The Baby (The Boss 5)

“Yes, of course she has,” he snapped. “Emma is my niece.”

“Then, I assume Valerie will also share information about the funeral arrangements.” I barreled on before he could speak, again. “You are not welcome. I will be personally hiring extra security. If you show up, you’ll be escorted off the premises. Do you understand?”

“Do you understand that Valerie is my sister, and she will need me at this difficult time?” I heard his sneer over the line. “If you think I’m going to stay away just because some little bitch threatened me—”

A cold sweat broke out all over my skin, and my jaw clenched from the sudden adrenaline of my fury. “Do you understand that you fucking raped my fucking husband, and if I fucking see you at this fucking funeral, I will make your life a living hell?” I shouted. “Do not come here!”

I was so out of control I ended the call by whipping my phone at the wall as hard as I could. It exploded into a jumble of broken glass and components, and I stared at it, still trembling all over.

Now, I could add, “buy a new fucking phone” to my to-do list. Was I ever going to stop making things harder than they already were?

CHAPTER SIX

The funeral was on Friday.

Neil stood before the mirror in the closet, the lighting overhead casting harsh shadows below his brow and cheekbones. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t a trick of the light, nor was the paleness of his complexion. He’d barely eaten anything all week, and he’d sat up nights with Olivia, as though he were standing guard.

From the chair beside my shoe rack, I fastened the ankle straps of my pumps and watched him knot his tie. Each piece of clothing he put on seemed to weigh him down more. He donned his jacket and buttoned it, then stood back, giving himself a final look over. He went still, horror transforming his expressionless face.

He fell forward more than stepped, bracing himself against the mirror with an arm above his head as those raw cries of agony tore from him. I leapt to my feet and rushed to his side, pulling him into my arms.

This had happened so often this week. He sleepwalked through his days, until something inevitably woke him and plunged him back into this nightmare. And he’d just realized he was dressing for his daughter’s funeral.

“Come on,” I said softly. “Let’s go get your Valium.”

Though I secretly feared loading Neil up on benzos was a bad idea and would just help him to avoid reality, Dr. Harris had assured me it wouldn’t interfere with the grieving process. It was so important to Neil that he maintain his composure in public, and I couldn’t take that away from him.

Though neither Michael nor Emma were religious, the services would be held in the Woolworth chapel in Woodlawn cemetery. We arrived an hour early, and the funeral director met us there. He took us to a small office where Neil, as executor of the estate, signed some forms for the cremation that would take place immediately after the service.

“I want to stay here,” Neil said, his hands trembling as he handed back the clipboard and pen. “Until it’s finished.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked, one hand on his shoulder. I rubbed his arm and linked my fingers with his.

“I want to know that it’s done, and it’s been done properly.” He took a breath and straightened his spine, settling the matter.

We waited in the office while mourners arrived. Neil sat in silence, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

“Do you need anything?” I asked after a while.

He nodded. “I need my daughter.”

Valerie and Laurence arrived shortly after, Valerie carrying a small bundle in her arms that I immediately recognized as a baby blanket. My throat stuck shut.

“Valerie,” Neil said, putting his arms out to her, and she stepped into them, her face scrunching up in what looked to be just the latest in the line of painful crying spells scheduled for the day. Neil squeezed his eyes shut, too, but was surprisingly even as he spoke. “Chin up. You’re going to hate yourself later if you fall apart, now.”

Laurence cleared his throat. “If her daughter’s funeral isn’t a good enough time to cry, then what is?”

I stiffened. I hated conflict, and I certainly didn’t want one to take place, right here, right now. Laurence was seeing Neil the way I’d once seen Valerie. He didn’t know that Neil wasn’t a threat.

Are you sure? A little curl of fear nagged at me.

I reminded myself that any time I was most emotionally vulnerable, all my bad feelings about Valerie and Neil would come back to attack me. The birth of their daughter hadn’t brought Neil and Valerie together, and her death certainly wouldn’t.

Just entertaining thoughts about jealousy made me worry I was a terrible person. How could I be thinking of such a thing when Emma and Michael were dead? But I’d worked too hard on myself to let tens of thousands of dollars in therapy bills just circle the drain in a moment of doubt. Nobody can control their emotional reactions. We can only control our actions. And my current action was to slap my jealousy in the face and shove her into a vat of shut-the-fuck-up.

I hoped Laurence would be able to do the same thing, for Valerie’s sake.

“I’m sure it’s a British thing,” I tried to joke, but Laurence’s steely expression didn’t change.