Page 21 of Isle of Pain

I know my mother won’t ask about me. For three days, I’ve watched the members of my family sidestep me, avoid me. I think they’re afraid of what I will answer. They leave me be. They let me grieve on my own while they talk in hushed tones behind my back. Nothing new but somehow worse. And I deserve it.

“You need to get ready, Mimi,” my mother says.

“Don’t call me that,” I spew at her.

“Marie, I?—”

I raise a hand to cut her off and walk to the decanter on the vintage alcohol cart, pouring myself a heavy dose of whiskey and swallowing it in one go. The sweet burn in my throat is familiar and I almost moan, relief spreading in my system. My sister Lana enters and eyes me with judgement behind her eyes. “Don’t,” I challenge.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“I think I’m allowed to drink on my sister’s funeral day.”

“She was my sister, too.”

“But she wasn’t your twin. She wasn’t your everything.”

She looks like I slapped her, pain etched into every corner of her delicate face. I hate who I’m becoming even more than who I was before Lisa died. Didn’t think that was possible.

I hold my arms to my mother. “Give her to me.”

She hesitates and I see red. I understand her concerns. I just drank a big gulp of alcohol but to me, it’s too little. It will barely take the edge of when I’m in front of the grave and I have to watch as they lower a white casket into the ground. “Give her to me,” I repeat, an edge of violence on my tongue.

Rationally, I understand that my mother is trying to protect Ember. But I’m not rational. I’m heartbroken and ready to jump from the Sant Armellu Cliffs. Maybe it’s best that Ember stays with my mother.

“Go get changed, Marie. We’ll be here with Ember,” Lana says with authority.

I clench my jaw but ultimately, I obey.

It takes me longer to put on the black dress that was Lisa’s favourite while she was pregnant. I was three sizes bigger than my sister so it actually fits me quite well. It’s tight at the chest and flows right underneath, ending directly above my knees. The round pouffy shoulders give it an elegant finish. I don’t bother with makeup, taking Lisa’s heart-shaped black sunglasses instead.

When I make my way to the office again, Angèle and her husband are there as well as my father and Lisandru. They greet me—except Angèle—but once again, no one asks how I am as they turn their attention back to Ember who blinks at them as she’s passed from arm to arm. I want to gouge their eyes out. It should be me holding her but I made an obvious mistake. For the first time in a while, I regret that glass of whiskey.

The air in the room is putrid with pain. I’m surprised no one seems to smell it.

Finally, Ember is placed into my arms again and I take a deep inhale against her head. She smells like pure joy and baby formula instead of everyone’s grief. Standing up, I brace for the next few hours.

12

NICO

WALKING DEATH

If I ever thought Marie was sad before, it had nothing on today. Her black sunglasses cannot hide the shade of grey her natural olive skin has turned into, or how her hair looks dull in the tight ponytail. But it’s more than the physical markers, visible to anyone with eyes.

She carried herself with caution, now it’s like death walks alongside her, its scythe above her slander neck. She doesn’t want to be here, to be of this world. Heaviness lingers around her. In the way she walks, in the way she stands.

I look and look, hypnotised to be so close to death. Yes, it’s in front of me in the white casket. Yes, I touch it every time I end a life with my hands. But living death, I’ve never seen. My targets are always alive and kicking, until they’re not.

Marie Moretti looks like pain and death wrapped in a seductive black shroud.

I want this for myself. I want to have it, to study it, to consume it.

My thoughts remain focused on her as the ceremony begins and Lisa’s baby fusses and cries. Giulia sniffles next to me, mybrother’s arms around her for comfort and support. As I listen closely, everyone sobs. Their mournful sounds seem to mount to a crescendo and a cold shiver rakes down my spine. I crack my neck and try to listen to the priest but I still hear them. My breath itches as someone in the row before us blows their nose loudly. Giulia made us sit on the last row despite her being the cousin of the departed. She knew if I wanted to escape, no one would see it from where we’re located. Instead, I take the small plastic box from my jeans pocket and slide the earplugs into my ears.

Silence descends on me and I breathe easier.

I want to be there for Marie. She’s the only one who doesn’t look like she’s crying. She holds the baby tight to her chest but from where I sit, I only see her back.

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