Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“You’re a good son, Nicholas.”
It’s funny that she would say that now when that hadn’t always been the sentiment she expressed to me. I suppose the expression better late than never applies right now. I know Kenny was her favorite, and I never begrudged him that. But that’s why this day was particularly hard on her. Now it was just me, and I had to be the shoulder she needed to lean on.
I guided her toward the waiting limo, but she stopped and pulled herself out of my hold with a growl.
“Mom—”
“No.” She held up her hand to cut me off. “I’m tired of playing nice while that slut stands there as cool as a cucumber. She killed my little boy!” She screamed the words and all the while, the object of our scorn stands as still as a statue, watching the casket being covered. Either she’s not paying attention to us or she’s doing a damn good job of ignoring the unfolding drama. Either way, it irritated me even more.
I regained my grip on her shoulders. “Not here. She’s not worth it.”
When my mother set her mind to something, however, very little could stop her, and it seemed she was hell-bent on having this confrontation. Once again she pulled herself out of my grip and stormed over to Frankie who didn’t bother to acknowledge the angry woman confronting her.
“Are you happy, you bitch?” Mom’s shrill scream pieced the rustling of the wind as she waved her arms erratically.
It was only then when Frankie finally turned to face Mom, did I temporarily freeze. Those big brown eyes held the suspicious sheen of tears, and if I weren’t mistaken, I saw the briefest flicker of pain within their depths. With God as my witness, however, I’m quite certain I’m mistaken. Francesca Evans née Robinson is a good actress. There was one time when she would have fooled me but no longer.
“What? You don’t have anything to say for yourself? You killed my baby! I’m not going to let you get away with it. I swear on my dear Kenny’s grave that I will make you pay for what you did if it’s the last thing I do!”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Frankie replied softly as if my mother didn’t just threaten hellfire and brimstone.
Obviously this wasn’t the response Mom was expecting which seemed to further anger her. “You’re sorry?” My mother glared at her adversary with hatred and the fire of a thousand burning suns. If looks could kill, my brother wouldn’t be the only one getting buried today. “Sorry? What the hell is your sorry supposed to do for me when my son is in the damn ground? This is exactly what you wanted, you cold-hearted evil demon! You killed him, and all you can say is you’re sorry?” Mom made a phlegmy sound in the back of her throat before unloading a big ball of spit directly in Frankie’s face.
Even I was repulsed by my mother’s actions, and actually wouldn’t have faulted Frankie if she were to retaliate. However, she merely wiped her face and turned to walk away.
My mother clenched her fists at her side, and it seemed as if she were contemplating whether to chase after Frankie, but I made the decision for her. I wrapped my arms around her, tightly, ensuring that she wouldn’t escape my grasp. This day had already taken a toll on us all. There was no need to escalate things further. At least for now, anyway.
“She’s not worth it. Leave it be. Besides, we have to get back to the house for the repast.”
My mother continued to struggle in my arms as hysteria seemed to take over her. She shot a narrowed-eye stare at Frankie’s retreating figure. “And don’t you dare show up at my house! You’re not welcome! Do you hear me, you murderous bitch? If you step one foot on my property, I will shoot you dead, and there’s not a single court in this country that would convict me!” Her voice carried loud enough for the few stranglers by the graveside to hear.
Even the gravediggers momentarily paused from their shoveling to stare in our direction.
Frankie continued to walk away without missing a beat seemingly unbothered by the damage she’d wrought on my family. Part of me almost felt sorry for her, but then I remembered what she’d done, and anger nearly squeezed my insides so tightly I could barely breathe. I’d handle her later, but first I had to greet the guests who were surely starting to arrive at my mother’s house where the caterers had set up food and drink for well-wishers sending their final condolences.
Somehow I made it through the rest of the day with little fanfare. Friends and family came to the house for the next few hours sampling the numerous delicacies on display. Casseroles piled up on the kitchen island untouched, brought to us by well-wishers with offers of sympathy and help. Even in her grief my mother wanted a certain aesthetic to be kept. No homemade lemon squares or tuna noodle concoction would mar her perfect catered affair, even if it was just an informal gathering.