Page 79 of Corrado

“Come here,” she told her sisters.

The oldest, Greta, came first. Giulia was quick to follow. Just a month ago, they had been normal girls, too. Experiencing high school, and their worries filled up by things like what jeans looked best with what shoes, and if they were going to pass their upcoming tests. Now, they had far greater worries.

That shouldn’t be how it was.

Once her younger sisters were sitting with her and Marie on the couch, Ginevra felt a little better. It felt good to hug them, to promise that things were going to be okay.

“Why are they making you marry—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginevra said quickly, hushing Greta as she shot a look to her mom. “You don’t need to worry about me. I am going to be fine.”

And so would her little sisters.

Somehow, she was going to make sure of it.

“Ginny?”

“Yeah?”

Giulia looked away from the casket a few feet in front of them to stare at her oldest sister. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to Mama.”

Greta made a soft noise under her breath—it sounded like an agreement—but she didn’t look up from her hands. She’d been doing that for a week, now. Staring silently, but saying very little, and not engaging.

Ginevra worried more and more for her sisters with every passing day. For now, though, she had to worry about getting them all through this horrible day. “You don’t have to go up and say goodbye that way, if you don’t want to, Giulia. Mama knows that you love her, okay?”

Her youngest sister nodded.

“But I’m going to say goodbye, now. Are you both okay here?”

The girls nodded.

She didn’t believe them.

None of them were okay, now.

Ginevra left her sisters behind in the pew, and headed for the altar. She glided her fingertips over the chrome decals of the shiny, black casket sitting atop the altar. For now, the church was quiet … but not for long. Soon, it would fill with grieving people who had known and loved her mother, ready to send Marie off to a better place.

They would never know the truth. Not her sisters, or the people coming to the church today.

They would never know that her mother was killed trying to save her from a fate nearly as bad as death itself. That those scars on Marie’s wrists weren’t self-inflicted, no matter how much money the coroner had been paid to say so. That Ginevra blamed herself every single day for this.

I’m sorry, Mama, she thought. I’m so sorry.

She stroked the closed casket again, wishing she was better. Because then, she might have been able to stand having the top opened, so she could look at her mother’s face and say those same words out loud. Instead, she was stuck like this.

Wishing she could be better.

I love you, Mama.

Peering over her shoulder, Ginevra found her young sisters—still teenagers, and now left with her to take care of them—sitting in the first pew. The priest had suggested the girls be allowed to have a few minutes with their mother’s casket alone before the funeral started. He thought it might help them to say goodbye, but Ginevra didn’t know if it mattered.

They were still heartbroken.

Still crying.

Still alone.

And now, terrified, too.