Page 125 of Look on the Bright Side

Because it was true. Despite the ending, the fear, the sorrow, those had been beautiful, happy years. Tears flooded her eyes, but they were different this time. These tears were warm and lush and full of tenderness and gratitude for the boy, the man, who had loved her so well.

They had loved with a love that was more than love, yes. It had been special and magical, pure and authentic. And it was over. It had been for years now, for the sole reason that life was horribly cruel sometimes. Invasive fungal pneumonia spores had found Justin’s lungs, and he had died.

Not because she, who hadn’t even been a medical student at the time, had failed to diagnose him before he showed signs of infection. He hadn’t died because of traffic, or because she’d gone home that weekend. Justin had died because he’d been devastatingly sick. And she had mourned him enough. She would always love him, but she wasn’t going to spend any more of her life based on what hadn’t been. Some of the happiest years of her life, absolutely. But there were more ahead of her. Not just okay years. Happy, joyful, wonderful years.

That sepulchre, tomb-lying version of herself…she was leaving that here tonight. With Justin’s blessing, she decided. She’d asked for a sign, and she’d gotten one.

Picnic baskets didn’t bang shut for no reason.

Fly, little bird, she imagined him saying. Get the hell off my grave and live your life.

TWENTY-SIX

LARK

They were fighting before they even got in the car. Her car. His stupid Maserati was broken.

“I’m not going to my sister’s rehearsal dinner in a Honda,” Lorenzo snapped, sitting in the front seat of his Italian status symbol.

“Then you shouldn’t have bought such a precious and delicate car. Get in. You hate being late.”

She’d worked overnight, managed to catch a few hours of sleep this morning and could’ve sworn she’d just seen a red pickup truck going in the opposite direction as she turned onto Lorenzo’s road in Chatham.

She hadn’t spoken to Dante since she’d seen him in Quincy. She hadn’t spoken to Lorenzo, either…just acknowledged his text ordering her when and where to show up. Izzy and she hadn’t been able to find time for a movie, and it was just as well. The Santinis were not hers to keep. But it was wedding weekend, and this morning, Sofia had sent Lark a text saying she couldn’t wait to see her tonight. So Lark supposed she was still Lorenzo’s girlfriend in the eyes of his family.

Except for Dante, of course.

“Lorenzo! Stop being so classist and get in the damn car,” she said, leaning on the horn.

He tried starting the Maserati one more time, glared at her, then got out and put his suitcase and tuxedo bag in the back before slumping into the passenger seat like a sulky teenager.

The rehearsal was tonight at St. Cecilia’s in Boston, followed by dinner at Venezia, a restaurant overlooking the water. Tomorrow, the wedding started at 4:00 p.m. at the church, followed by a reception at the Boston Public Library. It was sure to be a gorgeous affair, and Lark hoped it would be all Sofia and Henry wanted.

After that…well, Lark wasn’t sure if she’d ever see a Santini again.

“How’s Noni?” she asked, pulling out of his driveway.

“Winding down. A month, tops. She’ll have an aide with her today in case she gets tired. Tomorrow, too.”

She glanced at him, thought about putting a hand on his knee, decided against it. “I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

He shrugged and looked out the window. Message received.

“Was that Dante’s truck I saw on my way here?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

“Yes.”

“More, please.”

“Yes, it was Dante’s truck you saw.”

She sighed. Loudly.

Lorenzo caved. “We had a small family dinner last night. Just the four of us and our parents, and he came to see me today before heading to Boston.”

She waited for more. More didn’t come. “What did he want to talk about?”

“Nothing I’m willing to discuss right now,” he said.

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