What Doesn't Kill You(36)

She pushed away from the memory, and forced herself to relax. It took less than she expected, lack of sleep finally catching up with her. The hum of the tattoo machine brought her back, right before Billie started the first pass.

Claire clutched the edge of the chair, forcing herself to keep her right arm relaxed. The familiar, constant sting of the needles let her blank out her mind. She didn’t want to think anymore, even if it was a temporary condition.

Billie hummed along with the classic rock blaring from the stereo, her touch light, deft, and not as painful as Claire expected. The pentacle being inked into her shoulder was the last of her defenses against the demon, sitting dormant for now.

She wanted Simon to be right, wanted to believe in the subtle differences she felt this time. Until she could be one hundred percent about it, she would take every precaution. Especially since her friends, and Zach, absolutely refused to stay away.





TWELVE



It rained the day of Simon’s funeral.

Claire huddled under the umbrella, Zach at her side, clutching her hand. Tears streaked his face, but he looked stoic, damp hair brushing his shoulders as he lowered his head, whispering a silent prayer. Claire looked over at him, surprised by the fluent Latin. He was remembering more of his old existence.

The priest presiding over Simon’s grave spoke of sacrifice, of love, of ashes to ashes. Claire simply wanted it to be done. Putting Simon in the ground hurt, piercing through her until she had trouble breathing. Annie stood next to her, under another umbrella, leaning against Eric, crying in that silent way that tore at Claire.

On the other side of the grave, Marcus stood apart from the other mourners, dressed head to toe in black, hands in the pockets of his long coat, and rain dripping off his hair. He gave Claire the space she needed, but was close enough to offer support. She knew she would need it before today was over.

“—and now we give him to the God he loved.” The priest met Claire’s eyes. “Remember him as the generous, caring man he was, and do not grieve, for his soul is already with our Savior.”

She closed her eyes. Simon would have punched the man for his arrogant sermon. He looked smug as he exchanged words of comfort with Simon’s former congregation. Claire wanted nothing to do with him.

Moving forward, she laid the bouquet of daisies on the polished mahogany coffin. Simon hated roses, told her once they reminded him of friends he’d lost. She liked the daisies that grew wild along the boardwalk, and wanted to give him a piece of the beach, the one place here he found peace.

Zach set his bouquet next to hers, resting his hand on the coffin. He whispered again, and this time she caught the prayer.

“May the soul of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.”

“Zach?” His head snapped up, the grief in his eyes tearing at her. “What are you—”

“I wanted to give him a real entry, not some ego-driven—sorry.”

She kissed his cheek. “No apologies. Not when I share your opinion. Simon would be appalled, then insulted.” Zach smiled, squeezing her hand.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you back.” Claire glanced over at Annie, nodded her head. “Let’s get out of this rain.”

Annie and Eric stepped toward them. Eric tipped the umbrella so Annie could lay her bouquet on the coffin. The multi-colored daisies lent a false gaiety to the grave site, and Claire couldn’t look at it anymore, couldn’t be here anymore.

“Let’s get out of here,” Annie said, her voice raw. “I can’t stand this.”

“You read my mind.” Claire took her hand, looked over at Marcus. He nodded, headed for the limo they had rented so they could ride together.

They walked away from the grave, holding hands, leaving behind the other mourners. Today was for them, the family Simon had been part of. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the other people in his life.





THIRTEEN



“This doesn’t feel right.” Claire stood in Annie’s guest room, staring at herself in the mirror, trying not to fidget as Annie fussed with her veil. “I shouldn’t be celebrating, not so soon after Simon—” She lowered her head, the ache still raw.

“Look at me, honey.” Annie waited, and Claire knew she would prod until she got her way. With a sigh Claire obeyed. “Simon would be the first to call bullshit, and you know it. He’d want you to be happy.” Annie brushed a strand of hair off Claire’s forehead. “You look so beautiful. I am glad you decided to go traditional, since I so did not.”

They both smiled, remembering Annie’s gorgeous but not even close to traditional green wedding dress. Claire’s tea length antique white dress skimmed down her body from the wide, scoop neckline, a rich, shimmering velvet that suited the chilly fall weather. Her bouquet of daisies was her way of including Simon, and she knew Annie had piled more of them into the small reception room they would use for the after party.