Vulture (a Stepbrother Romance) -(14)

The preacher’s voice sounded in the background, muttering a few words, recalling Eric’s lifetime achievements.

Not listening, I studied the circle of people dressed in black. The only other person without a trace of emotion or tears on his face stood opposite me. Harvey lifted his head and caught my eye. He didn’t give me a reassuring smile, or nod his head in respect—he just stared at me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

A shiver ran up my spine, and I forced myself to look away.

Finally the service was over. Rain dripped down my black umbrella as we walked back to the cars.

An elderly woman, a distant relative—a great aunt of Eric’s if I remembered correctly—walked towards me. “I’m sorry for your loss. Absolutely dreadful what’s happened. Do they know what caused the crash?”

I smiled gently and muttered a weak “thank you” as she continued to question me. Just as my head was about to explode, her watery, blue eyes boring into mine imploring for me to respond, Harvey took my elbow and interrupted the old woman.

“We have to get Sara back home now; it’s been a long day,” he said politely, his authoritative tone putting a stop to her enquiries.

“Of course, of course. I didn’t mean to pry…”

Without letting go of my arm and expertly dodging other mourners who wanted their five minutes with the supposedly grieving widow, he led me to his car instead of the funeral car reserved for the family and settled me inside, away from everyone. My mother’s and sister’s faces flashed by the window; they called for Harvey to stop but he ignored their pleas to slow down. He drove back to my house, the journey taking much longer than it should, as he deviated—literally going all around the houses—as I sat quietly, with my hands covering my face, desperately trying to shut out the world.

Grievers had already set up shop at the house, gathering to pass the time and reminisce with strangers, family and friends who’d known Eric. I tried to mingle as if it were just an ordinary social event, but instead I hid away in the kitchen, laying out food for the hungry guests, unable to talk about my deceased husband in glowing terms.

I tried to walk away from the horde, but none of them would let me, and the kitchen was full of persistent bodies.

“Could you make sure to take out the next batch of sausage rolls from the oven, Anita?”

Her sharp eyes narrowed at me. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Upstairs, I need to lie down.”

She shook her head. “No, you have to stay. People want to talk to you. They’ve come all this way for the funeral. You can’t go hide in your bedroom. Look, I’ll go get you a chair so you can sit.”

I turned away from her and braced myself against the kitchen counter. The last thing I needed was to get into a fight with her today.

Huffing, she dragged in one of the dining chairs that had been moved from the kitchen to the living room to make space.

“Here you go,” she said, as it it’d been my idea for her to get the chair.

“Thanks…”

Wedged in the kitchen, an endless stream of requests and enquiries came my way. It felt like it went on for hours.

A light tap on my arm, a bump from someone reaching behind me to get a napkin, brought me out of my hazy thoughts. My head shot forward, and I caught Harvey’s gaze. He stood by a group of mourners, dressed impeccably in his black suit. People moved to make way for him as he strode towards me.

“How you doing?”

“As well as expected, I think.”

“You don’t look so good. Do you want to get some fresh air? It’s stopped raining.”

I smiled; nothing would be better right that moment. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he questioned, frowning down at me.

“Anita said—”

“Fuck Anita,” he said loud enough to cause a middle-aged woman beside us gasp.

I laughed. Strands of dark blonde hair fell across my face. I reached out and tucked it behind my ear. “I guess it would be OK for just a moment, but who’ll take care of the guests?”

He frowned again he eyes darkening in anger. “Who’s taking care of you?”

“I-I…” I stammered, unsure of what to say. No one cared or worried about me, a fact that I was used to. It was always the other way around. I was the worrier. Harvey’s question caught me off-guard.

“They’re not wild animals, Sara. And who cares what anyone thinks? If you don’t want to be here, then leave.” His bluntness was refreshing, like a cold shower on a hot day.

A shred of clarity began to peek through the haze.

“OK,” I replied.

Harvey grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the house, escaping via the back door before I could change my mind. The sharpness of the fresh air made my eyes widen, and my lungs inhaled the blissful scent of drying rain. It’d been so stuffy in the house, it’d been a wonder I’d been able to breathe.