Maybe not, a small voice said. Maybe not. What did I know?
Not for the first time, I wondered how Calvin and Nina ended up together. Much like her cousin and the rest of her family, Nina was tall and lithe with quiet, Scandinavian good looks—blonde hair, a razor-straight nose, and deep gray eyes that pierced before you knew it. Calvin Gardner, on the other hand, was the kind of man who might have been good-looking in his youth, but who had slowly spread outward like a round of cheese left in the sun. His skin was slightly yellowish, like he’d rubbed it all over with too much tanning oil, and I was ninety-nine percent sure that his too-shiny chestnut hair was the product of a well-disguised transplant. He had a mustache reminiscent of the Monopoly Man, and his muddy brown eyes only seemed to spark when he sensed an opportunity to make money.
Nina eyed her husband like she had forgotten he existed. Her exhaustion with the man was palpable, and he hadn’t even spoken directly to her.
“Hi, Calvin,” I said. “I’m good, how are you?”
He just glared at me. “You’re not part of this family anymore—you never really were. Why are you here?”
I surveyed the hundreds of people surrounding us, many of them watching our conversation. “Oh my God, I had no idea this was a small family affair.”
“Calvin, of course Jane should be here.” Nina gave her husband a sharp look. “Please sit down.”
“Come on, doll, I was just joking.”
Nina pressed her lips together irritably. “Please?”
With a rabbit-like wiggle of his snubbed nose, Calvin rejoined Heather and Violet in their corner.
Nina turned back to me. “Jane, I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see you after…”
“After my wedding crashed and burned, and then your mother sent me packing?”
Nina had the grace to look ashamed. Violet sent me a glare as Calvin whispered something in her ear. I was literally in my wedding dress, pacing the halls of the hospital along with the rest of Eric’s family, when Violet informed me I should leave the family in peace. No one had argued. And so I had.
“We just…” Nina smiled politely at a few of the guests, but when her gaze met mine again, her eyes shone. “It’s been a difficult few weeks. And with Eric gone…”
My bravado faded. Of course. I had no right to get up on my high horse with this family, as awful as they could be. Not today. Not when they were genuinely mourning.
“You didn’t know where he was either?” I asked. I had tried to inquire multiple times, but none of my calls had been answered.
Nina shook her head, causing her perfect blonde waves to shimmer back and forth.
“Nina, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Really, I am. If there is anything I can do to help, with anything, just let me know. Your grandma…she was special.”
“She was difficult,” Nina replied, but not without some fondness. She blinked back a few more tears. “But I loved her. Even when she adored Eric best of all, I still loved her.”
I nodded sympathetically. I had spent enough time around her and Celeste to see all the small ways in which Nina had tried to please her grandmother. But there was a part of Celeste that respected some rebellion, that quality so obvious in her grandson, but which her other, much more obedient grandchild sorely lacked.
“So, Eric,” Nina said, changing the subject. “Have you seen him then?” The subdued, yet frantic look in Nina’s eyes told me she had not. “The lawyer said he was back, but…”
“Just briefly in Boston. He was—well, we didn’t have a chance to talk much.” I glanced at Calvin, who was still staring daggers at me from where he now stood with a collection of portly men in expensive suits. I wrinkled my nose. Their lapels were as big as my head. Money definitely didn’t buy taste.
“The executor will read the will today, after the reception,” Nina was saying. “In Grandmother’s parlor. You should…he said you should come, didn’t he?”
I nodded, and then, just on a whim, I reached out to squeeze her hand. Nina started slightly, but didn’t pull away.
“She liked you,” Nina remarked as she looked down at my bare hand, studying the fact that I now wore no ring. Then she released it with a thin smile. “She would be glad you’re here.”
And before I could respond, she made her escape to greet a few other mourners. I turned to where Skylar and Brandon stood waiting for me and ignored the other curious faces while we found our seats. I filed to the end row, sitting at the penultimate chair since there was already a jacket draped around the last.
“So the burial is at the family’s plot at St. Mark’s, followed by the reception at the penthouse,” Skylar said next to me as she paged through the program. “Seems a bit weird, since she was Presbyterian.”
I shrugged, unsurprised. “It’s one of the oldest burial grounds in the city. The Stuyvesants were all buried there too. It was what she wanted.”
Skylar gave me a queer look. “You talked about that?”
I shrugged again. Strangely, I had had a number of conversations with Celeste about her funerary wishes. She was very proud of the fact that her family was as old as some of the grandest in New York. Knowing the end was nigh, she had not been quiet about her wishes.
“She knew what was coming,” I said, fighting the quaver in my voice. The more I thought of those conversations, the more I found I missed the old girl. She might have been a controlling autocrat, but she cared deeply about her family, and after some time, her sharp tongue was almost entertaining.
A blast of organs interrupted the chatter of the church, and there was a rumble of hundreds of people rising to their feet as the choir behind the crossing began the opening hymn.
“Are we supposed to sing too?” I asked Skylar.
She looked at me like I was crazy. “I’m barely even Jewish,” she whispered back. “How would I know?”
