Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Sometimes, I think I’m still trapped in that bad dream, the one in which my tormentor showed up to soothe me. How can everything so hurtful and utterly devastating happen at the same time? Karma is obviously trying to tell me something. I only hate one person more than Angelo Russo, and that’s myself.
Not wanting to add to my family’s heavy burden, I mourn my losses in private. If only I could cry, but the stormy emotions remain trapped in my chest. At night, alone in my childhood bed, I’m sucked back into that deep, dark pit until I surface from my sleep gasping and with my body covered in sweat.
Our lawyer was present when the police interrogated me to make sure my legal rights were protected. He was happy with how the questioning went. The hospital psychiatrist told the detective in charge of the investigation that the shock most probably caused a short circuit in my brain, which made me black out.
The fact that I fainted again when Ryan arrived counts in my favor. It proves that my mind opted out because it couldn’t cope with the harsh reality. The detective seemed satisfied for now, but he said he’d file a report once the forensics team submitted their results.
In the meantime, we carry on as best as we can. Ryan sent Celeste and Brad home before I was discharged from the hospital. He didn’t want to expose them to the ugliness surrounding Dad’s death. Now he leaves for Cape Town to bring them back to Great Brak River for the funeral.
The arrangements keep Mom and Mattie busy. Doris feeds us at every chance she gets. Cooking makes her feel useful. Neighbors and colleagues of Dad pop in with flowers, frozen meals, and condolences. A few reporters camp out on the pavement, waiting for us to leave the house.
When Ryan returns with Celeste and Brad, he’s swamped with work. His many clandestine alliances all want a chunk of his time, demanding assurance that no foul play or information leaks are involved and that business will continue as usual.
Colin returns early from his holiday when he learns about the news. I haven’t shared the tragic event with anyone. I can’t bring myself to talk about it. It’s bad enough that I receive curious messages from the students in my class. During this time, Colin and I grow close again, even closer than when we were kids playing cops and robbers on the beach.
On the day Dad’s will is to be read, Mom dresses in a simple but elegant black dress with a matching faux-fur hat. I couldn’t care less about what I wear, but Mattie ordered a long-sleeved shift dress for me. The journalists and photographers are still hanging around outside. In our world, appearances are everything, even in the midst of grief.
I pair the dress with long black boots and a fitted coat. My make-up is light but effective, hiding my grief from the media vultures and the spectators. After twisting my hair in a bun, I have enough time left to help Mattie straighten her hair and to play with Brad while Celeste gets ready. Doris offers to take care of Brad at home, saying a lawyer’s office is no place for a child.
We set off for the solicitor’s office in two cars. Ryan and Jared are driving. Paparazzi follow us into George, trying to get a few shots of the family through the vehicle windows.
The solicitor hired guards to keep the building entrance clear. It’s a decoy designed to mislead the reporters who crowd on the pavement while we park in the underground lot and take the elevator to the top floor.
A secretary in a crisp, blue dress meets us when we exit. She shows us into a boardroom and offers us refreshments, which we decline. The silence in the room is subdued as we take our places around the table. Ryan and Mattie flank Mom while Celeste and Jared sit next to their spouses. I’m at the end of the table.
The solicitor enters when we’re seated. He’s a stately gentleman with white hair and a ruddy complexion, wearing a three-piece suit. He shakes our hands, making eye contact with each of us before taking the chair at the head of the table. A leather folder, fountain pen, notebook, and glass of water are set out in front of him, every object perfectly aligned.
After expressing his condolences, he’s all business. He opens the leather folder and takes out a stack of papers bound with a spiral spine. Then he starts reading in a monotone voice.
“Mrs. Margaret Rose Edwards, spouse of the late Mr. Benjamin Joseph Edwards, is the sole heir of the property situated at number seven Orion Street, Great Brak River, and of the property situated at number fifty-five Jacqueline Drive, Bloubergstrand, Cape Town.”