“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen…”
We bowed our heads as he prayed. The incense filled the room and my body as I breathed it in. I closed my eyes.
I saw the four of us lounging by our pool as we read paperbacks and soaked up the sun. I saw us wiping tears from our eyes, from whatever hilarity one of us had muttered. I saw us walking through the streets of Aruba, Buenos Aires, and Ipanema together. I saw the four of us going to dinners together, shopping together, cooking together—doing everything together. I opened my eyes, and I saw three.
Cienna squeezed my hand. I had returned home miserable and alone, and I was ending the summer well on my way to being my better self and with a new sense of family ties. No matter how much animosity had been between us at the beginning of the summer, my sisters were how I would manage to survive. My sisters, Bryn and Nicolaas, that is.
Father Delmas stepped backwards. Holding hands, the three of us walked forward. We sat as comfortable as possible on the edge of Maman’s bed. Philippe took her hand into his. How sad it was that it had taken Maman’s imminent death to unite us.
“Our Father who art in Heaven,” Father Delmas began.
“Hallowed be Thy name,” we continued. “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done…”
I decided not to mourn for my mother. Camelea was right; she needed peace. As hard as it was to face, Maman would not be there the next morning to help me get through the day. I knew that Maman would not have wanted me to take to bed and waste away. With the memory of Maman ever on my mind, I was determined to get better and to live the fullest possible life.
“Amen.”
Maman sighed for the last time as the sign of the cross was made over her.
Amen.
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Sleeping Awake Page 23