“I know. Me, too.”
Dad wanders over to the wall to study a painting of Abraham Lincoln. “Just think, Stella could have been a part of all of this if she hadn’t cared more about money than her family.”
Ouch.
It’s going to be a looong damn day.
CHAPTERSEVENTY-EIGHT
Later that night,I know Leo’s not telling us everything as the four of us sit at the kitchen table while he explains things to Mom and Dad. Jordan’s quietly moving around the kitchen and tidying things after preparing a breakfast casserole for tomorrow morning. If it wasn’t for the fact that I can see him I’d never know he was there.
“We can have a funeral home pick up her body tomorrow,” Leo tells them. “And then make whatever arrangements you want.”
Mom and Dad hold hands on top of the table. They’ve already signed all the papers Leo put in front of them. They didn’t even bother reading them first. That happened shortly after Leo, George, and Jordan returned earlier, and George notarized the paperwork for us before he left.
They’ve both cried several times today and I’ve cried with them, even though I feel badly that my grief isn’t the same as theirs.
I hurt for them, for their broken hearts. And I hurt for the sister I never had and now never will.
But I don’t hurt for Stella.
Does that make me cold and heartless? It’s something I’ll unpack at a future time, but not right now, and not with my parents.
Surprisingly, not only did Jordan and Leo find the jewelry, they located nearly all the items Mom had listed, along with a few she’d forgotten about that Jordan rightfully guessed were related, in addition to several photo albums. Leo emptied Stella’s jewelry box, a small safe in the bedroom closet—yes, the closet where she died, but the safe was unlocked and standing ajar after investigators had it opened to search it—and he arranged for Secret Service to secure the contents of the gun safe until we can sort that out.
“How do we pay for the funeral?” Dad asks.
Leo shakes his head. “You don’t pay for it,” he says. “The estate will.” Which I know is not exactly accurate because one of us needs to pull out a credit card or write a check. My parents aren’t thinking about their current financial situation—rich even before Stella died—and are defaulting to their previous way of living after decades spent barely scraping by.
Meaning Leo will pay for it out of his pocket—ourpocket—and reimburse himself later via the probate process as a claim against the estate. It wouldn’t shock me if he’s already made arrangements and paid for them and will just nudge my parents into agreeing.
“Okay,” Mom says. “Do we need to call around or…something? And how to we arrange to…” She drifts off and Leo waits a comfortable moment before speaking.
“I have a funeral home who will take care of everything in Florida. Once they’ve completed their arrangements, we’ll all fly down onAir Force Oneand transport her and us to Nebraska for the funeral. You tell me what cemetery and I’ll contact them and make those arrangements, too.”
Dad and Mom exchange a long look before Dad finally speaks. “We have the family plot already. There’s room there.” His hoarse voice sounds close to tears again. “Thank you, son.”
Does it make me a horrible person that I want to jump up and do a touchdown dance over him calling Leo that?
Except behind Dad I also spot the way Jordan’s movements stuttered, barely. Anyone else except Leo wouldn’t have noticed.
I immediately know why—because Jordan wishes my parents would call him that, too, and mean it the same way Dad just did. Sure, Leo’s parents call Jordan their son but they can’t officially recognize him publicly like that. Leo’s parents and sister will arrive tomorrow morning. They wanted to be here to lend their support to us.
I’m not even going to deny that I welcome having another trained mental health professional to help manage my parents. Besides, Mom and Dad love Kayley and always enjoy spending time with her, and with Leo’s parents. Having extended family around to support them will be good for them.
After my parents retire for the night and we’re locked in our bedroom, I ask. “How bad? I want to see.”
I know Leo’s not going to answer but Jordan grimly walks over and shows me pictures he snapped with his burner phone.
It’s…
I only look at three of them before closing my eyes and holding up my hand, indicating I’ve seen enough.
“I wasn’t going to show him,” Leo says without a hint of humor in his voice.
Jordan faces off with him. Well, sort of, because Leo’s back to using the wheelchair for now. “Heaskedto see them, Leo. Idon’tkeep things from him.” I open my eyes. Not only Jordan’s tone but that he used Leo’s name in private means my Sir’s in the house, not Leo’s boy.
Leo’s right eyebrow slowly slides up and from the way Jordan’s cheeks flush I suspect something just transpired between them.
