I Woke Up at the Altar and Said No to the Mob Heir Who Let Me Die, but He Remembers Too novel · Chapter 27 of 40

Chapter 27: The Memorial Mass

Nessa tugged my coat.

"Is Grandpa on it?"

"Grandpa's on it."

"Is Daddy?"

"Daddy's on it."

"Is your daddy?"

I knelt and buttoned her coat to the top.

"Not yet," I said.

The priest was by the door shaking hands, the same priest who'd asked me if I took Cormac Devane.

He saw me coming and his smile went careful.

"Orla. I hear New Hampshire's stealing you."

"Father, my father's name isn't on the list."

He looked at the corkboard. Then at his shoes.

"That was decided a long time ago. The parish council. The family."

"It was decided on a lie. The man who told it is in federal custody."

"I read the papers." He lowered his voice. "It's a matter for the council. These things take time."

"He's had nine years of time."

He patted my arm and turned to the next family.

I didn't ask him again.

For two weeks I packed boxes at night and sewed by day.

Una pretended not to watch me tape them shut.

On the morning of the seventh, I put on my navy dress, the one I'd ironed twice for the Milton dinner.

Una wore a black suit of her ex-husband's that she'd taken in herself.

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