Brandon elbowed her and nodded at the program, pointing to the lyrics, then to the liturgy printed below it.
“Ah,” I said. “There’s a script.”
Brandon just rolled his eyes, and all humor evaporated as the minister passed, followed by the casket carried by eight men I recognized as cousins and friends of Eric’s family. Eric, however, was nowhere to be found.
We watched as the casket was brought to the crossing and set on a stand between two towering displays of white gladiolas and uncountable candles. Everything was exactly as Celeste would have wanted: lush, but tasteful.
The pallbearers returned to their seats as the hymn ended. The minister approached the microphone and began the service.
“In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
A few people around the church crossed themselves, including Brandon. The majority stood still and listened to the minister speak.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit. Psalms 34:18. May grace and peace be yours in abundance in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. Peter.” The minister took a deep breath before continuing: “We are gathered here to praise God, to witness to our faith, and to give thanks for the life of our sister, Celeste Annika de Vries. We come together in grief, acknowledging our loss. May God grant us grace that in pain—we may find comfort, in sorrow—hope, and in death—resurrection. Dying, Christ destroyed our death. Rising, Christ restores our life. In baptism, Celeste was sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. Let us pray.”
The entire congregation bowed their heads as the minister continued with a traditional prayer. It wasn’t completely unfamiliar. Unlike the bombastic affair of my wedding, this was a service I knew, having been towed to Bethany Korean Presbyterian from time to time while growing up. Dad wasn’t much of a constituent, but that never prevented Yu Na, when she was feeling penitent, from trying to save her only daughter.
There was a shuffle from the back of the church as one of the heavy doors opened and closed, but everyone kept their heads dutifully bowed even as footsteps hurried up a side
aisle. I peeked over and found Eric sliding next to me at the end of our row, his black suit rumpled and eyes swollen as he bowed his head in prayer.
“Please be seated,” said the minister.
The congregation obeyed.
“Eric?” I said in a low voice as we sank into our chairs.
He glanced at me. “Shhh.”
I shimmied closer. “Eric.”
Tentatively, I reached out to touch his shoulder, but, like a skittish cat, he jerked away.
“Don’t—don’t touch me,” he said, and when his flickering eyes met mine, I jerked back. There was something different there this morning. The vitriol from that night in Boston was gone, and now, all I saw was fear.
“Eric.” The name was now a whisper. “What happened? Where have you been?”
His eyelids dropped, and he inhaled a long, almost tortured breath. “Nowhere you need to know about.”
We sat not six inches apart, listening to the same minister who had married us offer a different reading, followed by a variety of platitudes about absolution and grace. I couldn’t have said what was in them—all I could think about was the man next to me. Eric sat still and straight the entire time, never looking once at me, just keeping his focus on the gladiolas. Thirty, forty minutes passed. His gaze didn’t waver once.
“And now we welcome Celeste’s grandson, Eric de Vries, to say a few words about his grandmother.”
I gaped as Eric stood shakily, pressed his charcoal, paisley-printed tie over the plain white shirt, and limped to the front of the church. In the front row, Nina, Calvin, and the rest of the de Vries family’s mouths dropped in surprise, then shut quickly when they realized everyone was watching them. The entire building was deathly silent as the prodigal son took his place in front of the casket, unfolded a piece of paper, and began.
“I’ll make this short. Grandmother never liked a bunch of talk. Maybe that’s why, just a few weeks ago, she pulled me aside and asked me to delivery her eulogy when the time came.”
A smattering of light laughter rippled through the church. Eric rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the paper.
“My grandmother wasn’t the easiest person to know. She was strong. She was stubborn. She really, really liked having her way. Kind of like me. Kind of like everyone in our family.”
Again, a round of chuckles sounded.
“She also didn’t always have a lot to say, but when she did, she made it count,” Eric continued, buoyed by the sound. “And when she asked me to return to New York after a long time away, she wanted one thing. One dying wish. For me to be happy.”
There was another rumble. No doubt that wasn’t the story much of New York knew. I wasn’t an idiot. Conspiracy theories had been flying around this city since Eric and I had announced our sudden engagement. Some thought I was pregnant. Others thought I had blackmailed him somehow. Very few knew the conditions forced upon us in order to bring Eric back into the family fold.
But it seemed Eric had settled on the conclusion I had determined as well. That perhaps Celeste had required this ridiculous plan because she knew her grandson better than he thought. She knew that when pressed to get married, he would still only choose a life that would make him happy. Someone he…loved.
The word landed in my chest with a thump. It felt like a mockery. We weren’t anything close to love now—just wreckage of lust and lies. I wasn’t even sure anymore if love was something Eric or I were capable of. Not with each other. Maybe not with anyone.
I swiped at a tear that escaped from under my glasses. Beside me, Skylar squeezed my hand.
“She wanted her family to live like she did—on their own terms,” Eric continued. “But she was one of the lucky ones. Not everyone can live their life exactly the way they want, but Celeste de Vries did. She made no apologies, even up until the end.”
Eric swallowed visibly, and I gripped the edge of my seat so hard my knuckles turned white.
“We may have fought. We may have sparred. But before she died, she gave me what I wanted more than anything in the world.”
