WE RETURNED to the city late Friday night, both of us collapsing into bed the moment we entered the apartment. I had fitful sleep, tossing and turning. Dreaming.
So many dreams. Terrible ones involving Sylvia Lancaster and a staircase.
Every time I’d wake up, I realized it wasn’t a dream at all. It happened. It was all so damn real.
And there’s nothing I can do to change any of it.
Before we left the house, Sylvie called Whit, then Carolina, and finally her father. Whit took over the necessary arrangements immediately, reassuring Sylvie she didn’t have to do anything. Carolina had her usual unemotional reaction. Augustus put on a brave front, but I could hear the tremor in his voice. Learning of Sylvia’s death shook him.
Knowing I was the one who caused Sylvia’s death? Shook me too.
I didn’t mean for it to happen. All I could think about was protecting Sylvie. I did what I had to do to ensure her safety. I never thought it would result in Sylvia’s death.
I feel terrible. I made Sylvie lie for me, and I lied as well.
Will I ever be able to forgive myself?
Sylvie wakes me up around eight the next morning, shaking my shoulder gently. “Whit is here. He wants to talk to you.”
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, my gaze landing on her. She’s dressed and put together as if she’s been awake for hours, which is shocking. Sylvie isn’t one to wake up early. “Tell him I’ll be out in a few.”
She offers me a sympathetic look, but otherwise says nothing before leaving the room.
Climbing out of bed, I go to the bathroom and take a piss. Brush my teeth. Throw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts before I make my way out to the living room to find my best friend sitting on the edge of the couch, clad in a three-piece suit, his expression serious.
Sad.
“Whit.” He turns his head when he hears my voice, rising to his feet to pull me into a hug. We embrace, clapping our hands on each other’s backs like men do before we withdraw. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Whit nods, his face stoic. Only his eyes give him away. They’re blazing with an unfamiliar emotion, and I’m pretty sure it’s sadness. “I spoke with the detectives who interviewed you both yesterday. They said it was an accident.”
“It was,” Sylvie says, coming to stand beside me, forming a united front.
Whit studies her for a moment, turning his attention to me. “Was it really?”
I come close to telling him the truth. I open my mouth, ready to spill our secret, when Sylvie takes over.
“Yes, of course. We were arguing. You know how she can get, always trying to tell me what to do. Spencer came upstairs and tried to separate us, and Mom slipped on the floor and fell backward. The bottom of her sandals was very slick, according to the police officer,” she explains. “I’m sure they were new.”
“The officer mentioned that to me as well,” Whit says, his intense gaze on his sister. “And you’re sure that’s all that happened?”
“I was there, Whit. That’s what happened,” she says firmly.
A sigh leaves him, and he collapses back into the chair. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I can’t either,” Sylvie admits.
I say nothing. Just stand there with my fiancée by my side, praying to God Whit won’t figure out our lies.
“I’ve already started making the funeral arrangements. It will be held Wednesday afternoon,” he says.
“They aren’t going to do an autopsy?” Sylvie asks.
Whit frowns. “Why would they? It was an accident, right?”
We both answer, “right,” at the same time.
The suspicious look he gives us both would make a weaker person spill everything, but not us. We’ve dealt with him for a long time and know what to do. We stand there with matching blank faces, appearing as if we’re in shock.
Which I suppose we are. What we experienced yesterday was nothing short of traumatic.
“Her body has already been sent to the funeral home and preparations have begun. She’ll be cremated as per her wishes,” Whit says, sounding like he’s talking about everyday business, not his mother’s death wishes. “After the funeral, there will be a get-together at Father’s house. He wants to host it.”
“Of course, he does,” Sylvie murmurs.
Again, I remain quiet. Nothing I say would add to the conversation.
“How’s Summer?” Sylvie asks.
Whit’s entire demeanor softens. “She’s fine. Uncomfortable. Very, very pregnant. I don’t want her attending the funeral, but she insists she wants to be there for me. For us.”
“Let her go. She’ll be fine,” Sylvie says, and I quietly agree.
Summer is one of the strongest women I know.
There’s more talk of the funeral. What music should be played, who should speak. Their pastor will lead the service, and Whit has put a call out to a few of Sylvia’s friends, who might want to say something in her honor.
