Page 89 of The Space Between Heartbeats
The foyer is packed, the air thick with a mix of perfumes and the overpowering scent of more floral arrangements my mom must have had delivered here this morning.
Hired servers walk around passing out beverages and leading people out back to the yard, where my parents have apparently spared no expense turning our property into something that could rival a royal wedding.
I step through the French doors and stop.
A white tent structure stretches across the entire back lawn, its fabric sides rolled up to let in the warm June breeze. Round tables draped in ivory linen with floral centerpieces are set upinside, each one seating ten. There’s even a fucking fully stocked bar.
And is that a string quartet? What the hell?
Servers in uniform move between the tables, adjusting place settings and delivering bread.
This is insane…obscene…and so unnecessary.
Owen has been in the ground for less than two hours and they turned his funeral luncheon into a goddamn event.
The cost of this alone—the tent rental, the catering staff, the flowers, the musicians—I can’t even begin to calculate it but there’s no way we can afford this. Not at all. And I know because I’ve seen the accounts. I stepped in to handle the business and home expenses when they both lost their goddamn minds from the scandal.
But Richard Aldrich would rather drown in debt than let Ashford see him struggling. He’d rather put it on credit, call in favors, leverage whatever he has left, than host his son’s funeral luncheon like a normal grieving family. I’m sure Moretti is involved.
Anything for appearances…fucking always.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ella says beside me, beaming. “Your mom did an incredible job.”
I doubt my mom did anything, when she’s barely standing upright.
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “It’s great.”
People are already finding their seats, guided by place cards. Fucking place cards? How the hell did they even know who was attending? It doesn’t matter. I know where I’ll be seated, right up front at the family table. My sister, Hailey, is already there, skin flushed as she passes their son to her husband.
I scan the tables instinctively, looking for Sawyer. I didn’t see Helen’s car parked but I’m sure they’re here. I can feel it.
It takes a few minutes but I finally find them. Sawyer and Helen are being shown to a table in the back, tucked under the edge of the tent where the afternoon shade is deepest. Away from my family. Away from everything and everyone.
My jaw tightens.
This has to be my father’s doing.
Speak of the devil. I smell the booze on his breath before he’s close enough to lay a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I need you at the family table, now.”
Sighing, I tear my gaze away from Sawyer and follow him to the front where my mother is just sitting opposite Hailey. She gestures for me to sit beside her, so I do, letting her wrap her shaky arm around my shoulder.
My father moves to the small podium that’s been set up near the head table, because of course there’s a podium with this spectacle, and taps the microphone. The string quartet stops playing, conversations die down and everyone turns to look.
“Thank you all for being here today,” he begins, his voice booming. “Victoria and I are overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support for our family. Owen was—” He takes a breath, letting a hint of emotion show through. “Owen was an exceptional young man. A son any father would be proud of. And while we grieve this tremendous loss, we take comfort in knowing how many lives he touched.”
He keeps his shoulders straight, chin up, voice strong. Maintaining control, keeping that put together facade.
“Now, I’d like to invite Owen’s brother, Knox, to say a few words.”
What the fuck? I wasn’t told about this. I turn to search my mother’s face but she’s halfway to la-la land.
Everyone’s staring and waiting.
I guess I have no choice.
I stand and make my way to the podium, my father stepping aside with a firm pat on my back. The microphone feedback squeals as I adjust it a few inches taller to accommodate my height.
I look out at the sea of faces. All these people who came to witness our grief, to maybe catch a glimpse of another Aldrich family spectacle.
