respond to that, and instead traces a finger down my temple, his touch almost unbearable, as much as I’ve missed it. “I want you to come back. Come back to me.”
He cups my face and plants a kiss to my forehead, and I swear it takes every ounce of strength not to wrap my arms around him and get lost in his embrace. I want to, so badly. These last few days, I’ve felt lost, drifting. I’ve yearned for someone to pull my strings and ground me, to hold me down and keep me from losing myself.
“Whatever you need, just ask and it’s done,” he says.
“I need time.” I’ve spent the last few days convincing myself that Lucian killed Franco simply to protect me, without any other motive. That he isn’t the devil who tortures people for pleasure. “And answers.”
“Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But this thing between us? It’s happening, Isa.”
“We’ll see.” I glance back toward the funeral home, where I can see movement through the window of the viewing room. “I better get back.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Taking hold of my chin, he presses his lips to mine, and my head prods me to hang on tight and not let go. Instead, I break the kiss and step away, and if I thought my head was spinning before, I’ve gone full-on tilt-a-whirl.
He descends the staircase, the ease of his stroll like a man who can show up to a funeral without a care in the world, and leave as if he’s stolen the last sip of air.
I want to follow after him with blinders to what I’ve become privy to--the lies and truth that clash inside my head.
I turn around and head back inside the funeral home.
The ashes of my mother fill the urn that sits on my lap, while Aunt Midge drives us back to the house.
“She would’ve hated every second of that, your mother. Not one for attention.” Tears still weigh heavy in her voice, like she might break again.
“I never liked the attention, either.”
“You’d be surprised how much the two of you had in common.”
“Like what?”
“Piano, for one.”
I frown at that, staring down at the brass urn. “My mother played?”
“She sang and played and danced, and was smart and athletic. She was everything I wasn’t, and I spent years battling the jealousy.”
“Is that why you kept letting her in? Why you couldn’t turn her away?”
Staring toward the windshield, she shakes her head. “When you love someone, it’s hard to unlove them. They make mistakes, they do things you hate, things you don’t agree with, things that drive you absolutely mad, but when it comes down to it? You still love them. You can’t help it. I suppose that’s why I never really grasped the concept of Hell and the devil. The idea that God, or Jesus could turn his back on the ones he loves so much, just doesn’t make sense to me. Even if you murdered someone, Isa. I might be deeply disappointed, but to stop loving you? That’d be impossible.”
Her words somehow penetrate deeper than ever before, and I can’t help but think of Lucian.
“Aunt Midge, if I did something terrible, but I did it to protect you, could you forgive that?”
“Did you do something terrible?”
“No. It’s just a hypothetical.”
“Of course I’d forgive you. That’s what I mean. There is nothing stronger than love.”
I wonder, if she knew that I was talking about Lucian, would she answer differently. “How do you know if you love someone?”
She glances down at the urn in my lap and back to the road. “When you try to imagine a world without that person, and can’t, then you know it’s love.”
For a week, I’ve tried to forget about Lucian, and I can’t. I’ve tried to ignore the images of his face. The sound of his voice. The smell of his skin.
I can’t, and it physically aches to think that I may never see him again, in spite of what he says.
We arrive back at the house, where a strange car sits parked at the curb. I peer through the driver’s side window at Mr. Goodman, who waves back at me.
“What the hell is this?” Aunt Midge says beside me. “How’d he find out where I live?”
“He’s an investigator. It’s what he does.”
“Or did you tell him.”
“I didn’t.” Once the car rolls to a stop in the driveway, I climb out and hand the urn off to Aunt Midge. “I’ll just be a minute.”