Chapter 26: Amazing Grace

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On January 14th, Rachel received the call from Tony's sister that their mother had passed away. She couldn't say she was surprised, after all, Tony had spent the last several weeks in New Jersey tending to his mother as she went back and forth between home and hospice. What had seemed to be an endless cycle of torture finally ended in a peaceful death while she was in her sleep. As sad as the news of her passing was, Rachel had never met the woman, but she knew it was only right for her to show her support to Tony. Reluctantly, she had Bill arrange for their flights so that they could all attend the funeral.

The airport was uncharacteristically sparse this time of year, coming down from the Christmas chaos. Rachel dragged herself through security, blatantly ignoring any stares from the public who had recognized her. She didn't have the energy to humor anyone, nor did she care to maintain her image. Something inside of her had snapped after everything that happened with Farmer, and now it seemed her life was just a bleak story of survival.

They boarded the plane, and for the first time in her life, Rachel was not refused the window seat. Fletcher sat beside her, and Pettigrew took the aisle seat.

"New Jersey in January," Rachel moaned, leaning back in her seat. "This should be delightful."

"It's a funeral," Pettigrew reminded her, "not a vacation."

"I hate funerals," Rachel muttered to herself.

Fletcher rolled his eyes. "Nobody likes funerals." He pulled a magazine out of the seat pocket and began browsing the sports section.

The flight from one coast to another was long and boring. Rachel, finally having a place to rest her head, managed to fall asleep for at least half of the journey. When she woke, they had just landed on the runway, and outside the window she could spot flurries in the air.

Brilliant.

Eyes still weakened by sleep, Rachel turned to see her son's fingers feverishly typing out texts on his cell phone.

"Who are you texting?"

"Frank."

Pettigrew glanced over at Rachel, gauging her reaction to her son's reply.

Rachel straightened up, attempting to peek at her son's phone before he pulled it protectively away.

"Why are you texting Frank?" Rachel asked angrily.

"I was just letting him know that we landed. I told him about the funeral a couple days ago so he could come."

The plane finally came to a stop at their gate, and Pettigrew quickly unlatched his seatbelt, eager to deboard.

Rachel sat still in her seat for a long minute, just staring at her son. Fletcher ignored her, continuing his text conversation in confident silence until he slapped his phone shut and unbuckled.

Rachel felt herself shaking slightly as they deboarded the plane, walked through the jet bridge, and finally entered the airport.

Bill nudged Rachel when they passed the restrooms, but she ignored him, instead picking up her pace to catch up with Fletcher.

"Exactly why did you think it was necessary to tell Farmer about Tony's mom's funeral?"

"They worked together, didn't they?"

"That was ten fucking years ago."

"Chill out."

"Fletcher, look at me!"

Fletcher stopped in the middle of the airport, jaw tight, waiting for her to berate him. But Rachel couldn't think of anything to say. She just stared at him, confused, torn, and lost.

"Mom, I don't care what your feelings are about Frank," Fletcher said, his voice resolute. "I'm not a little boy anymore. I love you, but that doesn't mean I'm always gonna be on your side. Whether you like it or not, I want him in my life."

She was shocked by her son's maturity. In that moment she was forced to come to terms with the fact that she could not control the narrative with him anymore. Hell, maybe she had never been able to control the narrative with Fletcher. He knew so much more than he'd let on. And by the mysterious power of genetics, he had taken after his mama, knowing exactly what it was that he wanted, and he wouldn't let anyone tell him otherwise. She had to be proud of him, even if it bothered her.

Rachel glanced back at Bill and Scott where they had watched her interaction with Fletcher in hesitant silence. Something told her that even though they likely hadn't heard the words that were exchanged, they had a general idea of what was going on.

Rachel put her head down and continued to press through the airport, never saying another word.

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The viewing was held at a sizable funeral home about twenty miles from their hotel. Rachel was overwhelmed by the amount of cars which were already parked at the place. Clearly, Tony's mother had been a prolific figurehead of the family.

The sight of Tony, weeping like a big baby next to his mother's casket, was enough to crush her. He cried even harder when Fletcher and Rachel went to hug him, brandishing a tiny looking tissue in his huge hand. The funeral home was packed full of people, many of whom looked like retired mobsters, all of them talking loudly at one another in New York accents. Among those in attendance were her former chauffeur Henry, and former choreographer, Rory. Rachel perhaps should not have been surprised to see so many familiar faces here, but she found it interesting that so many people had shown up for Tony even after all these years.

