The Perfect Marriage(50)

“Yeah. Why not?”

Gabriel considered the possibility. That it might be right only highlighted how little evidence they had at the moment.

“So that means we need to add to our suspect list a skinny, short-haired woman not named Allison?”

Ella laughed. “I would.”

“Thanks for making more work for me.”

“Anything to help.”

They ordered in pizza, but Ella lit candles for the table, commenting that she wanted to take full advantage to make it a date night. Still, 95 percent of the conversation concerned Annie, so it wasn’t quite like a date.

Watching his wife through the candles’ glow, Gabriel realized just how lucky a man he was. His days were usually spent among people whose lives were in ruins, more often than not as a result of their own bad choices. Jessica Sommers was a case in point. Either she had lost her husband in the worst way imaginable, or she had killed him, which meant that she’d end up living out her days in the penitentiary. Either way, she was staring at years of darkness ahead. By contrast, Gabriel saw nothing but light in his future. With Ella, he had filled that space he hadn’t even fully realized was empty, and with Annie’s arrival, his cup truly runneth over with joy.

“What?” Ella said, although her tone suggested she knew what he was thinking.

“I love you, Ella,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said back. “Prove it.”

“Give me fifty years, and I will.”

She smiled the same full-on smile that Gabriel had first fallen in love with. “Deal.”



Owen couldn’t sleep. He kept touching his scalp, feeling the soft skin that had been hidden for the last few years.

Of course, that wasn’t the reason he was still awake in the middle of the night. To say that he had a lot going on at the moment would be the understatement of all time. Tomorrow was James’s funeral. In a week’s time, he would undergo an operation that would determine whether his own funeral would follow shortly.

Before they said their good-nights, his mother let him know that she hoped he’d say a few words at the funeral.

Owen would have preferred not. Truth be told, if given the choice, he would have spent tomorrow in bed. The chemo already had him feeling sick to his stomach. So much so that he was worried he might puke if he had to give a eulogy.

He’d asked if he could perform a violin piece instead. He always thought he was more eloquent when playing someone else’s composition than when trying to express his feelings verbally. His mother said that he could do both, but she still thought someone from their family should speak, and she didn’t think she could summon the strength.

“You don’t have to talk long,” she’d said. “Five minutes would be more than enough. But I think, in light of the fact that James was paying for your treatment, it would be appropriate for you to tell everyone that he lives on in you.”

He nodded. His mother was right. James would live in him for the rest of his life. The least he could do was offer up some platitudes about his stepfather at his funeral.





16

James Sommers was laid to rest three days after his murder.

There had been some last-minute procedural snafus that threatened to delay the funeral—the medical examiner’s office hedged on whether they could release the body on time, and the funeral home thought it had double-booked. But in the end, James’s body was released and a vacant chapel was procured.

Jessica and Owen arrived early to the chapel. Owen was wearing the same outfit he had put on for the party, but without Jessica asking, he had worn a pair of James’s work shoes to replace his Nikes.

She held her son’s hand, which she could not recall having done in years. Not since the start of the chemo the first time. Even then, her recollection was that at some point during the treatment, he had stopped. That had been her son’s rite of passage into adulthood—chemotherapy. He began it as a boy and finished it a man (albeit one who was still in ninth grade).

The minister did a slight double take at the sight of a bald teenager but didn’t otherwise comment. He didn’t look the part either. Short, stout, and also bald.

“Would you like to see your husband?” he asked.

For a moment, Jessica thought he meant that James was alive. Then it clicked that he was asking whether she wanted to see his corpse in the casket before the ceremony began.

“Some loved ones find it comforting to say goodbye one last time,” the minister said. “Others, however, prefer to remember how they looked in life. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Yes. I think so. Owen, do you want to?”

“No,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s totally up to you. There’s no right way to do this.”

She followed the minister through a door that led into a small room that contained only the casket. Her first thought was that the coffin was too small for James.

“I’m going to lift up the lid, and then I’ll leave you to be alone with your thoughts,” the minister said.

Without waiting for a response, he did exactly that, lifting the lid, then leaving Jessica alone in the room. She couldn’t see into the casket until she was standing right beside it, peering down. When she did, James looked less like her husband than a wax figure of him.