Funerals aren’t for the dead, they are for the living. Della recalled her father’s words when she begged him not to make her attend Chan’s funeral. She hadn’t wanted to see her aunt cry, or to see them drop her cousin’s coffin in the earth. In a way, she’d felt that if she hadn’t been forced to go to the funeral she could have pretended he was still alive. Little did she know, he had been alive after all.
A sob escaped from someone standing beside the casket.
“Are you going to Jake’s funeral tomorrow?” a young girl asked another girl sitting two rows up. Their dialogue played like distant music. Music about a life lost. Della forced herself to listen.
“Probably. I just keep wondering if this wouldn’t have happened if Phillip hadn’t run off like he did.”
“She loved Jake.”
“I think she loved Phillip more.”
“Phillip broke her heart, leaving her like that.”
So Loraine had boy troubles like everyone else, Della thought.
“At least she and Jake went together.”
How did that make it better? Della wondered, not wanting to think how terrifying those last few moments of Lorraine’s life had been. Facing a monster. Fearing for her life, and fearing for someone she loved.
Music started playing. The pastor moved to the podium and talked about Lorraine’s love of life, and helping others. After his ten-minute memorial service finished, the crowd stood and everyone walked past the casket. Della almost broke the human chain to escape having to see the body. Then, realizing it might be insulting, she slowly, with Holiday behind her, made the trek to the casket.
She told herself she wouldn’t look, that it wasn’t necessary. But once she got to the front, her gaze fell to the too-still girl, wearing a pink dress. Her dark hair was the only thing about her that didn’t look dead. Her hands—no longer bloody like they appeared in the flashes of Della’s mind—were folded together. Her eyes closed. Her throat no longer mangled.
Della paused by the polished wooden casket just long enough to leave a promise.
I’ll catch him. I’ll catch the monster who did this to you.
Right before Della walked away, a tiny feather floated from above and landed softly on the girl’s cheek, almost looking like a tear. Della fought the need to brush it away, but hesitant to touch the body, she followed the crowd out of the church.
“So you never saw her?” Della asked Holiday as the fae drove back to Shadow Falls.
“No,” Holiday said, “but maybe she’ll come back later. Sometimes…” Holiday’s phone rang and she pulled it out of her purse and checked the number. Frowning, she took the call. “Is everything okay?”
Della tried to listen to the call but she couldn’t pick up the voice on the line. Her hearing was out again, but she studied the camp leader’s expression. And knew whatever was being said on the other end wasn’t good.
“We’re about two minutes out,” Holiday said. “Set him up in the conference room. Tell him his daughter’s at her cabin and that you’ll bring her right up.” When Holiday hung up, she glanced at Della, her eyes filled with concern.
“What?” Della asked, worried that one of her friends’ parents were causing problems. Both Kylie and Miranda had home issues. Oh, heck, it could even be Jenny.
Holiday’s expression tightened with empathy. “It’s your dad, Della. Hayden says that he is really upset. He claims you took something of his from the house and he wants it back immediately.”
Della’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach, and the organ proceeded to knot.
Holiday stared at her with questions. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
Della went straight to the cabin to get the picture. Careful not to bend it, she tucked it into a pristine white envelope and started to the office. The only thing she’d told Holiday was she’d taken an old photograph of his family. While the fae waited for Della to explain her reasons, she didn’t offer any. She’d just stared out the window. They’d driven the next few miles in total silence while the chaotic noise of hurt in Della’s heart rang far too loud.
Now, as she walked toward the office, the picture in her hands, her entire body shook with nerves at the thought of facing her father. Or rather, at facing the disappointment she knew he’d have in his eyes. The memory of the look in his eyes when he’d caught her in his cabinet hurt like a burn. His accusation of her stealing his brandy vibrated in her ears.
She made it up the steps up to the office, but paused at the door. What the hell was she going to tell him? She couldn’t tell him the truth about Marla overhearing his conversation about his twin. Her father valued privacy; he’d be furious. And Della wouldn’t throw her sister under the bus. She’d rather take the blame and be run over by the bus herself. Besides, where her parents were concerned, she was already under that bus—had been plowed over several times.
Questions bounced around her head as she made those last steps inside. How had her father discovered the missing picture? Did he regularly go through the album? Suddenly, Della recalled the phone conversation with her mom where she’d denied drinking her father’s brandy and telling her mom that she’d been looking for Chan’s picture. It had been a lie, but closer to the real truth.
Her mom must have told her dad this, and that had him going through the album. She could almost imagine him angrily flipping pages, suspecting she’d taken something. And wouldn’t you know, she’d proved him right. At least this time, she was actually guilty of the crime he accused her of.
She walked into the meeting room, her stomach a quiver of nerves. Her father sat at the back of the table, facing the door. He frowned when she appeared in the doorway. Not that Della expected any differently, but it still stung—the deep kind of sting that hurt all the way to the bone.
There had been a time when his eyes would have lit up with love. Now all she got were frowns, disapproval, and disappointment.
Where was the love he’d held for her? Had it died so quickly? It’s not my fault, Daddy. I caught a virus, I didn’t want it.
She inhaled and felt her breath sputter.
His brows pinched in what appeared to be anger, with a hint of disappointment. She preferred the anger. He pointed a finger at her. “Can I assume that’s my picture?”
She moved in and set the envelope on the table. The hugeass lump in her throat made talking difficult. “I … I stumbled across it and it looked like … you had a twin brother. I was curious.”