When the car stopped, Theo got out and slammed the door behind him. I knew I should’ve been afraid of what he could do to me, what he could get away with, but I was powered by a cold rage of my own. He was responsible for my sister’s death. Even if it killed me, I’d get justice for her.

CHAPTER 6 DEIRDRE

CHAPTER 6

DEIRDRE

The gravesite felt like a minefield. There was a glowering Theo on one side and my father simmering on the other. I was glad when Theo’s father came up to me.

“How are you holding up, Deirdre?” he asked. He was a dapper man—whenever I saw him, he was always fully suited up. He was shorter than his son, and his blue eyes were paler and his hair was iron gray instead of black, but the resemblance to Theo was still strong. It was the personalities that were polar opposites: Theo was as withdrawn as his father was gregarious.

“Not well,” I admitted. It didn’t seem right to tell him that his son was the reason why, at least not within Theo’s earshot.

“Same here,” he said. “When you feel up to it, I’d love for you to come over.”

“Your son won’t want to spend time around me.”

He shot a glance Theo’s way. “He doesn’t get a vote. Anyway, he’s not invited. I was thinking you, me, Teddy, and Ursula for dinner.”

Ursula was Theo’s stepmother. She had a serious drinking problem, which made me wary of her, but she’d always been nice enough.

“Sure. I’d like that.” I looked around. “Teddy’s not here, is he?”

“No. I thought it would be too much for him.”

I nodded at that. It was almost too much for me.

The service started, led by the same priest who’d officiated at the church. I didn’t want to think about my sister being lowered into the dank, wormy ground. Instead, I focused on Theo, whose eyes stayed fixed on the angel guarding the family plot. She was a graceful stone maiden with wings so finely carved you could make out the pattern of her feathers. Her face was obscured as she wept over a white marble block with THRAXTON carved in bold letters. The graves were subtly marked with small stone plaques.

After Caro’s casket was lowered into the ground, the family was supposed to take handfuls of rose petals and sprinkle them into the yawning pit. No one wanted to do it. Theo stayed back, as did his father and mine. For the first time, I realized Juliet was absent; it seemed in character for her to refuse to set foot in Brooklyn. In the end, no one touched the rose petals but Caro’s friend Jude Lazare and me. We threw in one handful after another. They were dark red against the burnished mahogany of the casket.