, “Well, when do you leave?”
She’d never heard him sound so forlorn. She could feel her eyes wanting to fill up and willed herself not to cry.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“But that’s so soon!”
“I know.”
“I . . .” He stopped. “Jeez, Livia. Who am I going to train with?”