Henry had greeted her and Fletcher warmly, introducing them to his wife Victoria, and their three-month-old infant, Charlie. The baby was heartbreakingly precious, and Rachel had to fight tears back just staring at his tiny face. The ridiculous range of emotions she'd gone through just in the last fifteen minutes since they'd entered the funeral home was too much for her. And to add salt to the wound, she would have to see Frank again.

Rachel found the most comfort in staying close to Rory, who seemed equally as awkward in a funeral setting. They gossiped for a bit about former dancers they'd both known, and filled each other in on what had been going on in their lives.

She felt her throat closing up when she heard a familiar voice from the hall. Turning slightly, she watched as Frank entered the room. Wearing a black suit and black topcoat, he had never looked more like a secret service agent to her. His face was obscenely handsome despite his grave expression and late January pallor.

"Damn, Farmer looks like he's aging backwards," Rory commented as they watched him cross the room. "Is he working for you again?"

Rachel shook her head. "Oh, God, no. He's between jobs right now. I guess he just came to support Tony."

"Ah, for a second I thought you two came together," Rory said, glancing sideways at her.

She blushed. If only he knew…

Watching him interact with the crowd, Farmer was just as much a celebrity in this room as she seemed to be. She realized just how much he'd won everyone over during that brief time he worked with them. She watched him hug Fletcher, make Tony cry harder, and shake hands with Tony's relatives. He had always been Bill's favorite, and he went way back with Pettigrew.

Everyone seemed so enamored with him. She wondered why, until she reminded herself that she must be the most enamored of all. After all, she was the only one in this room who was obsessed enough with the man to have fucked him.

Even Henry seemed to hug Frank with an unrelenting force. Rachel watched curiously as he introduced Frank to his family, and the entire room around her seemed to stop in stillness as Henry's wife handed her baby over for Frank to hold.

Rachel wasn't sure exactly what she was feeling, but she knew she had never felt it before. Her heart was stormed by a strange mix of guilt, anguish, and fascination. For the thousandth time since they'd reconnected, Rachel found herself gripped by that cruel tease of alternate reality. His familiar hands, supporting the small body of an infant, created a mockery of everything she knew to be true. In that moment it seemed the greatest sin that this man had never fathered a child, and she could not help but wonder if she had been the one who had cheated him for it, and not his ex-wife.

Her tear-filled eyes wandered back across the room to stare at Fletcher, who was blissfully unaware of her turmoil as he conversed intently with a pair of strangers by the doors. How had she deserved such an amazing son, and how could she live in good conscience if she continued to deny him an equally amazing father figure?

"You okay, Rach?" Rory asked, rubbing her back.

"I hate funerals," she spluttered, clumsily wiping her tears on the back of her hand.

"Oh, honey, me too," Rory sympathized before pulling her in for a side hug. "Kinda makes you wonder what it's all about, huh?"

"Will you sit with me in the church tomorrow?" she pleaded.

"Of course, honey."

}0{

Rachel had never been to a Catholic funeral service before. It was as rigid as it was touching. The interior of the church was vast and intimidating, the strong aroma of incense thick in the cold air. As promised, Rory sat beside her, while Fletcher had chosen to sit on the opposite side of the church with Frank. Rachel had taken it as an act of betrayal, though she couldn't blame her son for wanting to avoid her while they were here. She had been rather frigid to him since she'd caught him texting Frank on the plane when they first arrived.

A family friend had offered a striking eulogy which left everyone in tears. But it was the final hymn that took her breath away. 'Amazing Grace.'

As the clergy filed out through the center aisle, the congregation and choir had joined in singing the heartbreaking lyrics. Across the aisle, her gaze had helplessly locked with Frank's. His pale face was illuminated by red and blue refractions from the stained glass windows behind her. No matter how badly she wanted to look away, she could not tear her eyes away from his. Only the thrum of the organ and the powerful lyrics were suspending that moment in time between them, and when the song had finally ended, she felt lost.

Too quickly, people began to shuffle out of the pews, donning their coats and hats, and chatting in hushed voices with each other. Rachel lingered behind with Rory and Pettigrew, waiting to see if Fletcher would come over to them. But he left the church with Frank.

"You going to the cemetery?" Rory asked her, oblivious to her frantic thoughts.

