I’ve been by her side the entire time, making sure she had someone to hold her when she cried. She’s been waking up so many times during the night, and it has been a challenge to comfort her, especially since I’m not her mother. I don’t know whether she senses that her mother is gone forever.
I can never replace Lavinia, but I’ll do the best I can until someone else takes over. I thought Carmen might want to take care of Jenna after Lavinia’s funeral, but now I’m not so sure.
Jenna is sleeping in her carrier in the living room, exhausted from hours of crying. Carmen saw her, but she said nothing.
“No wonder my daughter killed herself.” She picks up her coffee again and downs the rest of it in one go. “Who would be able to handle something like that? Poor Lavinia. She was not made for tough times. After my divorces, she struggled more than I did, but she wrapped everything up with a smile.”
I smile in spite of myself. “I know you and Lavinia didn’t see each other much, but I think she loved you.”
Why do I feel the need to lie to her? I don’t know how Lavinia really felt about her mother. She never said much about her. She couldn’t even be bothered to open her letters. Maybe I’m trying to soften up the woman a little, to evoke some kind of emotions toward her daughter.
“Thank you for your kind words.” She glances in the kitchen’s direction. “Now, do you have something to eat? The food on the plane was a joke.”
I glare at her, shocked to the core. Her daughter is dead, and she’s more interested in food? It’s now clear why Lavinia wanted nothing to do with her.
I get to my feet to make her a sandwich, but Jenna stirs and cries.
“Do you want to take her?” I ask, praying Carmen would surprise me.
“No,” she says. “I’m not good with kids. I never wanted any, you know. Lavinia was an accident. Thank God for nannies.”
Anger boils in the pit of my stomach. Before I can say something I might regret, I lift Jenna’s carrier and take her with me to the kitchen.
I’m about to lift her out when my phone rings. I normally don’t answer unknown numbers, but it might be Jeffrey. I’m taking care of his daughter, so I should be reachable.
“Viola Watson?” a man’s voice says when I answer.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Drake Hoffmann,” he says. “I’m Lavinia Holder’s lawyer.”
I frown. “How can I help you?”
“I was trying to reach Mrs. Holder, but she’s not answering my calls or emails.”
I sink into one of the kitchen chairs. Once again, I have to tell someone about what happened to Lavinia. Every time I do, the wounds of loss are ripped wide open.
“That’s because Lavinia Holder died five days ago.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t know. He must not watch the news.
The silence on the other end stretches on for so long that I worry he might have dropped the phone.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“I’m here.” He breathes out. “The thing is, I got a letter from her yesterday.”
“That’s not possible. What did she say in the letter?”
“It’s not addressed to me. There was a note asking me to give it to you.”
I scratch my temple, confused. “I don’t understand how she could have sent you a letter after her death.”
“May I ask how Mrs. Holder died?” he asks.
“Suicide.” The word leaves my lips like a bullet. I wish saying it fast could ease the pain, but it doesn’t. It makes it worse.
Every time I remember Lavinia in her last hours, in her broken state, I also remember the day she gave birth to her daughter, how happy she was. Committing suicide was the farthest thing from her mind.
