Until The Last Day (Claire and Lorenzo) novel Chapter 22

Lorenzo’s POV 

On the morning of Claire’s funeral, I forced myself to act like a person again. 

I shaved his beard, trimmed my hair, took a shower, and changed into a set of black clothes. 

After going downstairs, I threw away the trash I had gathered. When I looked up, the seventh-floor window with the blue curtains was catching the pale light. Claire had chosen those curtains. I stared too long and felt my chest tighten. 

I took my keys from my pocket. The keychain had a small doll that Claire once clipped on and said, “For luck.” I slid the doll off the ring, and tossed the keys into the sewer. 

“Goodbye,” I said, though I didn’t know to whom. 

I drove to the cemetery. I didn’t know exactly where Claire’s stone was. Mom had bought a plot on a sunny slope, that was all I knew. So I started at the bottom, row by row, reading names I didn’t know, dates that ended too SOON. 

Halfway up the hill, I saw a small figure in a dark coat crouched by a new stone. 

Relief hit me like air after being underwater. 

I walked faster. “Mom,” I called, quiet.  

She didn’t answer. 

She was squatting, placing a bunch of lilies at the base of the granite. Then she took a clean handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the face of the stone, slowly, carefully, as if she were washing a child’s face after dinner. Only when she had cleared every trace of dust did she stand. 

Her eyes flicked to my empty hands. Her mouth tightened. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, cold. 

I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my throat. “Just came to see you.” 

I said, trying to sound normal. 

She gave a short, harsh breath. “I’m not dead yet.” 

The worddeadbounced between us and hit me in the ribs. My hand, hidden in my sleeve, trembled. I forced a smile that felt like it would crack my face. 

“Why would you say something like that, Mom? You’ll live a long life and stay healthy for many years to come.” 

“Have you been drinking again?” My mother asked. 

I shook my head. “No.” 

I looked at the photo on the stone. It was the same black-and-white portrait. Claire’s eyes were calm. The corners of her mouth were soft. I pointed to the base. 

“What’s inside?” I asked. 

“The bracelet,” Mom said. She touched her bare wrist. “The one she gave me on your wedding day.”

The day rushed back like a wave. 

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