Rachel turned to look at Bill and Scott. Bill shrugged. "It's up to you, Rachel."

She nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

When they arrived at the cemetery, she saw that Frank and Fletcher were already there. She suppressed another surge of anger, knowing that Frank had driven Fletcher there without informing her first. They gathered together around the gravesite, listening as the priest said some prayers, and flowers were placed around the casket.

It began to snow again as soon as the prayer service ended, and they walked slowly back through the cemetery to their cars at the top of the hill.

"Fletcher, come on," Rachel called to her son where he stood by Frank's rental car. Both of them looked at her, but Fletcher didn't move. She marched over to them, careful not to slip in the newly fallen snow. "I'm not gonna say it again, Fletcher, come to the car."

"What does it matter who I ride with? Frank can drop me off at our hotel," he challenged. She made the mistake of making eye contact with Frank. He wasn't going to say a word.

Rachel was just about to berate her son when a large hand fell on her shoulder. "Listen, you guys," Tony's voice was disturbingly emotional, "you all are like family to me, okay? I want you to come to the luncheon."

Rachel shook her head adamantly. "Oh, Tony, we can't impose on–"

"No, please, honey, I insist. I want you all there," he looked from her to Frank, then to Fletcher. "Bring Pettigrew and Devaney, too." With a final slap on her shoulder, he went off in the direction of the limo.

Fletcher shrugged and opened Frank's car door, getting into the passenger seat. So that was how it was going to be? Rachel awkwardly adjusted her purse across her chest and stomped back to Bill's car.

The restaurant was exactly what she would have expected - an old school Italian place with outdated carpeting, thick curtains, and a private lounge in the cellar. The food smelled dangerously close to a hundred thousand calories, and her hips hurt just looking at the trays of manicotti and cannoli being carried out from the kitchen. Watching Fletcher go to town on the pasta was too much for her. She could not stay away from her baby for long.

When she arrived at their table on the other side of the room, she noticed that Frank's plate, like hers, remained mostly untouched. She was thankful that at least in that moment, he was wrapped in conversation with another couple at the table.

"Fletcher, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Fletcher put down his napkin and stared expectantly up at her.

"Maybe we could go outside?" she suggested.

He didn't even blink. "Maybe we can stay right here."

She was about to put her foot down when the incessant buzz of Frank's cell phone interrupted their conversation. She glanced down at the table where his phone was lying out, just in time to see the name of the caller glowing on the front screen. Leah Christensen.

Her stomach dropped. Frank quickly reached over, snatched the phone, and stood up from the table. He glared at her before escaping from between the chairs and heading for the door.

Unaware of what she'd seen, Fletcher crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You have something you want to say to me?"

She looked him up and down, shook her head, and made a dash for the door.

She stopped only when she had reached the entrance to the restaurant, and peered through the thick glass window to see Frank pacing outside in the snowy parking lot. She knew him well enough by now to tell just from his body language that he was wrought with pain. She could not hear what he was saying, but she could see that his words were being delivered with a gusto she rarely saw from him. At a certain point he stopped pacing to stand in the falling snow, his eyes shut tightly, mouth set in a firm line. He looked as if he were about to cry. Rachel whipped around, unable to bear the sight one second longer.

She made her way back into the banquet room, finding Fletcher's eyes trained on her.

"What the heck have you and Frank been talking about this whole time, huh?" She demanded.

Some of the other people at the table raised their eyes to look at her, but they politely refused to acknowledge her outburst. Fletcher stared grimly up at her, with a face that was arrestingly close to the one she'd seen in her own mirror countless times. "It's not your business, Mom."

He was calm, and there was nothing more that got under Rachel's skin than a calm man.

"Like hell it isn't, I'm your mama. Now you tell me what–"

Embarrassed on her behalf, Fletcher interrupted her with a quiet voice, "Mom, it's nothing. Just guy stuff. I was telling him about my apartment search, and he was telling me about the interview he had in London the other day."

She had to pause at the last bit. "London?" She had known he was looking for work out of state, but fucking London?

A fresh fire of betrayal burst to life in her belly. So he wanted to leave all his troubles behind in the country he'd served for decades so he could go overseas and meet a pretty, proper British woman. Rachel clutched the back of one of the chairs at the table to steady herself, suddenly seeing red.

