Page 29 of Mic Drop (Passionate Beats #3)

Jenna

T hese past three days have been the worst of my life.

Picking out readings and funeral cards and food and flowers and a casket.

My body seizes as memories replay. I’m not sure how I made it through the never-ending meeting with the funeral director, yet somehow I did, with Kara.

Bennett hovers, trying to be helpful, so I let him.

Being useful is a good thing, right? I remember Ma saying something about busy work being good work.

But she’s gone now.

I tuck the towel around my chest tighter, ensuring it won’t pop open. Today I have to bury Ma. I snag a few more tissues and shove them into my otherwise empty black purse. From across the room, Bennett says, “I think UC’s PR team has a good handle on keeping the paparazzi at bay.”

“Good.” Even more than at our wedding two weeks ago, I don’t want the vultures anywhere near today’s ceremony.

Despite Dr. Marlow’s assurances, Michelle has been ramping it up against me and the clinics. Court’s been doing her best to clean up—literally and figuratively—yet it feels like a losing battle. Whatever. Nothing matters anymore .

Bennett’s phone rings and he pulls it out, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. I’m awful, but I wish he’d go away. What’s the point now that Ma’s gone? No need to make her happy any longer. “Take the call.”

“I don’t have to.”

Needing quiet, a moment’s peace, I insist, “It’s fine. I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

His shoulders droop, yet he exits the bedroom as he answers the phone. Solitude. Silence. I crave these two little items like a mermaid needs water. When Darren died, I remember my therapist telling me they aren’t healthy for me. Whatever.

Here’s the reminder why. Things turn accusatory fast.

Why did you run off with a rock band —again— instead of watching over your mother?

How can you help your patients when you couldn’t help the only person you loved?

Why did you give into Bennett’s demands to let Ma stop meeting with doctors when you knew, YOU KNEW, someone would’ve been able to keep her with you longer?

These questions and more allegations play on a loop inside my brain. For want of something to do with my hands, I spin my wedding and engagement rings over and over. How does this get any better?

From behind me, Bennett asks, “Can I help with anything?”

I startle at his voice, then force a smile to cover up my true feelings. “Let me get my dress. Will you zip me up?”

He puffs out, wiggling his long fingers toward me. “Ready and willing.”

Instead of answering him, I go into the closet, taking out a little black dress. Not caring whether he watches me or not, I toss the towel onto the top of the counter and put on my lingerie.

When I reach for the dress, he steps up. In a throaty whisper, he removes the black material from the hanger. “Here. Let me.”

Because I don’t have it in me to disagree, I turn my back to him and the dress floats over my body. He raises the zipper and closes the hook. His lips brush the back of my neck in a kiss that would’ve left me in a puddle on the floor.

Before.

Not now.

When I don’t react, he asks, “Are you planning on saying a few words today?”

I turn to face him, blinking hard. “I don’t think I can. Kara said she was going to do it, and I didn’t fight her.”

“Makes sense, Sweetheart. Anything you had to say, you already said to your mother. She knows.”

A stray tear falls. “Yeah.” I stuff even more tissues into my purse. The accusations against him inside my head loop double time. My foot stomps the floor. “This sucks!”

In an instant, he’s cradling me as the tears flow free again. “Believe me, this will get easier. Someday. At least you can be thankful for all the great years you two had together. More than most, less than others.”

I try to let his words sink in—to accept them—but I cannot. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Instead of lashing out, I remain quiet. It’s the least I can do for the man next to me. Who, God forgive me, I wish would disappear. When does he go back out on tour?

A few moments later, he asks, “Are you ready? The limo should be here shortly.”

I use this interruption to put on my heels and we take the elevator down to the first level. He suggested the elevator and I didn’t put up a fuss. For whatever reason he felt the need to show off his high-end rock star lifestyle. It didn’t impress me, but it got us where we needed to go.

At the funeral, Bennett sticks close by me, like a hulking bodyguard, as if bodyguards were sought-after prizes.

Thankfully, the service goes off without any issues.

Kara did a lovely job with her remarks. We’re getting ready to leave for the cemetery, my eyes scanning the faces who came to mourn, when I freeze. My mouth drops open.

This cannot be happening. Again. My hands form fists.

Oblivious as usual, Bennett asks, “What do you need?”

Kara appears at my other side. “I see him.”

Moments pass.

How dare my father dishonor my mother by coming to her funeral?

“Want me to get rid of him?” Bennett’s offer is the only good thing he’s said all day. I want to shout hell yes and rip the man to shreds. However, decorum dictates we can’t toss him out on his ear.

