A Beautiful Funeral: A Novel (Maddox Brothers Book 5) (22 page)

I leaned over to kiss his cheek and then the corner of his mouth. He stiffened, unsure what to do, worried to do the wrong thing. I pressed my lips against his, once and then again. The third time I parted my lips, he kissed me back, holding each side of my face. We hadn’t touched in months, and once we started, we couldn’t stop. We were crying and kissing, hugging and making promises, and it felt right.

Taylor held his forehead to mine, breathing hard, relieved but once again cautious. “Is this for now? Is it going to be different when we get back to Colorado and go home to the same problems?”

“We’ll be working on the same problems, but it will be different.”

He nodded, a tear dripping from the tip of his nose. “It will. I promise.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

ELLIE

I
SWIPED LEFT ON MY EREADER DISPLAY
, turning the page, and then adjusting my body when Tyler stirred. He’d been asleep on my right thigh for two hours, and Gavin on my left for three. I wasn’t sure why I moved. Trying to adjust after one of my boys did to make them more comfortable usually just made them uncomfortable, and they would shift again. For whatever reason, I thought I’d know what would make them more comfortable than they did, and I was almost always wrong. It was in part a control issue and maternal instinct. I needed to feel I was helping to make them comfortable, when in reality if I’d just sat still, they could have done it themselves.

I skimmed down the page, absorbing ideas about coping with death, helping others to cope with death, and the comfort in the belief held by a Ph.D. that our energies move on to the next life. I wasn’t sure if that made me a transcendental new age fruit loop, but it made me feel better, and as far as I was concerned, that was my purpose—to exist and heal wounds in the healthiest way I could.

I’d been grappling with finding peace in Thomas’s death, in the lies, and in the danger we’d been put in. I tried not to think about Gavin’s picture being one in the more than a dozen photographs scattered on the passenger seat of the vehicle carrying three mafia hitmen, or that his picture had likely been spattered and stained by their blood. The same dark red in color as Gavin’s, and not long ago surging through veins of a man who was once a boy; whose only difference from me was a series of bad choices, spurned by childhood experiences marred by his parents’ bad choices: a cycle that was never broken.

My heart ached for the men who would have murdered my child without a second thought, and that was unnerving as well. I’d given up anger, and with that release, I found myself without the tool I needed to hate. I could hate them, but it was difficult when I’d spent so many years viewing adults as children and studying the origin of their actions. I’d never considered that in my discipline to view the world in a new way, I would struggle with having expected emotions that would have come so easily to me a decade earlier.

Still, those men I couldn’t hate weren’t imaginary. They’d come to Eakins with guns and a very real threat to our family. It was easy to blame Thomas and Travis for bringing them there, but that would require placing the blame on someone else’s choice. Thomas and Travis might have made their own choices based on the Carlisis, but they were on the right side of this. Their only other choice was to allow the Carlisis to avenge Benny’s death. I was a person who detested violence, but sitting in a room with my sleeping husband and son, I realized there truly was a time for everything.

The only solution was to stand and fight.

That recognition both devastated and empowered me, as each new understanding did. I swiped the page again, feeling my cheeks burn with the tears that had begun to spill over. I sniffed and wiped my nose, waking my husband.

He saw my face and sat up, tucking a stray strand that had fallen from my bun behind my ear. “Elle,” he said, barely above a whisper. “What is it?”

“Just reading a sad part,” I said.

He smiled. He teased me often that I was the only person he knew who cried over non-fiction, but growth was rattling, and I often had to leave the bruised pieces of me behind, no matter how attached I’d become to them.

“What part is that?” he asked, settling in next to me.

“That Thomas and Travis’s choice was reasonable, and it must have been so hard for them. They’ve been walking this earth so conflicted.”

Tyler thought about my words and then sighed. “Probably.”

“It’s hard to see the light in circumstances like this, even if you’re holding the candle.”

Tyler chuckled and then turned to me. “Did you read that?”

“No.”

“Your brain amazes me. Your thoughts are poetry.”

I breathed out a laugh. “Sometimes, I guess. It’s important to find strength in pain.”

