It’s best. She doesn’t need to worry about what her brother knows or thinks. I’ll carry that burden for her.
Gladly.
THIRTY-SIX
SYLVIE
The funeral service is beautiful.Elegant.
We’re all clad in somber black, my chic Valentino dress something I know my mother would approve of. The blood red diamond Spencer slid onto my finger glimmers and shines in the sunlight that beams through the church’s massive stained-glass windows, blinding me every few minutes when I shift and move, restless.
Always restless.
Summer stands next to me in a flowing black dress, her belly huge. She clings to Whit’s arm, her gaze only for him, and I’m so grateful she has him, and he has her. He’s become a different person since he’s committed himself to Summer. A better person.
I’m proud of him.
The pastor drones on, saying nice words about a not-so-nice woman, and I stare at the elaborate floral display. There’s no casket—her remains have already been cremated—but there are white flowers everywhere. Sprays of roses and ranunculus flowers. Beautiful arrangements of fragile white orchids and delicate greenery. The entire church smells like a florist shop, heady and sweet, and I find myself clinging to Spencer’s arm, overwhelmed by the scent. The moment.
Everything.
My mother is gone, and while there is a hole in my heart that she once occupied, there is also that sense of relief deep within me that grows and grows as every day passes. She’s actually gone.
I’m actually free.
Whit hired a harpist, who begins to play a haunting, beautiful song. I don’t recognize it at first until the chorus and then realize it’s “Candle in the Wind” by Elton John. The song he sang at Princess Diana’s funeral.
God, my mother would love that. Such a perfect touch. She always did admire Princess Diana.
Minutes later, we’re all walking out of the church. I’m flanked by Spencer and Whit, Summer on the other side of her husband, Carolina walking behind us with our father, their arms linked. Other family members follow, all of the Lancasters turning out for this moment. She may have been divorced from the family, and she wasn’t one of their favorites, but by God, the Lancasters always know how to show up and pay their respects.
In this moment, I’m proud to be a part of this family. Prouder than I’ve been in a long time.
“Are you all right?” Spencer murmurs close to my ear, his hand clasping mine.
I nod, offering him a faint smile. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his in return, so grateful for this man I feel like I could burst.
We walk down the stairs, Summer waddling as she carefully takes each step, grimacing when she lands on the last one. She rests her hand on her stomach.
“Oh God,” she breathes out.
Whit hovers, his hand covering hers. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She flashes a fake smile. “Just a cramp.”
“Come straight over to the apartment,” Father tells us, Carolina still by his side. I swear to God she flat out doesn’t cry. I haven’t seen her shed a single tear since Mother passed, and I wish I was as calm as she is. “I’ve already told everyone. There’s food and drink, and an entire staff to serve it. I hired a piano player and everything.”
“Mother would love this type of party,” I say.
“She would,” Whit agrees.
“At least someone is playing the piano in Daddy’s apartment,” Carolina says with a little shrug.
I study her, taking in her chic black sheath dress, her bright blonde hair slicked into a sophisticated chignon. She’s got black Chanel sunglasses on and giant diamond studs twinkle in each ear. She is the epitome of an Upper East Side socialite. The slender ballerina who doesn’t walk, but glides.
I envy the way she bottles up her emotions. It’s a known family trait, but she’s extra good at it. I wish I could be that contained sometimes.