Page 55 of Crowned in Sin
Mom did the same thing to me at Dad’s funeral, after I cried so hard that I hardly had enough strength to remain standinganymore. And when I jerked awake later at night, she held me again while I cried myself to sleep.
"How is she?" I ask quietly, nodding at the girl.
"She cried herself out an hour ago." Elena's voice thins on the edge of breaking. "I still don’t know how to explain death to her. How do you tell a four-year-old that her father isn't coming back?"
I know that feeling all too well. I’m sure Mom felt the same when Dad died. I reach over and lay my hand over hers, and keep it there.
“You don’t,” I tell her. “Not right away. Just hold her when she wakes up, and she’ll wake up over and over again tonight. Make sure that when she reaches out in the dark, you’re already there for her.”
“That’s very particular advice,” Elena says softly.
“My father died when I was eleven,” I say. “I knew what death was, but I hadn’t fully grasped the finality of it. My mom didn’t try to explain death to me either. She just made sure I never woke up alone.”
I look down at the ring on my finger and twist it as I talk.
“The explaining can come later. What matters now is that she knows you’re still here.”
“What was he like? Your father?”
“I wish I could remember.” That part is true and the admission hurts in its own way. “I mean, I remember these bits and pieces of my childhood with him, but to me, he’ll always be more of a feeling than any memories of him ever could be.”
“And what was that feeling?” she asks with some hope in her voice.
“Safety.” I wipe at my eyes. “I remember being held by him on Saturday mornings and thinking that as long as he can hold me, then I’ll be alright.”
“Sal was like that for me, and for Francesca.” Elena's eyes fill with tears, but she's smiling. "He was steady. Twelve years of marriage, and he never once raised his voice in this house. That’s rare in this life. It takes more to stay gentle than it ever takes to be cruel."
“Yes, it does.” I think about Mom and about all those times in the years between Dad’s death and her remarriage to Frank.
“How did your mom manage?”
I manage something close to a smile. "After he was gone, she changed our name back from Dad’s to her maiden name. Palomino. Told me that it was clean, and that we can start fresh with it."
“What did she mean by that? Clean?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “I’ve never thought about it. He was an accountant, and I suppose after enough years of accounting, you end up with some clients whose money might be just a little bit dirty.”
We sit there in silence for a moment while the room murmurs on around us.
"What was your last name before?" Elena asks.
"Mitchell," I say, and it sounds strange in my mouth after thirteen long years. "But I haven't been Lydia Mitchell in a long time."
Elena squeezes my hand. "Your mother sounds like a strong woman."
“She is.” I nod. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”
“And where is she now?”
The sting comes up in my throat so fast that I almost can't speak. My hand around Elena’s tightens slightly, and I offer her a sad smile instead of saying anything.
Elena looks at me for a moment, and then gives me a slight nod. She knows that there are some things that are better left unsaid.
She draws a breath to gather herself, and looks back at the room of mourners.
"Everyone has been so kind," she says. "More than I expected.”
I nod and do my best to blink back the tears.People usually are. It’s the days after that are the hardest.
