Page 113 of My Heart Still Beats
Instead, I have Sherlock drive me to Tessa’s mother’s neighborhood, and we wait in the car for the family to arrive back from the burial for the wake.
I sit in the backseat, going through email after email, when one catches my eye. I don’t recognize the email address, and I’m ready to send it to spam when I see the subject line.
I haven’t forgotten.
Chills skitter over my flesh as I open the email.
It’s me, Black. Remember when I said you’d get something in the mail a couple months ago?
I remember, all right. I didn’t sleep all night and watched the mail at home and at work like a hawk for the next week until I was convinced Dirk had been bluffing all along.
There’s no evidence. We made sure of that at the time.
I continue reading.
I decided to wait. Bide my time.
Time’s up, Black.
My blood turns to ice.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tessa
We have the reception at our house after the burial. Watching my father’s body being placed under ground for all eternity was excruciating. I wished Ben were there, and a small part of me wished for faith—that belief that Da is still with us, enjoying eternal life with our Father in Heaven.
But my faith is gone. Obliterated, beginning with an altar boy at my first communion.
Aunt Lily and the church put together a feast for us. Mostly Mexican food. Even though Da wasn’t Mexican, that was the food he loved the most.
Braden and Skye are here, of course, along with Betsy and several of my friends from my old job. I haven’t been with Black Inc. long enough to make new friends. In fact, I haven’t been back to work since before Jamaica. Luke was great about giving me time off for bereavement.
Of course, that’s no doubt due in part to the fact that I was a special hire by the Black brothers themselves.
I sigh.
One good thing has come out of all this.
I haven’t given Garrett Ramirez a thought.
Until this moment.
Ben is here, talking in the corner of the living room with Betsy, Braden, and Skye, but every now and then, he looks over at me. I haven’t seen him smile, though.
Of course not. A funeral reception is hardly the place for a smile.
Mom, Eva, and I are sitting on the couch together, and people are lined up to talk to us and pay their respects.
My eyes have been watery all day, but I’ve kept my composure.
“Daniel was such a wonderful man,” a young woman I sort of recognize says to me.
“Thank you. Yes, he was.”
“I hope you have a lot of good memories to get you through this trying time.”
I force a smile. “We do. He was a great father.”