Sylvie doesn’t volunteer to speak, thank God. I was worried she might feel obligated, but she didn’t put herself into that position. I doubt Whit would let her anyway. He knows what their relationship was like.
How terrible it was.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” Whit asks me before he’s about to leave. Sylvie has already excused herself to call Carolina, leaving us alone.
Unease curls through me, but I nod my agreement, leading him into my home office and closing the door, so we can have total privacy.
“You don’t have to tell me what really happened,” Whit starts, shaking his head when I try to say something. “I don’t need the excuses, or the lies. I have a feeling there’s more to this story than what you’re telling me.”
I clamp my lips shut, saying nothing.
“Maybe it’s best. Maybe I don’t want to know the truth, but just know this.” He takes a step closer, his gaze intense when it locks on mine. “You’re like a brother to me, Spencer. And if you’re keeping this from me to protect me, and protect Sylvie, then that’s—fine. You have my permission. I love my sister, and while I loved my mother too, I hate what she’s done to Sylvie. To all of us. She wasn’t—right.”
“I’m sorry this happened,” I tell him sincerely, because I am sorry it turned out this way. But I’m also not offering up any more details about yesterday. “I don’t know how this is going to affect Sylvie.”
“She seems to be doing all right.”
“I believe she’s still in shock. I think I am too.”
Whit nods, rubbing his chin. “She’s free now, you know?”
“Your mother?”
“No. My sister. Our mother can no longer wield her control over her. I know Sylvie was beginning to stand on her own two feet, but I don’t know if she would ever be able to do it completely. Not with our mother always around. She couldn’t stay out of Sylvie’s life, not that she ever tried. Look at how she showed up at the house yesterday.” Whit shakes his head.
Her obsession with my fiancée turned into her detriment.
“She was working with the servants. She’d paid one of them off to tell her when Sylvie would arrive,” I explain.
“Are you serious? Which one? I’ll fire them. All of them,” Whit says vehemently.
“I don’t know. Sylvie doesn’t know either. And you don’t need to fire them. Sylvia isn’t around any longer to pay them for information.”
“Still means we can’t trust them, which I won’t have. I need to know who did this.” He clenches his jaw, seemingly furious. “I’ll fire every single one of them if I have to.”
“Relax. You don’t want to march in there and make wild accusations. Your mother could be very charming when she wanted to be. She probably convinced them they were doing a good thing, helping her. And she most likely made an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
Whit sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “We need to break the Lancaster curse.”
“And what exactly is the Lancaster curse?”
“The manipulative tactics we use to get what we want. I’m not a good person, Spence. None of us Lancasters are, but we’re trying to change. I want to be a better person for my children,” Whit says, sounding pained.
“You’ve changed over the last few years,” I tell him, reaching out to give his shoulder a shake. “Thanks to Summer and your son.”
“Yeah.” He nods, casting his gaze downward. “That’s the plan. I want to be a better person for my wife and my children. I’ve done some shitty things because I believed the world owed me. My father is the same way. So was my mother.”
“Sylvie has changed too,” I tell him. “She’s much more honest than she used to be.”
Whit actually chuckles. “She used to tell some tall tales.”
“Unfortunately, most of those tales I think were actually true.”
Whit immediately sobers. “Fuck, I hate that.” He stands up straighter. “Whatever happened yesterday with my mother, I want you to know that you did the right thing.”
“You don’t even know what I did,” I say, my voice low.
“And I don’t need to know. You were protecting the woman you love. My sister. And for that, I thank you.”
He pulls me in for another quick embrace, and this time, there’s no clapping on the back, no immediate pulling away from each other.
No, we actually hug, clinging to each other for a moment. I love this man like a brother. And, soon enough, he will be my brother through marriage.
And he just basically forgave me for accidentally killing his mother.
“I’ll be in touch,” Whit says when he withdraws.
I walk him to the front door. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
The moment he’s gone, Sylvie emerges from the bedroom. “Did my brother just leave?”
I nod. “Yes.”
She practically runs toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and I pull her in as close as I can get. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No,” I lie, keeping my own secret from her.
It’s best. She doesn’t need to worry about what her brother knows or thinks. I’ll carry that burden for her.
Gladly.
