Strange Fire by Tommy Wallach

Author:Tommy Wallach
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

5. Clive

CLIVE SAT ALONE IN NOTRE Fille’s spacious sacristy—“backstage,” as his brother used to call it—just a few minutes before the memorial service was to begin. He looked at himself in the glass and spoke the first line of his eulogy.

“I loved my father more than I loved God.”

Wrong. Arrogant and melodramatic and wrong.

“I loved my father more than anything,” he said, trying the alternate opening line.

But that was even worse, as trite as it was saccharine. Maybe he should cut the line altogether. Or why not just cut the whole damn thing and simply stare at the audience for twenty minutes? He’d spent the last few days agonizing over this speech; or more accurately, agonizing over two speeches, and which of them he ought to give. Almost funny how often he’d thought, I should really run this part by Da. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? There was no longer a Da to run things by. He was on his own.

“I loved my father more than . . . than . . .”

Someone knocked on the door of the sacristy: a welcome interruption.

“Come in,” Clive said.

Gemma was dressed all in black, her hair artfully braided and tied back with ribbon. The tiny crystal earrings Clive’s mother had given her last Landfall Day dangled from her earlobes, sparkling in the candlelight. She shut the door behind her.

“Evening, Clive.”

He’d been expecting someone from the Church hierarchy, not the soon-to-be fiancée he’d been neglecting ever since he got back to the Anchor. It was the last thing he needed right now, but he did his best to appear pleased to see her.

“Evening, Gemma. How are you?”

“Okay, I guess, aside from, you know, everything.” She stayed by the door, as if unsure whether she should come closer. “I thought maybe we’d see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, there’s just been—”

“Or the day before.”

Clive glanced down at his notes. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know.”

“Between getting this service ready and making the house a place we can actually live—”

“I know, Clive. And it’s fine. I just miss you is all. You doing all right?”

“Sure.” He straightened the bottom edge of his papers on the table. “What about your sister? How’s she?”

“It’s been hard. She cries herself to sleep most every night. But the days aren’t so bad. And we’re lucky my granddad’s so generous. At least we got a comfy place to stay.” She laughed a little, and Clive laughed in sympathy, but neither of them were quite sure what was funny, so their laughter trickled off into uncomfortable silence. “Your brother brought a few of your ma’s dresses over this morning, but I couldn’t even bring myself to touch them.”

“They’ll look pretty on you, though.”

“Thanks.” Another awkward silence. “And how’s Clover holding up?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“He’s never known how to talk about what he’s feeling. Neither of you are much good at it, to be honest. I was thinking just yesterday, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you cry. Not since we were little, anyway.

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