Inferno Anthology by Jessica Sorensen, Aleatha Romig, Kailin Gow, Cassia Leo, Lacey Weatherford, Liv Morris, Vi Keeland, Kimberly Knight, Addison Moore, Laurelin Paige
Authors: Jessica Sorensen, Aleatha Romig, Kailin Gow, Cassia Leo, Lacey Weatherford, Liv Morris, Vi Keeland, Kimberly Knight, Addison Moore, Laurelin Paige
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was at that moment. “Please tell me, Errol.”
Errol stared straight ahead of him, his entire face broken.
“My nana,” he said. “She passed away last night.”
Chapter 11
Though she always made sure she remained just one step behind him, Taryn accompanied Errol to his grandmother’s funeral. While he appeared strong and stoic to all those in attendance, Taryn knew just how fragile his mental state was. Since receiving the phone call he’d barely spoken a word to her. He’d barely spoken at all.
He’d found himself with the regrettable task of arranging his Nana’s service; nothing less than the Notre Dame Cathedral for his beloved grandmother. “If there’s anything I can do,” Taryn had offered.
Pressing his lips together, he’d shaken his head. “It’s my responsibility. Besides, it’s all in French. There’s little you can do.”
Feeling shut out, Taryn busied herself around the apartment. She prepared meals that went uneaten by Errol and picked up after him. In the brief week between learning of his Nana’s death and the finality of the service, he’d visibly lost weight. The day of the service, he was gaunt and pale.
“ Notre Pere qui es aux cieux ,” the priest said from the pulpit.
Dressed in somber black, Taryn sat in the row behind Errol. “Our Father who art in heaven…” She murmured the Father’s Prayer in English as everyone around her prayed in French. “… Give us this day our daily bread…”
“… mais deliver-nous du mal.”
“Amen,” everyone murmured in unison. Many associates from the Institute had come, as well as a few elderly and distant family members, friends of his grandmother’s and some acquaintances.
At the end of the service, Taryn put her hand to Errol’s shoulder. He looked back at her, an appreciative, but tight smile on his face.
For an interminable hour he stood at the doors of the cathedral, receiving words of condolences, praise of his Nana’s life and encouragement to move on. He nodded, smiled and even offered a few words of solace and comfort to a few friends overwrought with emotion.
“Want me to drive you home?” Taryn asked Errol when the last mourner walked away.
Not looking straight at her, he nodded. “I just have to go back in to get the urn.”
Taryn brought the car around and looked at the urn as Errol got in. “What are you going to do with her?”
“A long time ago she said she wanted to have her ashes thrown into the wind on the Mediterranean. When I have the chance…” With his hands wrapped securely around the urn, he sat in silence as Taryn drove off.
Though she’d never driven through the streets of Paris, she managed to bring them home with only two wrong turns. She helped Errol out of the car, escorted him to the elevator and pushed the button of his floor.
Once in his apartment, she brought him to the bedroom, undressed him and settled him into bed. He’d put the urn on the bedside table and simply stared at it, saying nothing.
“Do you want me to bring you anything?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
She put her hand over his, wondering how long it would take him to come out of his stupor.
“ Laisse moi ,” he murmured. Pulling his hand away from hers, he turned away from her and pulled the blankets over his shoulder.
Her meager French, along with his unmistakable body language told her everything; leave me alone.
The following morning she took a taxi to school. After three unanswered knocks at his door, she’d cracked it opened and had received a firm, “Leave me alone.”
“What’s with Chef King?” Henri asked when she arrived in the class normally given by Errol.
Taryn shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard someone in his family died, or something.”
Yveline Desperreault, the pursed-lip, middle-aged woman who had taken on the task of teaching Errol’s class, looked at Taryn and snapped, “It was his cherished Nana. Of course the boy is distraught.” With a cluck of her
Errol stared straight ahead of him, his entire face broken.
“My nana,” he said. “She passed away last night.”
Chapter 11
Though she always made sure she remained just one step behind him, Taryn accompanied Errol to his grandmother’s funeral. While he appeared strong and stoic to all those in attendance, Taryn knew just how fragile his mental state was. Since receiving the phone call he’d barely spoken a word to her. He’d barely spoken at all.
He’d found himself with the regrettable task of arranging his Nana’s service; nothing less than the Notre Dame Cathedral for his beloved grandmother. “If there’s anything I can do,” Taryn had offered.
Pressing his lips together, he’d shaken his head. “It’s my responsibility. Besides, it’s all in French. There’s little you can do.”
Feeling shut out, Taryn busied herself around the apartment. She prepared meals that went uneaten by Errol and picked up after him. In the brief week between learning of his Nana’s death and the finality of the service, he’d visibly lost weight. The day of the service, he was gaunt and pale.
“ Notre Pere qui es aux cieux ,” the priest said from the pulpit.
Dressed in somber black, Taryn sat in the row behind Errol. “Our Father who art in heaven…” She murmured the Father’s Prayer in English as everyone around her prayed in French. “… Give us this day our daily bread…”
“… mais deliver-nous du mal.”
“Amen,” everyone murmured in unison. Many associates from the Institute had come, as well as a few elderly and distant family members, friends of his grandmother’s and some acquaintances.
At the end of the service, Taryn put her hand to Errol’s shoulder. He looked back at her, an appreciative, but tight smile on his face.
For an interminable hour he stood at the doors of the cathedral, receiving words of condolences, praise of his Nana’s life and encouragement to move on. He nodded, smiled and even offered a few words of solace and comfort to a few friends overwrought with emotion.
“Want me to drive you home?” Taryn asked Errol when the last mourner walked away.
Not looking straight at her, he nodded. “I just have to go back in to get the urn.”
Taryn brought the car around and looked at the urn as Errol got in. “What are you going to do with her?”
“A long time ago she said she wanted to have her ashes thrown into the wind on the Mediterranean. When I have the chance…” With his hands wrapped securely around the urn, he sat in silence as Taryn drove off.
Though she’d never driven through the streets of Paris, she managed to bring them home with only two wrong turns. She helped Errol out of the car, escorted him to the elevator and pushed the button of his floor.
Once in his apartment, she brought him to the bedroom, undressed him and settled him into bed. He’d put the urn on the bedside table and simply stared at it, saying nothing.
“Do you want me to bring you anything?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
She put her hand over his, wondering how long it would take him to come out of his stupor.
“ Laisse moi ,” he murmured. Pulling his hand away from hers, he turned away from her and pulled the blankets over his shoulder.
Her meager French, along with his unmistakable body language told her everything; leave me alone.
The following morning she took a taxi to school. After three unanswered knocks at his door, she’d cracked it opened and had received a firm, “Leave me alone.”
“What’s with Chef King?” Henri asked when she arrived in the class normally given by Errol.
Taryn shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard someone in his family died, or something.”
Yveline Desperreault, the pursed-lip, middle-aged woman who had taken on the task of teaching Errol’s class, looked at Taryn and snapped, “It was his cherished Nana. Of course the boy is distraught.” With a cluck of her
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