Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“You said nobody would be here.” Dirk’s voice is robotic.
“I know what I said. But we have to get out of here now.”
“Who is that guy?”
“I have no idea. He doesn’t work here that I know of. He may have been trying to rob the place, same as us. Fuck, Dirk, he didn’t have a weapon. What the—”
“My God… The money…” Jerry starts picking up bills.
“For Christ’s sake,” I whisper harshly, “leave it.”
“Are you fucking kidding?” Carlos wipes the puke from his mouth and bends down to help Jerry.
The two of them scramble to pull the money together and shove it in the duffel bag I brought.
I don’t help them, but I’m damned sure going to take my share.
Dirk is covered in blood. It doesn’t show on the black hoodie he’s wearing, but it’s all over his jeans.
“Take a look at yourself,” I say to him. “Did any of your blood get mingled in with this guy’s? Did you nick yourself with that knife?”
“Hard to say. There’s blood all over me.”
“There’s blood all over all of us, but did you nick yourself at all?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t feel anything.”
Of course he doesn’t feel anything. None of us do. We’re all fucking numb right now. Our survival instincts are in overdrive.
This went so, so wrong.
“We can’t leave it here,” I say.
“The hell we can’t.”
“No, we can’t. We have to…get rid of it.”
…
Present Day…
It.
I said it.
I called a human being it.
Because he was no longer a human being. He was a corpse.
Just the thought…
Despite looking away at first, Jerry knew exactly what to do. Made me wonder what kind of home he came from.
The victim turned out to be an escaped convict with no family, so no one really mourned his loss.
He disappeared into thin air.
When his photograph showed up on TV, I recognized him.
He wasn’t an it.
He was a man.
A man whose life was cut short.
Largely because of me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tessa
Da’s funeral is held in our church—the one made of gray stone that I used to tell Nana looked like a castle.
“In a way, it is,” she told me.
I never asked her why she said that because my first communion was later that day.
I didn’t talk to Nana about the saints much after that.
She’d often ask if I wanted to sit with her at her altar, the way I used to, and pray to the saints and to the Blessed Mother, but I always said no.
Something held me back after my first communion.
Now I know what it was.
How had I blanked the altercation with the altar boy out of my mind? I haven’t had a chance to talk to my therapist about it. I’ve been busy dealing with Dad’s passing.
Our next session will be a big one.
Mom, Eva, and I sit in the front pew along with Dad’s brother, Uncle Josh, and Mom’s two siblings, Uncle Miggie and Aunt Lily. In my hand, I clutch a small silk bag holding the pearl from the night Ben and I ate at Union Oyster House. Somehow, it helps.
I don’t want to look at the black lacquer casket covered with the white pall and sitting near the altar, but I can’t force my gaze away. Da is in that coffin. My da.
Except not my da.
Only his body.
His body that’s been filled with embalming fluid and dressed in his Sunday best.
I swallow back the nausea.
I nearly lost it during the entrance procession. Why a Catholic funeral has to be such an event is beyond me. I need to say goodbye in my own way.
The priest, Father Johnson, offers scriptural readings and prayers and then gives a short homily about my father. For the first time in forever, I listen to the words spoken in a church.
“We gather here today to remember and celebrate the life of Daniel Logan, devoted husband to Carlotta, loving father to Teresa and Eva, and brother to Joshua. When we mourn the loss of a loved one, it is our faith that provides solace and guidance. Dan’s life was a demonstration of the strength of his faith, and his journey was marked by love, devotion, and unwavering belief in the teachings of our Lord.”
I don’t know Father Johnson. I’ve never seen him before, but he seems to know my father well. As a child, I often heard him say to my mother, “It’s in God’s hands now, Carly.” He’d give his pain and suffering over to God so easily.
Something I can’t do. Don’t want to do.
Murmurs of Amen surround me, but I can’t bring myself to say the word.
“I’d like to invite Dan’s brother, Josh, up to say a few further words.”
My uncle, who looks a lot like my father—same brown hair and blue eyes—rises and walks to the altar.
“Thank you, Father.” He looks at us in the front row. “Carly, Tessa, Eva, family and friends. Today, we gather here to remember my dear brother, Dan, a man of unwavering faith and a source of inspiration for all who knew him. As we reflect on his life, I can’t help but recall some of the wonderful and humorous moments we shared together.