Tyler kissed my cheek and then reached for our son. Gavin was the perfect balance of Tyler and me—at peace when he was angry, wearing pale, soft skin encompassing a kind, brave spirit, and an analytical mind. I ran my fingers over the short cut he insisted upon to look more like his daddy, making his lids flutter. His warm russet eyes embraced the dark. Just like us, he would live through his worst before being his best, and I both dreaded and welcomed the challenge. I’d spent a lot of time earning the right to be his mother.

“He’s been sleeping for a long time,” Tyler said.

“I don’t think he got a lot of sleep at the hospital. He needs it. His body will wake when it’s rested.”

We heard footsteps pass our door, walking down the hallway to the top of the stairs. Once they’d descended, Jim’s muffled voice greeted them.

“He’s up,” Tyler said. “We should go down.”

I nodded, carefully lifting Gavin’s head from my lap. Tyler placed a pillow under his head, and I tucked the blankets in around him. Tyler held my hand as we made our way to the table where Jim sat with Liis and Mr. Baird, the representative from the funeral home. He’d come earlier before Jim had woken from his nap, and insisted on waiting patiently for the family to gather. Mr. Baird was tall and lanky, his ash-colored hair parted to the side and carefully gelled and combed over. He turned the page of a catalog, quietly discussing the pros and cons of oak, cedar, and pine, and the more eco-friendly bamboo or banana leaf and explaining the difference between a coffin and a casket.

Two boxes of tissue were the centerpiece of the dining table, and Camille reached over her seated husband to pull out a sheet, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. She was standing behind him, rubbing his shoulders, but it seemed to be comforting her as well.

Liis was sitting next to Jim, stoic, almost disconnected. I assumed she would handle the details as she did her job, organized and meticulous, but she was deferring to Jim for almost every decision.

“What about an urn?” Travis asked.

Jim frowned, likely imagining the cremation of Thomas’s body instead of the vision Travis meant.

Liis nodded. “We could spread his remains in the backyard. He has so many stories of watching his brothers play there. I think he would like that.”

“I was thinking of giving him my plot next to his mother,” Jim said.

“That’s sweet,” I said, acknowledging the thought, but Trenton sighed, agitated.

“No, Dad,” Trenton said. “You belong next to Mom. Liis is right. Thomas wouldn’t want people staring at his body lying in a coffin.”

“Casket,” Mr. Baird corrected. “A coffin is a six or eight-sided wooden or metal burial unit that was historically used as a less expensive option. The angles provided use of fewer materials and…”

“No offense, Mr. Baird,” Trenton said, “but I don’t fucking care.” He looked down at his watch. “Damn it. I have to get to work.”

“I called in for you,” Camille said.

“You did?” Trenton asked, bewildered.

“You should be here.”

“Did you call in, too?” he asked.

“I can work from home.” She put her hands on his forearm, their skin a masterpiece of lines and colors. “I should be here with you.”

He turned, nodding and taking a deep breath. The smallest things seemed to bring everyone closer to the fact that this wasn’t a bad dream. Thomas was dead, and we were going to say goodbye to him soon.

“Most of us haven’t seen him since Christmas,” Taylor said, holding Falyn’s hand in his lap. They’d barely been able to stop touching since they’d made up earlier that day. “It would be closure for me to see him.”

Everyone looked at Liis, who stumbled over her next words. “I don’t think … I think in this case, an urn is preferable.”

“Are you saying that because he won’t look the same or because it can’t be an open casket?”

I tried not to gasp, but it happened, anyway. Olive did, too.

“I think,” Liis said, trading glances with Travis, “an urn is preferable.”

Jim looked away, trying to gather his emotions before responding. He cleared his throat. “Let’s see the urns, then.”

Papers rattled while Mr. Baird gathered the casket choices and put them away. He brought out a new catalog and printouts, and Liis opened the book to the first page of options.

“I need to know,” Trenton said.

“Please don’t,” Camille cried.

“Why can’t we have an open casket?” Trenton asked.

“Olive,” Falyn warned. “Go check on the kids.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, immediately turning for the stairs.

“Liis?” Trenton prompted.

“Trent,” Liis said, closing her eyes. “I understand knowing is part of your grieving process, but I can’t. This is too hard.”

Travis walked over to her and cupped her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Trent.”

