They put Simon in the ground on a Tuesday. The memorial came after.
I stood by the flowers in my black dress and let them look at me.
Nobody spoke to me. They spoke around me, loud enough to hear.
A woman in pearls said, "She's got some nerve, standing there like that."
I kept my eyes on the water.
Helena Voss came across the grass like a knife.
Silver hair. Pearls. All of Simon's money in her walk.
Helena: You came. You murdering bitch.
Helena: My son is in the ground and you're standing here drinking his wine.
I did not answer her.
There was nothing I could say that she would hear.
Helena: Look at me when I talk to you!
Her rings dug into my wrist. I felt the skin split under the gold.
The slap turned my head sideways.
I tasted blood, warm and thin, on my lip.
Helena: You killed him, you fucking liar!
Nobody stepped forward. They watched like it was a show.
A man in a gray suit said it loud. "She fucked him straight into his grave."
Someone behind him laughed.
She shoved me back into the flower table. It went over.
Glass broke on the stones. My hip hit the edge and my leg went weak.
I stayed standing anyway.
Behind her, Simon smiled at me from his photograph. Navy sweater. That stupid kind face.
My eyes burned. I held them open.
If I cried, they would call it a confession.
Then Paul was beside me. Close. His breath on my ear, warm, like nothing had happened.
Paul: Say one word tonight and you go in the lake with him.
Paul: Your boys can watch them drag you out by the hair.
I believed him. That was the worst part.
I looked at the gray water and I believed every word.
Paul stepped back. He smiled at me.
A small smile. Only for me. Over the rim of his glass.
So I stood there with blood on my mouth.
And I gave them nothing. Not one word.
Helena: This is the woman who killed my son! Look at her! Look at that face!
Nobody argued with her. Not one person.
I watched Paul smile, and I counted it as a promise.