My Family Faked Mom's Death to Stop My Wedding—My Adopted Sister Had My Fiancé's Baby novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Open the Lid

At the funeral Mass she opens the casket in front of two hundred mourners, and Ethan's phone shows the baby and her very much alive mother.

Two hundred people came to bury my mother.

They filled Saint Brendan's to the back wall, the whole parish, the warehouse crews, and half the buyers my father had ever bought a lunch for.

Dad gave the eulogy in a black suit with his hand on the lid.

He cried well.

I sat in the front pew between Ethan and Lorenzo and watched my father weep over six sandbags.

Ethan took my hand.

I let him, because I needed his hands busy.

When Dad finished, the priest asked if any family wished to say a word.

I stood up before anyone else could.

"I'd like to say goodbye to Mom properly," I said.

The priest nodded kindly.

I walked up to the lectern and pulled the microphone down to my height.

"Everyone here knows my mother loved a good look," I said. "I never got to see her one last time. My family said it was a closed casket for her sake."

Dad's face went careful.

"Livia," Lorenzo said from the pew. "Sit down, please."

"I'm going to open it now."

The church made a small sound.

"Livia, no." Dad came off the step. "You'll regret it."

"My father told me the damage was too severe to look at," I said. "So I'd like everyone to look."

I put both hands on the lid.

The brass latches clicked, and the lid went up under my palms.

Two hundred people leaned forward.

Six canvas sandbags lay on white satin.

Somebody near the back screamed.

A woman in the third row started to cry and then stopped, confused.

The priest said, "Dear God."

I held up my phone with the photo of the receipt on it.

"It reads: Casket, weighted, no remains," I said. "It was signed by my brother Lorenzo."

I turned the phone toward the pews so the people in front could read it.

Lorenzo had gone gray.

"This was a test of the casket," he said. "A mix-up."

"Then where is she?" a man in the fifth row called.

He was one of the buyers.

Dad didn't answer him.

He looked at me with his teeth set, and for the first time in my life he looked afraid of me.

"Livia, come off the platform," he said quietly. "We'll talk at home."

"We'll talk here."

I looked at my brother Rocco, who had gone white.

"Rocco said it in the chapel office this morning," I said. "He said they used up every veto, and faking her death was the only way left to buy another year."

Rocco's mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

A murmur went through the church, low and ugly.

"She's grieving," Dad said, loudly, to the room. "She hasn't slept in two days."

"I slept enough to hear all of you," I said.

Then I looked down at the front pew.

"Ethan, tell them about Bermuda."

Ethan stood slowly.

"Livia, honey." He smiled and kept his voice low. "You're exhausted. Let me take you home."

"Tell them you're married."

His smile did not move, but his eyes did.

They went to the phone in his hand.

It was lit up and buzzing against his palm.

The screen showed a name I knew: Claire.

It was a video call.

Ethan reached to cut it off.

I was down the step and across the aisle before he could.

I took the phone out of his hand.

He grabbed my wrist in front of two hundred people.

I looked at his hand until he let go.

I pressed the green button and held the screen up for the church to see.

A nursery filled it.

There was a white crib in a bright room and a pale pink blanket.

Claire's face came in close, with damp hair, and a baby on her shoulder.

"Ethan, finally," Claire said, breathless. "She's been fussing since six. Mom says I should..."

She saw me.

She stopped.

I heard the baby breathe.

"Hello, Claire," I said.

"Livia." Her face lost its color. "Where's Ethan?"

"He's right here," I said. "So is everybody else."

I turned the phone so the pews could see her.

Rocco sat down hard in the pew.

"Put Mom on," I said.

"Livia, please, I can explain..."

"Put her on."

For a long moment nothing moved on the screen.

Then another face leaned in over Claire's shoulder.

Gray at the roots, in her blue reading glasses, a baby bottle in her hand.

My mother.

She looked at me, and then at the open coffin behind me, and she said it softly.

"Livia, sweetheart. Please. Just one more year."

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