Amy – Four days later.
The sky was overcast, but luckily it didn’t rain. But the winter sun wasn’t shining either. It matched my mood perfectly. Out there, people were continuing their lives, unimpacted by the crash. They’d gossiped and listened to rumours, but they didn’t comprehend the meaning of the disaster or the scale. Vortex, Papa, Duke, and I rode with Mari in a limo to the funeral. We’d got there early this morning to avoid the media, which were present as always.
For three days, I’d been ‘trending’ on social media and in the news outlets. Former colleagues had given interviews, all grabbing their fifteen minutes of fame. What a nice lady I was. Bullshit. They didn’t know me like they’d pretended. Every last one of them should be ashamed. When we’d arrived at Mari’s home, I’d been shocked to see a circle of men in black jeans and tees wearing cuts. We were stopped as we entered the street and were forced to wind down the window.
The biker peered inside, saw Vortex, and nodded.
“Go on, dude,” he said.
“Thanks, Jailbait,” Vortex replied.
“What was that?” Papa demanded as he drove forward through the gap that had opened in the men.
“That’s the allied MCs. We called in some markers. The media won’t be able to hound anyone today. The MCs will block the street and allow only people attending the funeral in. They got a list from Mari. The church and graveyard will also be protected,” Vortex answered.
“Are they doing this for everyone?” Dad asked.
“No. Just for Natasha and your family.”
Papa nodded as he parked. “Thanks. Mari needs today to be about Natasha, not about the media getting their pound of flesh.”
“That’s why we’re doing this,” Vortex replied as he clasped my hand.
I squeezed tightly.
I didn’t want to be here and hadn’t ever dreamed I’d be doing this. Not this young. Natasha and I were meant to get married, raise our kids, and grow old together. Vortex helped me out of the car, and I stared at the house in which I’d spent a lot of my childhood.
“No, I can’t do this,” I whispered, feeling the urge to run and hide. Panic welled and stuck in my throat.
“Yeah, you can. You’re strong enough, and I believe in you,” Vortex murmured in my ear. I steeled myself and headed up the path after Papa and Dad. The door creaked open, and Mari appeared, and oh God, she’d aged ten years.
Mari’s smile lacked its usual warmth, and her eyes were dead. But when they lit on me, they filled with tears, and Mari’s arms opened. Blinking back tears, I stumbled into Mari’s embrace, and we both cried. Papa, Dad, and Vortex surrounded us, hiding us from nosy fucks as we shuffled inside Mari’s home.
“I’m so sorry,” I wailed, and Mari rubbed my back. “I wish it had been me.”
“The grieving wouldn’t be any less,” Mari soothed. “We’d be heartbroken no matter which one of you it was. Our saving grace is that you both didn’t die. We wouldn’t have recovered from that.”
“I miss her so much.”
“Oh, Amy, I know, baby, it’s an ache that will take a long time to fade. I never expected to be burying my baby,” Mari whispered.
“No,” Papa agreed as he embraced us. Mari leaned her head on his shoulder and wiped her tears.
“Amy, I have something for you, and you have to wear it today,” Mari said, taking my hand.
She led me through the house to Natasha’s bedroom. I baulked at going in, and Mari offered an understanding look but tugged me in. The room hadn’t changed since I’d last been in here just over a week ago. Natasha was messy, and I somehow guessed it would stay as she left it for a long time.
Mari opened Natasha’s drawer, where she kept all her jewellery, and pulled out a blue box. She handed it to me. I instantly pushed it back to Mari.
“No, I can’t take that.” I knew what was inside.
“Yes, you can. Natasha would want you to have it, and so do I. One of my girls needs to wear it,” Mari said with tears.
It was a gold chain with a cross. The cross was decorated with amethysts and opals. It had belonged to Mari’s great-great-grandmother and had been passed down to each girl when they turned eighteen. Natasha had loved it, and it was her most treasured item in the world.
“This should be buried with Tash,” I murmured.
“Amy, I may not have birthed you, but you’re no less my daughter, even if I pushed you away this week. Baby, I couldn’t handle your pain on top of mine,” Mari admitted. Puffing outmy cheeks so I didn’t cry, I slung my arms around Mari, and we hugged one another tightly.