Knowing she had to leave their table before Frank came back, she veered in the opposite direction and headed for the dessert table. If he wasn't going to be around to appreciate her figure, she may as well indulge.

She grabbed a plate and began to pile the sweets onto it until they were toppling off the edges.

"Funerals make me binge, too," Tony said with a nudge. She almost dropped the plate.

"Tony, baby, I am so fucking sorry about all this."

"It's life, Rach." He sniffled and took a long gulp of his wine. "It happens. I'm just glad she went peaceful like that." He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and stared at her, his large pink face strained with sadness.

A younger man with heavy Italian features came up behind Tony to help himself to a heaping plate of amaretto bread pudding. Rachel noticed the man staring at her from his spot behind Tony, and she craned her neck to make eye contact. Tony turned around. "Oh, Rach, did you meet my cousin Ricky?"

"No," Rachel shook her head, smiling at the young man who suddenly looked embarrassed.

Tony mouthed "huge fan" as he nudged his cousin forward.

"Ricky Bianco," the young man introduced himself as he held out his hand. Rachel could practically see the stars in his eyes. "I just want to say what an honor it is to meet you, ma'am. Your music got me through some real tough times in my life."

Over the years Rachel had gotten good at detecting when fans were truly sincere. This young man was of the true, sincere type. She smiled gratefully at him as she shook his hand. "That means a lot to me. And my deepest sympathies for your loss."

Ricky nodded solemnly with a tight smile. He glanced up at Tony, who patted him on the back, before returning to his table.

"Listen, you take all the time you need, okay?" Rachel said sympathetically to Tony. "It's not like they're blowing up my phone to get me back on stage any time soon."

He glanced to the other side of the room in confusion and narrowed his eyes. "You still want me to come back?"

She stared at him, baffled. "Of course . . . Unless you don't want to."

He looked very conflicted then. "Shit. I mean, I guess I just thought since Farmer was working for you again. . ."

"Wh– Oh, no! Tony, baby, you got it all wrong. Farmer's not working for me at all."

It took him a moment to process her words, then slowly, a look of significant awareness dawned on his face. "Oh. Oh! Rachel, hey . . . I mean, good for you. You deserve to be happy." He smiled, and his smile was so genuine it nearly tore her apart.

Her mouth dropped open when she realized what he thought she had been implying.

"We're not . . . together," she corrected slowly, her cheeks burning. "Fletcher told him about the funeral so that he could come to support you."

Tony looked away, embarrassed. "Oh. Oh, shit, Rach, I'm really sorry."

"It's fine! Don't worry about it." She forced a little laugh and waved her hand flippantly. Oddly enough he wasn't the first person who'd thought they were together. Surely it had something to do with the fact that Fletcher had been glued to Frank's side the entire time.

Tony paused before continuing, "I was actually gonna ask you if I could take a leave of absence – is that what they call it?" He avoided eye contact with her as he beat around the bush, "I mean just with the family the way it is right now, you know, she was our matriarch and all, and I don't know when I'll be able to leave Jersey with trying to get the house cleaned out, and me being the executor of the will and all that . . ."

"Tony," Rachel stopped him. "Stay here."

He started crying.

"Stay here, hon. Just stay." She looked over at his family, in all their sweet, broad-shouldered, boisterous glory, and knew in her heart she couldn't ask Tony to come back and work in California with her. "They need you here more than I do."

He hugged her so hard it hurt.

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The hotel mattress was horrible. Trying to sleep had proven an impossible task for Rachel, whose mind was riddled with distress from the events of the day.

It had affected her much more than she anticipated, seeing Frank there. Especially after the mysterious phone call he'd received from his ex-wife.

Why did he have to be this way? He couldn't just be the best man she'd ever known. He also had to be the best mentor, the best bodyguard, the best friend, and incidentally the best lay? It was just ridiculous at this point.

What on earth could he have been doing on the phone with his ex for that long in the middle of the day? Was she calling him for a desperate favor? Was it an emergency and she had no one else to turn to? Or the worst possibility: were they getting back together?

No, she told herself, Frank would not do that. He had made the decision to divorce Leah for the betterment of his life, and he would not turn on himself. He was better than that.

But part of Rachel couldn't help but wonder. . .

All night, she tossed and turned, thinking of all the ways her life had gone wrong just from New Year's Day until now. And in the midst of her chaotic tossings and turnings, her mind insisted on replaying that same vision of him holding a mixed-race baby in his arms.