"I'm sorry for your loss," I said as she threw her arms around my neck, clinging to me. I could feel her fighting back the sobs as she held onto me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as I looked straight ahead at my father's casket.
"I didn't know if you were coming home or not," she choked out as she let go enough to step back and look up at me. There was pain in her eyes. I could see it, but I ignored it.
"I didn't know if I could," I said without emotion. "But here I am."
"I'm so glad you came," she said as she laid a hand on my cheek and smiled sadly. "I know your father would have appreciated it."
"I'm sure he would have," I said flatly as I looked over at the open casket just to make sure it was, in fact, my father lying in it. "He'd have liked one more chance to tell me how much I messed up my life."
"Jackson, please," my mother quietly pleaded. "Not today. Please, not today."
"Fine," I said curtly. "Not today."
"Or any other day," my brother added as he joined the family circle nodding at me. "Jack."
"Lincoln," I said in the same tone. My older brother was the star of the family. He was the one who had done everything my father had expected and had, for all intents and purpose, been his right hand man for years. He was two years older than me, but people often mistook us for twins. I didn't expect that to happen today, though, since I'd decided to forgo shaving and had left my tie in my suitcase. I'd done it on purpose, knowing that my father would have been appalled by my lack of decorum.
"Good of you to make it," he said looking me over and then shaking his head. "Couldn't you have dressed properly for the occasion—or shaved, at the very least?"
"I guess I lack your impeccable sense of dress and hygiene, brother dear," I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then again, I don't have a wife who maps out every minute detail of my life for me and tells me how to function."
"I wonder why that is," Lincoln said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward and added, "It couldn't be because you're incapable of forming any kind of relationship that requires you to stick around longer than forty-eight hours, could it?"
"No, but it could be because I never had my head so far up my father's ass that I'd let him pick out a woman for me to marry," I shot back in a voice filled with venom.
"Boys! Please, stop it!" my mother hissed as she grabbed our arms and pulled us to the side of the room, away from the mourners. She looked back and forth between the two of us, and said, "I don't care how you feel about your father or each other or this family, but I will not have the two of you fighting today. I won't have it! Do you understand me?"
Lincoln and I dutifully nodded as she gripped our arms so hard we both winced. That's how things were done in the Yates family. If you didn't get what you wanted the first time, you used enough force to ensure that everyone eventually complied.
"Fine," I finally conceded. "I need a drink."
"No, you'll come stand in the receiving line and talk to the people who are here to express their condolences for the loss of your father," my mother said in a steely voice. "Today you will do what I need."
She let go of my arm and ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing away the imaginary wrinkles before turning and heading back to the receiving line. Lincoln and I followed her like obedient puppies and then stood guard on either side of her as she received condolences from what seemed like an endless line of people.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Yates," the chubby woman in the midnight-blue velvet dress sobbed as she grabbed my mother and enfolded her in a bone-crushing hug. My mother patted her back and let the woman hug her for a few moments before stepping back and giving her a brave smile.
"Thank you, Norma," my mother said. "I know Bernard appreciated all the wonderful years of service you gave him. He always said there was no way on earth he could have been so successful without your help."
"Aww, shucks. He was such a good and decent man!" Norma drawled in a heavy Southern accent. "Y’all know it's not fair that he's been taken from us!"
"No, it isn't," my mother said quietly. "But there are no guarantees in life, and I think Bernard lived as well as he could have for as long as he was with us."
"It’s gonna be like biscuits without butter," Norma moaned into her handkerchief. "What are we going to do without him? Who will run the business?"
"Now, Norma, you know that father had all kinds of things in place in the event that something like this happened," my brother interjected as he pulled the chubby woman away from our mother and propelled her down the line. "It'll all be taken care of, so don't you worry about a thing."
Norma moved on to my father's casket where she knelt down in front of it and wept like a child as she murmured words into her folded hands that none of us could hear. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the small brunette standing in front of me.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Yates," she said as she looked up at me with a pair of bright blue eyes, shining with tears. "Your father was kind to me, and I'll miss him."
"Thank you, Miss..." I trailed off as I stood staring at the spray of freckles that covered her face. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had a look that was fresh and pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders and curled around her face in a way that made her resemble a Raphaelite angel.
"Leah Walsh," she said holding out her hand. "I work for your father, well, worked for him. He hired me right out of high school and trained me to take over the manufacturing division. He was a kind man, and I'll never forget him."
"Yes, well, thank you, Miss Walsh," I said coolly. There was something unusual about her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, so I said, "Did you know my father well?"
"Yes," she said with a puzzled look on her face. "We all knew him well. He was a great man."