Page 297 of Incisive

Zoning back in as Leo finishes and squeezes my hand, I realize I’m slowly nodding even though I didn’t pay attention to most of what he said.

“Once the attorneys get back to us and let us know what’s in her will, or what arrangements were requested,” Leo says, “we can take it from there.”

I don’t want to make this decision. I’m hoping Stella had something specified. If it was up to me I’d have her cremated and secretly dump her in the Rose Garden flowerbed so she’d spend eternity at the White House, which I’m sure would make her happy.

As much as anything could ever make her happy.

My parents, however, might have other wishes if Stella didn’t spell out hers.

Leo’s not just my spouse—he also holds a power of attorney for me so he can handle decisions like this in my stead. I know he spent a couple of hours on the phone this afternoon and evening in a conference call with our personal attorney here and attorneys in Florida and discussing these matters.

“Can we bury her in Nebraska?” Mom quietly asks. She’s clasping the mug of hot tea Jordan brought her a few minutes ago. I hate how haggard, how…agedshe looks.

I hate Stella for doing this to them. For marrying Ellis for selfishly stupid reasons.

For hurting our parents.

I honestly don’t give a shit about myself but our parents didn’t deserve this.

“That is a possibility,” Leo says. “I have a conference call scheduled at 8:00 tomorrow morning with the attorneys and they’ll go over everything with me.”

Dad stares at the floor, dabbing at his nose with a tissue. “I’m not burying that sonofabitch,” he says. “He can rot for all I care. We’re not dealing with him.”

“We’re not,” Leo agrees. “His family can handle his arrangements.”

“Not going to his funeral, either,” Dad adds, looking up at all of us. “None of us are.”

I know an order when I hear it. It’s one I’ll gladly agree with. “No, we’re not,” I say.

“I don’t want any of her Washington friends at her funeral, either,” Dad continues. “Us, cousins, folks from town, people who grew up with her. That’s all. None of that bastard’s family, either.”

Mom sniffles and sips her hot tea.

“Whatever you want, Dad,” I say.

He stands and walks over to one of the bookshelves. It holds a mix of my books, Leo’s, and Jordan’s, and Dad studies the spines.

None of us break the silence while he stands there for several long minutes before turning and focusing on Leo. “Nothing fancy.” His voice sounds hoarse, gravelly. “No celebrity singers, no doves being released, none of that garbage. Just a minister and a graveside service. That’s all. Don’t even need to take up space in the church for that.”

“Anything you want, Dad,” Leo quietly says.

I just hope Stella was short-sighted enough not to specify a glitzy send-off.

Dad jams his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor, his jaw working, tensing like he wants to say more and is fighting himself to get the words out. “I’m soangry. Not at any of you,” he adds. “Just...angry.” He sniffles again. “I’m gonna go to bed. You all stay up, if you want.”

With that he turns and Jordan waits a beat to trail after him, probably to make sure he doesn’t need anything before retiring for the night.

I think Mom might follow Dad to bed but she sits there quietly sipping her tea and wearing a thousand-yard stare. Jordan silently returns a moment later and slips into the chair Dad occupied, his focus fully on Mom now.

I know he loves my parents. It must kill him that he can’t openly embrace them as his in-laws and I hate that I’m the reason for that pain in his soul.

It makes me want to call Jordan’s parents and have “words” with them the way Shae did that time with Jordan’s mom, except I know it won’t do anything productive.

Won’t magically turn them into kind people who aren’t homophobic, or give Jordan back his childhood.

None of us speak. There’s not anything really to say, I guess. In the past I might have nervously tried to fill the silent gaps with anything because the quiet left too much unsaid.

Tonight I want to do nothing except sit here and try not to think about what might have been, what can never be.