“It fucking matters. I wanna know what happened to my brother.”

“He died,” Travis said.

Trenton slammed his fist on the table and stood. “I know! I know he fucking died! I wanna know why! I wanna know who let that happen!”

Travis’s voice was noticeably restrained. “No one. No one let it happen. It just is. We don’t have to pick someone to blame, Trent …”

“Yeah, we do. Tommy is dead, Travis. He’s fucking dead, and I blame the FBI. I blame him. I blame her,” he said, pointing at Liis. “And I blame you.” He was shaking, his eyes bloodshot and glossed over.

“Fuck you, Trent,” Travis said.

Trenton rounded the table, prompting the twins to stand between them. Travis stood stoic, unflinching while Trenton thrashed about wildly. I scrambled from my chair and stood with my back to the corner, palms flat against the walls.

“Every last one of you suited up motherfuckers ...!” Trenton seethed.

“Stop!” Tyler said, gripping the collar of Trenton’s shirt. “Stop, goddammit!”

“Fuck off!” Trenton said, shoving Tyler off him. He was breathing hard, pacing back and forth a few feet and glaring at Travis like he was between rounds during an MMA match.

Taylor stood in front of Travis, gesturing for his wife to step back. Falyn obeyed, pushing away from the table and walking around to the other side to stand next to me. “What do we do?” she whispered.

“Stay put,” I said.

“All the damn lies,” Trenton said. He pointed at Travis. “And you shot their fucking boss, and then they murdered our brother!” He took a few steps, and Taylor braced himself. “And half a goddamn day goes by before you tell us what the hell is going on? What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” He took another step, too far into Taylor’s space.

“Don’t make me knock you out,” Taylor said, his brow furrowed.

I closed my eyes. “Please stop,” I said, my voice too weak for anyone to hear except Tyler. He glanced at me just long enough to check that I was okay.

“No one is knocking anyone out,” Camille said, standing behind her husband. “Back off, Taylor.”

Falyn took a step forward. “Taylor? Tell your husband to calm down. This isn’t solving anything.”

Camille narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law. “You know what didn’t solve anything? Putting us all in danger and lying about it. I think Trent has a right to be upset.”

“Really?” Falyn said, crossing her arms. “Really, Cami? You’re going to pretend you weren’t on Team Thomas twenty-four hours ago?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Falyn,” Camille said, disgusted.

“Hey!” Taylor boomed. “Don’t talk to her like that. Ever.”

“Then she needs to watch her tone,” Trenton said.

“She’s my
wife
!” Taylor said. “No one talks to her like that.”

“Weren’t you just yelling at Cami yesterday for the same thing?” Falyn asked. “That she was keeping secrets? Now, you’re blaming Liis when she’s sitting there trying to mourn her husband? Liis doesn’t owe you anything, Trent.”

“She owes me the truth!” he yelled.

Jim was still turning pages, trying to ignore that his family was falling apart a few feet away. It was too much for him, and too much for Liis, who couldn’t find words or the will to stop them.

“Are you finished?” Travis asked.

The front door opened, and Shepley’s boys barreled down the hall, barely waving to us just before they shot up the stairs. When Shepley and America came to the end of the hall to see almost everyone standing, and me backed against the wall, they froze.

“What’s going on?” Shepley asked, his eyes bouncing from one person to the next.

“Why don’t you ask Travis?” Trenton said, jerking his hand out and upward in Travis’s general direction.

Shepley looked to Travis, seeming uncomfortable. “What’s going on?”

Travis sighed, relaxing a bit. “Trenton’s having another one of his outbursts.”

Trenton shot Travis a dirty look.

Travis shrugged. “You told him to ask me.”

America walked up to the table and pulled up a chair, unfazed by the fact that a war was about to break out. “What now? Is he pissed about Cami again?”

Camille narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” America said, picking at her thumbnail.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone,” Camille seethed. “And if every single one of you judging me would have known from the beginning, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Not a damn thing. So put away your pitchforks. I was respecting Thomas’s wishes. That’s all.”

“America didn’t mean that, Cami,” Shepley said.

“Yes, I did,” America deadpanned.

“Mare,” Shepley chided.