Page 94 of Blacklist

The rest of the drive is short and filled with more stories about New York. When I turn the Mercedes into Valmont Memorial Cemetery, my mind is on all the places I want to go now thanks to Sterling. The first headstone reminds me why we’re here, though. I fall silent and Sterling does the same. We don’t speak as I drive slowly down the narrow lanes toward our family’s section of the graveyard. There’s been a MacLaine buried here since 1810. The moss covered mausoleum bearing the family crest has been full since the seventies. I have no idea what to expect when we reach my mother’s grave.

It’s not this.

The gravestone is granite with magnolia blossoms carved across the top and a simple inscription:

Anne MacLaine. Beloved Wife and Mother.

It’s unlike my father to favor minimalism, but he’s done it here. No one consulted me on her tombstone or the funeral or any other arrangements. I don’t even know who handled them, honestly. Daddy hadn’t been available to do it. Maybe Malcolm?

Who thought they could distill her into six words? Where’s the monument she deserves? Or is this just another attempt to prevent unwanted attention? Did Daddy choose it so that no one remembers her? No one asks questions about her death? I want to kick it. I want to cry. I want to fall down and tear up the earth and take my mother back.

Sterling looms behind me, keeping a respectful distance. I need him here next to me. I need to know what to do now. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you feel like saying?” He moves closer until we’re side by side, staring down at the resting place of the woman he’ll never know and the woman I’ll never forget.

“Nothing,” I murmur.

“Then do that.” His hand finds mine and in his touch, I find strength. We stand there, leaves blowing all around us, autumn on the wind, until I find my voice.

“I didn’t know. You’re supposed to get to say goodbye. Life isn’t supposed to just snuff you out. She was here and then she was gone—and I don’t understand it!”

He waits for me to finish when I finally pause. “We rarely know when we’re about to lose someone. That’s why it’s called loss. You can’t plan for it. You just live with it.”

“Well, it sucks,” I say flatly. I stare at the plain tombstone. “She was so much more than this.”

“Tell me about her.” He sits, pulling me down next to him.

“She loved old country music and art. You saw her paintings. I’ve never been able to see them like she did. She saw beauty in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.” My thoughts wander to my father again. I shake my mind free. This isn’t about him. It’s about her. “She used to say ‘some days are diamonds, Adair. Treasure those days.’ I didn’t understand what she meant, but I do now. I always thought she was complaining about the bad days and how little good days we have. But she was reminding herself that a better day was coming. She just had to look for it and treasure it. I wish I’d treasured my days with her more. I wish I could have said goodbye.”

I can’t help staring at the small shoots of grass that are growing where they dug up the spot for her coffin. “She’s been down there long enough for grass to grow. She’s been down there so little, it’s still mostly dirt. I’m stuck in this hellish limbo between holding on to her and letting her go.”

“You don’t have to let her go.” Darkness coats his words and I wonder again about his family, but I don’t dare bring it up. I wonder if he visits his mother’s grave.

“I should have brought flowers,” I realize as I stare at the bare grave. “She’s dead and I’m still fucking things up.”

“Next time,” he promises. “Do you think she’d be mad at you?”

I shake my head. “No. She’d hug me and tell me she loved me,” I choke on the last bit. She’s the only person who’s ever said it to me. I strain my memory trying to recall daddy saying it, but I can’t. Maybe no one ever will again.

Sterling wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug.

“I don’t like hugs,” I warn him.

“Too bad, Lucky. You’re getting one.” He doesn’t release me and instead of waiting quietly for it to be over, I find myself melting into him. He’s warm and solid and real. Sterling for all his bad attitude and quick temper is something I didn’t expect: safe harbor. I keep trying to tell myself I’ll survive this, hoping I’ll find the conviction I need to actually do so. I keep looking for the words—for proof that I can. But it was never about believing in some thing. I know because I found someone to believe in: him.

28

Sterling

Present Day

Adair’s friends swarm to the Barrelhouse like moths to a lantern. Soon it’s not just Poppy and Kai, it’s the whole crew. They’re not here to watch Kai perform, they saw him last weekend. They want to bask in some of his attention. The truth is that most of them have been sitting around waiting on something their entire lives: their family’s company, a trust fund, an inheritance. In the meantime, everything’s been handed to them. They’ll never know what it’s like to become someone. They were born to someone, which means they’ve never had to try. And why would they when money means famous friends willing to share the limelight?

The drinks flow as quickly as Jack can pour them. He even assigns a dedicated waitress to our table, but he refuses to take my credit card to start a tab.

“It’s on the house,” he says, sliding it back to me. “The performance will have us written up in every paper in town—and you better be careful, Sterling, or I really might steal that girl.”

My lips curve into a smirk, but my eyes linger on Adair. “You can try, but I wouldn’t advise it.”