“A funeral is a social event. People loved Caroline. Some of those nasty little basement bloggers called her a ‘climbing vine,’ given her roots, but Caroline was a genuinely good person. She was kind and generous. Pair those traits up with money, and you have a recipe for social success. Even if her family came with more baggage than a Boeing Triple Seven bound for Disney World.” He grimaced. “I should’ve sent Harris out to buy her father a suit. Did you see that shiny getup he’s wearing? Looks like he made it out of a space blanket. I’d worry about photos, but the glare would blind anyone. Is he coming to lunch?”

“You will be respectful toward Caroline’s family,” I insisted, but my brain was stuck on something else he’d said. Caroline was a genuinely good person.

“I’ve never been anything but kind to Caroline’s relatives, son.” He frowned and walked away from me, shaking his head.

I don’t want to be married to you anymore. Why is that so hard to understand, Theo? Get out of my house.

I hovered at the edge of the alcove, refusing to let my brain revisit what had happened next. It was impossible to get enough air into my lungs.

“Is it time?” the priest asked me.

“I need a few moments alone,” I said. “Is there somewhere private?”

“Of course. Follow me.” He led me through a small portal, then opened a door, revealing a private chapel. There were candles burning in front of a statue of a beautiful woman whose face was clouded with sorrow.

“Take your time,” the priest added.

“Thank you.”

He shut the door behind me. I stood stock still, waiting for the panic to subside. My body shuddered as if I’d walked into a freezer. How could I go through with the funeral, or anything else? This day would be endless, just as the day before had been, and the next one would be. I didn’t know how I would ever explain Caroline’s death to our son.

Caroline was a genuinely good person, my father claimed. No, she wasn’t. She’d put up an amazing facade that fooled many people, but underneath was something hard and steely and vicious.

The quivering in my hands reverberated through my body. I approached the shrine, then collapsed on my knees—as if in prayer—but I had no words for a higher power. I hadn’t been raised with any religion, and I wasn’t even sure whom the statue represented. The Virgin Mary? Some dolorous saint with her eyes fixed on the next world because this one was too painful to bear? Instead, I gazed at the dozens of flickering candles, glimmering like beacons in a storm.

I am full of hidden horrors, whispered a voice in the back of my mind. That wasn’t Caroline; this voice was in my head long before I met her.

There was nothing I wouldn’t do to drown it out.

Stretching out my left hand, I set my palm atop a candle. As my flesh extinguished its flame, I felt a rush of pain that brought tears to my eyes. Its razor sharpness was fleeting, but the hot, throbbing sensation that came in its wake focused my thoughts in one clear, untroubled direction. I reached for another flame, and another, telling myself to stop but not being able to. When all the candles were out, and the air was singed with smoke and the oddly sweet smell of grease, I rose, nodding my head at the marble woman in a muted show of thanks. Then I made my exit, finally ready to deliver my wife’s eulogy.

CHAPTER 5

DEIRDRE

I took a few diaphragm breaths before making the call. When my brother-in-law answered, I said, “Hey, Theo, this is Deirdre. Could you pick me up on your way to the cemetery?” The words made me queasy. I hated asking for favors. Any dummy could’ve hopped in a cab and made it to Green-Wood, but it was the only way I could think of to get time alone with Theo to talk.

“I just left the restaurant, but there’s a car waiting there for you,” Theo said. “I’ll find out exactly where it is.”

“I didn’t go to lunch. I came home. Could you pick me up at Queens Plaza?”

“What happened? Are you ill?”

“I’m fine, Theo. I just need you to pick me up.” This wasn’t for me. It was for Caro. “I need to talk to you.”

“Hold on.” I heard a soft conversation in the background. “We’ll head over the Queensboro Bridge. I’ll text you when we’re close to Queens Plaza.”

He was good to his word. When he showed up, I leaped into the black town car. “Thanks for doing this,” I muttered.

“Are you certain you’re all right?” Theo asked. He looked genuinely worried. I recoiled under his gaze.

