The Rackets gathered around a gravestone at dusk, a gravestone for one of the most disliked men in Twinbrook. No one really came. No one but family. Is that what we are? Rachel wondered as she stayed a safe distance from Max’s final resting place. Everything had become so chaotic lately, and mixed up. The last time she had seen her father-in-law was when he callously stabbed her in the rib cage in Roaring Heights. It was certainly not the traditional family thing to do. She subconsciously hugged her side, fingering the patterns on her black woolen coat, and could almost feel the stitches burning through the layers of fabric.
Rachel swiped at a stray tear, not a mournful tear, but a how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here kind-of tear. Bill, her husband, who never once came to see her in the Florsimdia, nudged closer, their black umbrellas provided by the funeral home bumping. It seemed fitting for Max that his graveside service in the Ivy Hill Graveyard would be in the pouring rain. Nature’s way of mourning a loss. No one else really was.
“No one will miss that bastard,” Bill grunted beneath his breath.