Page 50 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Now, through her tears, Cissy glanced over at James. The kid was close to going to junior high. He was all arms and legs and geeky hair, still a boy, but already over five feet tall. Trying not to squirm in his seat, James looked uncomfortable and awkward in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and tie, all probably purchased for the funeral. He slid a glance her way, and she managed to give him a smile. One side of his mouth lifted. Then, as if realizing how grim and serious the situation was, James turned his gaze back to the coffin.

When the last “amen” was whispered, Jack squeezed her hand, then released it. Cissy stepped forward and, in the drizzling rain, tossed a white rose onto her grandmother’s coffin, said a silent good-bye, and turned toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t going to stick around and watch the dirt being flung over the casket.

Her vision was a blur as she made a beeline for the waiting limo. She smiled or nodded at familiar faces, but she didn’t stop to talk. There was time for that at the house. For now, she just wanted to get home, where her son was already waiting. She’d asked Rachelle of Joltz to cater the event, and Tanya was watching Beej, as Cissy had decided eighteen months was too young to attend a funeral. Nor had he been with her for the tiny ceremony for her uncle.

God, what a week. In the backseat of the limo, she kicked off her shoes and didn’t argue about Jack joining her. For today she’d decided to call a truce and just try to get through the slated events.

“It was a nice service,” Jack said as the driver pulled the black limousine away from the curb.

Cissy gave him a look as she unsnapped her small purse, found a small bottle of Ibuprofen, and popped a couple dry. “No platitudes, okay? I’m going to hear plenty the rest of the day.”

He didn’t argue, just glanced out the window. Cissy followed his gaze and saw a man seated on a backhoe, ready to fill in the grave with the big, rumbling machine after the guests had dispersed.

It all bothered her. The kind words, sympathetic cards, gorgeous bouquets—but it all boiled down to a dirt mover shoveling wet earth over a fancy coffin. She shuddered a little at the thought and reminded herself that it wasn’t Gran’s or Rory’s body that was the important thing. Surely their souls were in “a better place,” as the preacher had intoned.

She certainly hoped so.

Leaning her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength to get through the next few hours. It had taken the police nearly a week to release the bodies, and then she’d worked with Deborah on the obituaries and funeral arrangements, also squeezing in time to meet with the lawyers, insurance agent, and accountant. The week had flown by in a series of appointments where she’d seen little of her son and more than she’d wanted to of Jack.

He’d made himself available, and she’d let him, almost falling into the trap of thinking they could work things out. Almost. They’d eaten takeout, talked over the funeral arrangements, and discussed everything in the world but their impending divorce. He’d watched Beej when she’d had meetings and Tanya wasn’t available, had even taken his son out for a walk while she’d finished the damned story on the mayoral candidate. He’d also been there while the new furnace was installed and the old one removed. All the while, he’d helped her screen calls from sympathizers, well-wishers, or the merely curious. Together they’d watched the news, snapping it off whenever Marla’s face was flashed on the screen or her name was mentioned.

Cissy hadn’t asked the police what, if anything, they’d learned about the murders; she’d just been too busy and exhausted. But every night she double-checked each window and door latch, deadbolt, and safety lock in the house, sometimes three times, before she went to bed.

She wasn’t being paranoid, she tried to convince herself. She was just being doubly careful.

Opening her eyes, she shot Jack a glance, and he sent her just the hint of a smile, not that cocksure, irreverent grin she had grown to love and hate, but a gentle curve of the lips that meant he planned to stand by her throughout the afternoon.

Her silly heart ka-phlumphed painfully, and she had to fight another burn of unshed tears. Why did she let the man get to her? She looked away, through the fogging windows to the city streets where traffic rolled through puddles on the pavement and the skyscrapers looked as if they could pierce the underbellies of the somber clouds hanging low in the heavens.

She felt cold and disembodied, as if all this hoopla and tragedy were happening to someone else.

But it’s not, Cissy. This is your life.

Using her finger, she traced a small heart on the foggy window, then, surprised at herself, quickly erased it as the big car slid to a stop in front of her house.

“Brace yourself,” Jack said. “It’s showtime.”

“That it is,” she said and slid out of the limo, allowing Jack to tip the driver as she squared her shoulders and strode into the house she and Jack had purchased only a few years earlier.

Many of the guests who had elected not to visit the grave site were already milling around, and for the first time Cissy second-guessed her decision to make her home the gathering area. The rooms were already crowded, and the people who’d gone to the short service at the cemetery hadn’t yet arrived. It was going to be tight in here. Eugenia’s house on Mt. Sutro could have handled the mourners easily.

Still, maybe this cramped space, where everyone would be stuffed in elbow-to-elbow, might force people to leave earlier, which would be just fine.

Planting a smile on her face that felt as false as it was, Cissy inched through a sea of “I’m so sorry about your grandmother” and “If there’s anything I can do, please call” and “Eugenia, what a force she was. I remember a time…”

By the time she’d wended her way from the living room to the dining area, she felt as if she’d just been squeezed through Bloomingdale’s department store on the last weekend before Christmas.

Diedre and Rachelle were working in the kitchen, pulling out trays of hors d’oeuvres from the refrigerator, microwave, and oven before sl

iding them onto silver trays. While Beej was down for a nap, Tanya was hauling the new trays into the dining room and returning with empties while Rosa and Paloma mingled with the guests, offering wine, napkins, or food. Cookies, cakes, and pies were lined up on one counter. The goodies had been brought by the legions of women who heard there was a death in the family and instantly donned aprons and grabbed spatulas to whip up something for guests and company. The array was dazzling, everything from decorated chocolates bought at boutique candy stores to homemade apple pies and rich, towering cakes.

“Don’t you know that you’ll gain five pounds by just looking at those,” a soft voice said to her.

Cissy turned to find Gwen, her personal trainer, shrugging out of a knee-length black cardigan sweater. Gwen had been instrumental in helping Cissy lose the extra weight she’d gained during pregnancy. Her hair was dark, layered, and shaggy; her toned body visible in a clingy black dress; her expression sober. “I haven’t seen you in the gym in a while, but you look great. On second thought, maybe you should indulge in a piece of pie. You seem to have lost weight.”

“A little. But I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”

“So how’re you doing?” Gwen’s dark eyes were sympathetic.

---