Page 72 of The Dearly Departed

Had his fist been clenched when I entered the library to find him dead? I couldn’t remember. I’d been too focused on the man who’d fired the gun to truly assess the state of Leonard’s body.

But I noticed it now, and my curiosity ran away with me as I gently took his hand in mine. It took a bit of effort to pry his stiffened fingers open enough to find what was hidden within, but when the light glinted off a hint of silver, my heart jolted with recognition, and the need to work quicker swept over me as the rosary beads I’d come to know well were revealed.

He had known death was coming for him, and he had held on to his rosary—his faith—in those final moments.

“Oh, Leonard,” I whispered, staring at the rosewood beads and silver crucifix.

He should’ve been holding on to me instead.

I looked at them for a moment longer before closing my hand around them, the pointed ends of the cross digging into my palm. A rage unlike anything I’d ever felt blazed a trail through me as I thought about him grasping for a god who had never given a single shit about him. A god who had taken his son, taken his wife, given him three fucked-up kids who did nothing but give him more grief. A god who never gave him a break, never gave him a moment of mercy in his seventy-eight years, while he remained a faithful servant, never faltering, not even in the seconds before his brutal, tragic death.

A god who had failed him … just like I had.

“You deserved better than all of this,” I said, my voice gruff with crushing sadness as I tucked his cherished beads into the pocket of the too-small sweatpants. “You deserved so much better than me.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

"My condolences, boys."

From the edge of the Llewellyn family garden in the middle of a scenic cemetery, Isaac, Shawn, and I shifted wary glances to one another before turning around and finding Gerald Crowley, walking toward us with his hands stuffed deep inside the pockets of his black slacks.

"The fuck is he doing here?" Ike muttered beneath his breath, sneering at our father.

Shawn maintained a silence, though he frowned, and I wondered what he was thinking.

Nothing good, I'd bet.

But while they were suspicious, my stomach flipped in sloppy somersaults at the sight of Gerald's morose mask. He appeared every bit the part of the respectful acquaintance, coming to offer his sorries to the mourning family of the dearly departed.

I had done well these last few days. I kept myself busy and focused on the cremation, the arrangements, and the phone calls. I hadn't thought much about cyanide or the endless, wicked depths of my sins … or the disturbing fact that I didn’t feel nearly guilty enough for them.

But as I saw him now, the events from the night of November 1 came rushing in like a runaway freight train.

"I'll handle him," I muttered, stepping outside of our group to approach him before he could fully encroach and blow my cover.

Gerald extended a hand, and with a little hesitation, I accepted the formal gesture for nothing but appearance’s sake.

"Sorry to hear about Leonard's untimely passing," he said, offering a somber nod to me, then my brothers behind me. "Heard it was a heart attack."

"You did your good deed," I replied in a low voice, dropping his hand like a cold, dead fish. "Now, leave."

He looked aghast, laying his palm against his chest. "Oh, come on now, Abraham. I come with nothing but sympathy. No need to be rude."

"How did you even find out?" Ike asked, coming to stand at my side.

Gerald tipped his head and smiled. "Hello, Isaac. Been a while, son. It hurts me that you never call. And to answer your question, I read the news in the paper."

He'd been looking for the obituary, I had no doubt.

Ike crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head back to peer at our father down the length of his nose, and, fuck, it was only in that very moment that I realized how much my brother looked just like our old man.

"The paper, huh?" Ike muttered. "That's weird."

"What is?" Gerald asked, looking unamused.

"I didn't know you could read."

Our father grumbled beneath his breath, holding his bored gaze on Isaac for a moment longer before dragging it back to me.