didn’t care. She wanted them, not the money they had left her.
“Do you want me to call a doctor for you?” he offered. She shook her head. She didn’t want anyone or anything, except Sam with her. He was the only one who understood how she felt. He always had.
“No, I’m okay. I think I’m in shock or something.”
“We all are,” Ed said sympathetically in a hushed tone. “Who could possibly have expected this? The embassy said they’ll get the bodies home late Wednesday night or Thursday morning. When do you want to do the funeral?” He needed to ask her the questions and she tried to focus.
“I don’t know. When should we do it?” It was helpful having his advice for the practical issues. She had no idea what to do about any of it.
“Maybe Monday, in case there are any delays,” Ed suggested gently. “There could be a rosary over the weekend, if you’d like that. They could have visitation set up on Friday. Were they religious?” He didn’t think so. He was fairly certain Tom wasn’t, but he didn’t know about Bethanie, or if Coco was.
“Not really. But they’re both Catholic.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak of them in the past tense. It hurt too much. He nodded. “We only go to church on Christmas.”
“You can decide what church you want. I’ve already written the obituary,” he said, sounding efficient. She didn’t know how he’d been notified, but someone had called him. His name must have appeared on her father’s papers too.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and he patted her hand and stood, as the doorman rang again, to tell her Sam was on his way up. He had come back quickly.
“I’ll call or text you with anything I know,” Ed said and hugged her again, and then she went to let Sam in. Ed smiled at him briefly and then left. Sam watched him go, and turned to her after Ed left.
“Just out of curiosity. Did he hit on you?” he said, and she looked shocked.
“Sam! Of course not. That’s disgusting. He’s older than my father. Why would you say something like that?”
“I don’t know. He just looks the type. He’s so smooth and so slick, and he’s very good-looking.” She had never noticed. He just seemed old to her. And she knew his children were older than she was. They were all married and had children.
“His kids are older than I am.”
“I bet his girlfriends aren’t. I’ve read about him on Page Six.”
“That’s just gossip. He’s married. And his wife is very good-looking.”
“I don’t know. I just get a funny feeling about him.”
“Jealous?” she teased him.
“Hardly. Just protective. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.” She was alone in the world now, and young and vulnerable, but he didn’t say it to her.
“He won’t do that. My father trusted him completely.” And she knew her father had been a great judge of character.
“He trusted him with money. With women I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“You’re a freak,” she said, and smiled for the first time since six o’clock that morning when the gendarmerie called from France.
Sam had brought some soup his mother had made for her. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, so he could sleep in his clothes if he needed to. He was not going to leave her alone. He told his parents, and for once, they understood and were sympathetic, and offered to help however they could. But there was nothing they could do either.
She got a flood of emails and texts from friends that night and didn’t answer them, although she read most of them. Sam made her eat some of his mother’s soup, and Coco finally fell asleep at nine o’clock, lying next to him on her bed. He lay next to her and held her until he fell asleep too. The whole day had been a nightmare, but from this one, no one was going to wake up. It broke Sam’s heart knowing that his best friend was now alone and had no living relatives. It was what Coco had been thinking all day too. She was an orphan now.
Chapter 2
Tom’s and Bethanie’s bodies landed in New York at two A.M. on Thursday. The funeral home Ed had chosen picked them up at JFK airport, and had the visitation room set up by that evening. Coco didn’t want them to be cremated. Their bodies had been tortured enough. Ed found out there was