Staring at my sister, I straighten, then so does Kara. Our heads bounce once, then we walk in his direction, both our husbands following behind. We stop in front of him .

“Father.” The word lands across his jugular like a surgical knife.

“Jenna. Kara. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Blood rushes to my head. How can this be happening?

“So are we,” Kara says. “We want to know why you’re here.”

“Plus why you show up to all our big events?” I add in a gritty whisper. “I saw you at my wedding not two weeks ago.”

His eyes survey the room. “Now’s not the time or place. We can talk later.”

Hands steal across my shoulders, presumably Bennett’s, but I don’t sink into them. Across from my father, I stand my ground. The moment lengthens, then the minister invites everyone to the cemetery.

Bennett leans forward and whispers, “He’s right, Sweetheart. You need to be with your mother now.”

In this moment, I size up my father. So what if he came to some milestones in our lives, he was MIA for all of the smaller moments that make a life. When Ma was with us. He doesn’t deserve any more attention. Especially on Ma’s day.

Keeping my head high, I sweep away from my father without another word, not caring whether Kara does the same. Bennett grabs my hand and holds it as we file into the limo, which takes us to the cemetery. I leave my hand in his but don’t try to talk with him. Nothing needs to be said.

When everyone from the funeral home’s assembled in front of the hole in the ground above which Ma’s casket is situated, the minister recites a scripture and invites us to say any final words.

Kara already said her piece. Her husband is busy handling their kids. My father is nowhere to be seen. Shocking.

What could I add to the ceremony? How mad I am Ma didn’t listen to her body sooner, when treatment could have been an option.

I don’t think I should scream “why!” to the universe either.

I want to lash out at every single person.

Ask how they made Ma’s life better when she was here.

Tears sting my eyes again, but I will them not to fall.

The people gathered need to see me as a strong woman, and not the crybaby pushover spider portrayed in the media.

My shoulders square. I hate being the cowering girl in the corner. More accurately, I’m filled with rage about how unfair this life is if Ma’s gone and my father’s still here. Michelle and Lissa too. They all should take Ma’s place.

All the rage and anger over the past days seethes inside me, demanding to be let out. It doesn’t matter that Bennett’s next to me. Or that his band is here—he doesn’t consider them friends anyway. The only saving grace is reporters weren’t allowed to enter.

No words fit for polite company form in my brain. I want to extol Ma’s love and compassion, but it’s impossible when I’m filled with so much fury. Better to keep my mouth shut.

Out of nowhere, a single tenor voice begins to sing. No music, no accompaniment. Nothing. Only a solitary singer performing Amazing Grace .

My head swivels and I take in Bennett beside Ma’s casket, eyes closed.

I remember all the times I’ve asked him to sing me a song, and his refusal because he never sings a capella .

Yet, here he is, singing for Ma .

In his hauntingly beautiful voice. One featured in so many UC records, but never like this. Now, only singing for Ma.

And for those of us gathered here.

Something breaks inside of me. All my ugly thoughts bleed onto the ground. Tears chase each other down my cheeks, my mouth open to take in much needed air.

Tris comes over and puts his arm around me, and I put my face into his side. Like a big brother, he holds my shaking form while Bennett’s last sung words resound throughout the cemetery.

“Thanks,” my husband addresses Tris. My body is transferred from one band member to the next, and I suck in a fresh woodsy scent, which I have learned is courtesy of Dior Sauvage. My hands clutch Bennett’s shirt, hanging on to remain upright.

Nothing around me registers. Not the people or the sounds or the talking or the shuffling feet. I’m numb. It’s only Bennett and me.

“We should go, Sweetheart.”

“A minute.”

“You got it.”

I let his simple phrase sink into my bones, then pull myself free of him. All the other people are walking toward their cars. All except Kara and her family and me. Leaving my husband, I walk to my sister, and we embrace. The ten-year age difference between us evaporates for good.

“Your husband has a good voice,” she whispers, her lips quirk.

Not that I’ve ever heard it quite this way before. “He does.”

We move apart. “See you at the restaurant?” Her family approaches and they walk toward the waiting limos.

I turn to stare at Ma’s casket, remembering all her shared wisdom, praise, and support.

In essence, this is what she was about. Not recriminations.

Not mean-spiritedness. Not all the ugly thoughts that have been running through my mind lately.

Of course, she wouldn’t let a bad person get off without reprisal, either.

Bennett and I got married to make her happy.

She was .

Now she’s gone.

A small voice inside screams that we’re in love with each other. I’ve never been happier than on our wedding day.

Grief quickly wrestles such romantic fluff to the ground.

No. I can do this one final act of kindness for Ma. For him. This charade has to end.