“No,” I admitted. “The whole world feels like it’s broken. I keep hoping this is a nightmare, and maybe I’ll wake up. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Neither can I,” Theo said. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

In the church, at a distance, my brother-in-law had looked like his usual self: impeccably dressed, ramrod posture, coldly attractive. Up close, he was worn out. There were purplish half-moons under his eyes, and his skin seemed sallow. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his jaw was so taut I could almost hear him grinding his teeth. My gaze slid down to his hands. One palm was raw and red and blistered.

“What the hell happened to your hand?” I asked.

He froze for a nanosecond before turning it over, out of view. “It must’ve happened when I hit that creep bothering Teddy.”

In that moment, I knew Theo was lying to me. His knuckles were a little dinged up, but that didn’t explain the scarlet wound on his palm. There was an uncomfortable moment when I couldn’t help but stare, examining an old scar slithering under his French cuff. I could only catch the edge of it, but it was enough to remind me of the profile my sister had written about him. That was how they’d met in the first place. The article had a weird little anecdote in it about how Theo had been mauled by a zoo animal—a lion or a tiger—as a child. I made a mental note to look it up as soon as I could.

In the meantime, I had questions, but I didn’t know where to start. “That was a good service this morning,” I ventured.

“Really?” He frowned. “You thought so?”

“No, I hated it. But Caro would’ve appreciated it.”

Theo sighed. “That was what my father thought. He planned every last detail.”

“How was lunch?”

“It was like a circle of Dante’s hell but with worse company. My father arranged for religieuses au chocolat for dessert,” he said, referring to a tiered eclair that I couldn’t imagine anyone but Caro liking. “Caroline’s favorite. It was horrible.”

“I’m glad I skipped it.”

“It was surreal to sit there and watch a roomful of people having a wonderful time. This was just another party for them.” He stared out the window.

“I don’t know how Caro tolerated people like that.” In that moment I remembered why I’d always liked Theo: we bonded over our shared misanthropy. “Was my father there?”

“He was.” He turned his head toward me. “Was that why you didn’t come?”

I shrugged. “Part of it.”

“Even now, you two aren’t speaking?” Theo asked.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“I haven’t spoken to my father much in the past couple of years,” Theo said. “But since Caroline died, I’ve been pulled back into his orbit.”

“Why did you and your dad stop speaking?”

“He hasn’t forgiven me for leaving the family business,” Theo said. “He still calls it ‘abandonment.’ What about you?”

I really didn’t want to get into it, especially right then. “My father and I never got along.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it would do for now.

“You didn’t move out of your parents’ house at fifteen because of that,” Theo said. “It was his drinking, wasn’t it?”

“Caro told you about that?”

“I know he was abusive,” Theo said. “Not to you or Caroline—at least, not according to Caroline. But toward your mother.”

I nodded, grateful that I didn’t have to explain. My sister always had been our father’s defender; it was the main reason we’d stopped speaking for several years. There was so much more to say, but nothing I wanted to add at that moment.

“Caroline said he’d had a problem with alcohol that made him abusive,” Theo added. “But she also insisted that he’s been sober for some time now. I’d never allow him near Teddy if he weren’t.”

“Sure, blame the alcohol,” I muttered. It was typical of Caro—blame the drug and give the monster a pass. I cleared my throat. There were hard questions I had to ask. “Theo, a reporter at the funeral asked me if my sister was using drugs. I know that’s crazy, but . . .”

“She was taking several prescriptions. It’s unclear whether that affected her heart.”

To my ears, he sounded defensive. My spine stiffened. “What exactly was she taking?”

“She went on an antidepressant after Teddy was born. I know she had prescriptions for anxiety and insomnia and headaches. Heartburn too.”

I knew Caro had suffered from migraines and postpartum depression, but I had trouble believing the rest. My sister had always been a healthy person. “When did she start taking antianxiety meds?”

“I don’t know. She never discussed it with me.”

“What about illegal—”

He cut me off before I could finish my question. “I’m sure Caroline would never. As far as I know, red wine was her hardest vice.”