Page 244 of Remy

The room falls quiet, the shift of attention moving to Allison and Ivy who enter the room, heads downcast, tissues in hand.

Ollie is a step behind, walking fearlessly on her own in her black knee-length pencil skirt, blouse, and blazer, her head high, her shoulders straight.

I stand taller, trying to gain a glimpse of her necklace. To see if she hates me enough to quit wearing my ring. But her collar is too high.

“Is she the bombshell in the front or the one at the back?” Matthew whispers.

“Shut the fuck up,” I rage-whisper back.

The attention of numerous mourners shifts our way. Ivy glances up too, her bloodshot eyes widening in horror as she takes in my family line on her approach.

She knows who we are.

Fucking mint.

Her attention stops somewhere to my left, her eyes hardening, her horror turning to animosity.

I lean back to determine who she’s fixated on and find Salvatore leering back at her with a menacing smirk.

They know each other?

Ivy scrunches her tissues in a tight fist and snaps her gaze back to the floor as she passes us, her spine ramrod, her anger obvious.

Then it’s Ollie who steals my attention, her watery gaze meeting mine.

Time stops. My pulse and thoughts jump ship, too.

It’s silent. Just me and her. Nothing but pain stands between us.

Her saddened composure fractures, her brow furrowing, her lower lip trembling. She stares at me in sorrow. In regret. Then she casts her gaze away, blinking rapidly as she plasters a hand over her stomach and continues down the aisle.

I glare through my desperation to follow her and dig my nails into my palms.

“She looks beautiful today, Remy,” Abri murmurs. “And it’s clear she still loves you.”

I keep glaring. Keep digging.

Ollie and her friends reach the front row where they’re greeted by a male celebrant. The women claim their seats. Then the celebrant takes his place in front of the wooden podium and greets everyone with a forlorn smile.

“Good afternoon, family and friends. We’re gathered here today…”

I ignore the speech and stare at the braid exquisitely curled around the back of Ollie’s head, feeling every time her shoulders hitch as if her sniffs are my own.

“…let us come together in love and support of one another…”

The words drone on, their weight meaningless when pitted against the memories of a man who showed me more fatherly guidance in twelve months than my father did in my entire life.

Carlo gave me his time, even given the little he had left. He trusted me with the one remaining family member he had. The woman he cherished the most.

“…I’d now like to share a reading that Carlo himself chose to be read before his passing. Death is Nothing At All, by Henry Scott Holland.”

I lower my gaze to my loafers, struggling to withstand the emotional onslaught pulsing through the room. “…Call me by my old familiar name…” Struggling to face the loss after already losing Flynn. “…Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together…”

They both deserved better. Flynn and Carlo. Ollie and even me.

What the fuck did I do to deserve an upbringing sponsored by malice and psychotic oppression? What did any of my siblings do?

“…I’m waiting for you…”

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