The Collector
Page 45

“It’s done. Or will be. Let me get all of you a seat.”
“We’ll find seats. You have things to do.”
“I need to get Olympia, or send someone to get her. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t worry about us.”
“I’m glad you came,” he said again. “I mean it.”
He had to make his way through guests, those who wanted to offer condolences, those who just wanted a word. He started toward the house—he’d cut through, he decided, go out the side—then stopped when he saw Angie.
She looked exhausted, he realized. Weighed down carrying her own grief and trying to shoulder some of her sister-in-law’s.
“She wants Vinnie.” Angie pushed a hand at her curly cap of hair. “Have you seen him?”
“No. I’ve been handling some things so I must’ve missed him.”
“I’ll try his cell again. He should’ve been here an hour ago. Two.” She sighed a little. “He drives like an old lady, and won’t use the hands-free. So if he’s still en route, he won’t answer.”
“I’ll look around for him.”
“No, do what you have to do to get this started. She’s got her guts up now, but it won’t last long. If he’s late, he’s late. You should have the funeral director get people seated. Your father?”
“I’ll get him. Is ten minutes enough time?”
“Ten minutes. We’ll have her here.” She took her phone out of the little purse she carried. “Damn it, Vinnie,” she muttered as she strode away.
Vinnie could be inside, Ash speculated. He’d look around, tell his father it was time.
He gave the funeral director the signal, escorted Oliver’s maternal grandmother to a chair himself before heading toward the house.
He caught sight of Lila sitting on Luke’s left, Julie on the right. And to Lila’s left sat Katrina, her hands gripping Lila’s as his sister poured out some story.
Full of exclamation marks, he imagined.
But the image of them lightened him a little.
Yeah, he was glad she came, he thought one last time, then hurried inside to get his father so they could say their final goodbyes.
Eleven
Lila had never experienced anything like it. Despite the oddity of an open bar and a landscape of white, the grief was real and deep. She saw it in the pale and stricken face of Oliver’s mother, heard it in the unsteady voices of those who stood at the white lectern to speak. She felt it weighing down the air while the sun beamed, while the scents of lilies and roses wafted along the fluttering breeze.
And still, it was a kind of theater, staged, costumed and choreographed, performed by people of striking good looks on an elaborate stage.
When Ash stepped up to the lectern she thought he could be an actor—the tall, dark and handsome sort. Smooth today, she noted, clean-shaven, perfect black suit. Maybe she preferred the scruff, the carelessly, casually arty of his every day, but he wore the gloss well.
“I asked Giselle to deliver the eulogy for Oliver. Of all the siblings, she and Oliver shared the closest bond. While we all loved him, will all miss him, Giselle understood him best, and appreciated his eternal optimism. On behalf of his mother and our father, thank you all for coming today to help us say goodbye to our son, our brother, our friend.”
Was the entire Archer clan gorgeous? Lila wondered as she watched a stunning woman stand. She exchanged a hard hug with Ash, then faced the crowd.
Her voice didn’t tremble, but remained strong and clear.
“I tried to think of my first memory of Oliver, but I couldn’t pin it. He was always part of my life, no matter how much time passed without seeing him. He was, in so many ways, the laughter, the fun, the foolishness every life needs.
“Optimist.” Now she smiled a little, looked over at Ash. “Leave it to you, Ash. Some of us are realists, some are cynics, some are, let’s face it, just ass**les. Most of us have a little of all of that mixed inside us. But for Oliver, Ash is right. Optimism ruled. He could be careless, but he was never cruel. And really, how many people can we say that about with honesty? He was impulsive, and unfailingly generous. He was a social creature to whom solitude was a kind of punishment. Because he was so charming, so bright, so beautiful, he was rarely alone.”
A bird swooped behind Giselle, a bright blue streak that flashed over the white mounds of flowers and was gone.
“He loved you, Olympia, deeply and sincerely. And you, Dad.” For a moment her eyes shimmered, then like the flash of blue, the shimmer was gone. “He so wanted you to be proud of him, maybe he wanted it too much. He wanted to be and accomplish the spectacular. There was no average or mediocre for Oliver. He made mistakes, and some of them were spectacular. But he was never hard, never cruel. And yes, always optimistic. If any of us had asked him for anything, he would have given it. It wasn’t in his nature to say no. Maybe leaving us, so terribly, while he was still young and bright and beautiful was inevitable. So I won’t search for that first memory of Oliver, or linger on the last. I’ll just be grateful he was always part of my life, that he gave me the laughter and the fun and the foolishness. Now we’ll have a party, because there was nothing Oliver enjoyed more.”
As she stepped back from the lectern, the piper played. On cue, as the grieving notes of “Amazing Grace” carried down from a small knoll, hundreds of white butterflies rose with beating wings behind the arbor.
Fascinated, Lila watched Giselle glance back at the white cloud, look over at Ash. And laugh.
Because it seemed like the thing to do, Lila sipped some wine. Servers passed food and invited guests to long white tables where more substantial choices were offered. People gathered or wandered, around the grounds, into the house. Though she was curious, she didn’t feel strolling into the house would be correct.
Gauging her timing, she made her way over to Oliver’s mother to pay her respects.
“I don’t want to intrude. I’m a friend of Ashton’s. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Ashton’s friend.” The woman was sheet-pale, glassy-eyed, but she extended a hand. “Ashton took care of all the details.”
“It was a very beautiful service.”
“Oliver always gave me white flowers on Mother’s Day. Didn’t he, Angie?”
“He never forgot.”