His eyes met mine, and suddenly I found it hard to breathe. Eric’s voice was soft, barely audible, even with the amplified sound.
“And for that, I’ll always love her.”
My heart pounded in my chest, echoing his every footstep as he made his way back to his seat, his broad, strong back oblivious to the barrage of stares.
The final lines of the commendation sounded around us, but I could no longer make out the words. Eric shook as he stared at the floor. I sat still, unsure of what to say or do. Did he mean me? Was I what he wanted most in the world? Or was it his family? His fortune?
But before I could sum up the courage to ask, the edge of Eric’s hand flattened against the edge of mine where our seats met. And then, very slowly, two of his fingers slid over my skin and wrapped around my ring and pinky fingers.
I stared at them while the minister’s sonorous voice echoed through the air.
“What—” I finally whispered.
“Don’t.”
I looked up. Eric was looking at me, his deep gray eyes bottomless pools of sorrow and pain. Was this just for his grandmother, or was it for us? We had hurt each other so many times before, but I had never seen him look at me like that. I had never seen him look so afraid.
He turned back toward the minister, who was now guiding the congregation through The Lord’s Prayer.
“Eric,” I tried again. “What happened—”
“I said don’t.”
His lips barely moved; it was a whisper that only I could hear. But still, I heard it, and even though he would not meet my eyes, another finger joined the first two and squeezed. I looked down and was surprised to find the platinum of his wedding band still glinting against the dark wood.
Then his hand opened, and mine slipped into it. He held it long after the final rites were finished. Long after the casket was carried out of the church. It was only when we had to leave for the burial service that he finally let go. I turned to put on my coat, but when I looked up, ready to walk him out the doors, he was gone.
Seven
The burial was short and relatively simple compared to the church service. Skylar, Brandon, and I hovered on the outside of the group, unsure of where exactly to stand. Only a few people really cried, but I thought it was more out of respect than because they were sad. Celeste wouldn’t have shed more than a tear or two at her own mother’s funeral. Any more would have been utterly distasteful.
Celeste only wanted certain people present at her interring, and even fewer at the gathering afterward, which was limited to family and close friends only in the salon of her apartment. Skylar and Brandon were not allowed to attend, which was how I found myself walking into the elevator of her building alone.
“Hi, Gracie.” I waved hello to the affable doorman who had actually cried when Eric gave me my engagement ring. “I’m here for the reception.”
“Afternoon, Ms. Leff—Mrs. de Vrie—Ms. Jane.” He seemed just as confused about my marital status as I was. Yeah, join the club, buddy.
I made for the elevator, but just as it was about to close, a large, familiar hand blocked it. Eric entered, his face freezing when he saw me.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” I said as the other doorman closed the old-fashioned grate and began escorting us to the top floor.
We rode in silence with twin stiff postures, our hands clasped at our waists like dolls.
“You look nice,” Eric remarked.
I looked down. “It’s just a black dress.”
When he looked me over, I swore I could feel his heated gaze through the layers of leather and wool.
“I remember you modeling it when you were making it,” he said. “It looked nice on you then too.”
I wanted to ask him what he was playing at. Shouting at me one second, praising me the next. I was the one in this relationship who imparted the emotional whiplash—he was a
lways the steady hand. Maybe Brandon was right. Maybe something really had happened to him while he was gone. The question was, what, exactly?
“You’re not wearing your rings.”
I held out my hand, as if just realizing that I had removed the jewelry. “It’s…they’re just here.”
I pulled out the long chain I was wearing around my neck. The simple platinum band and my engagement ring, set with its enormous black diamond, dangled from the end like a hypnotist’s tool. Eric followed its progress, back and forth, then fixed his deep gaze on me for a second before he looked away.
I looked down. His ring finger was now bare. I hated—hated—how much it hurt.
“You took yours off?” I asked.
His hand clenched. “Right, well. I suppose we’re not married, are we?”
His harsh words in Boston thundered in the back of my mind.
“Nope,” I said in a voice that was sharper than I intended. “I suppose we’re not.”
Before he could reply, the elevator doors opened, and Garrett, Celeste’s butler, was waiting for us. We filed into the familiar penthouse foyer, which now seemed like a terrible parody in the absence of its owner.
“Welcome, sir,” Garrett greeted Eric with an oddly formal bow and hung there a moment too long. “Miss Jane.”
“Hello, Garrett,” Eric greeted him. “How are you holding up?”
“As best as we can, sir.”
Garrett offered a curt nod, but the creases around the old butler’s eyes seemed darker and deeper than usual. It struck me then that the de Vrieses weren’t the only ones mourning. Garrett had been Celeste’s butler for close to sixty years, since she was a young bride herself. The ancient man must have been wondering what in the hell he was going to do with himself without his mistress.
“The rest of the family has arrived, sir,” Garrett said as he turned and began to lead us slowly through the maze of hallways that tunneled around the penthouse.
“Eric,” I whispered as we walked.
“Not now,” he said over his shoulder.
“We need to talk.”
The Kiss Plot: Book Two of the Quicksilver Trilogy Page 7