No one wants to go to a funeral, it's just something you do out of respect, to say one last goodbye, and maybe even get closure somehow. Funerals are never easy, especially when you're close with the person. One funeral is enough to drain a person, never mind two. Going to two funerals in a year can cause some real serious emotional problems. Attending two funerals in a month is unheard of. But Nick didn't attend two funerals in a year, or a month. He did it in one week.
Jack Miller had no immediate family left. His parents were both deceased, and his only relative was his brother who still lived in Italy, whom Jack had had a falling out with years ago and the two hadn't spoken since. Jack had never been married, and in his last will and testament, he left everything he had to Nick. Every last thing. Jack usually meandered wherever James went and lived in his large estates, but when he could, Jack went home to Italy to spend some time. He left Nick an enormous house, completely paid off and belonging to him, on the east coast city of Bari. Nick had been to the house once, and it was gorgeous. It was right on the ocean and five minutes from a small shopping district with restaurants, shops and plenty of other things to do.
Anyone would be content with a house, especially a house like that. But Jack hadn't stopped at that. He had also left Nick his large fortune of just over twenty-seven million dollars. Nick had always known that Jack was a rich guy, but he never knew he was that rich. When Jack's lawyer told Nick all of this, he couldn't believe it. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with all that, but he put that to side for the time being. He had Jack's service to think about first off.
It had to have been one of the dreariest days in Las Vegas history. It was chilly; a mere fifty-six degrees and foggy. The sun tried to poke through the clouds, but couldn't and seemed to give up just before the burial started. The priest gave a good eulogy of Jack, one that Nick had written. He couldn't bring himself to deliver it himself.
There was quite an impressive turnout for someone who was seen as a criminal. Old friends came to pay their last respects, most of whom Nick had met once or twice. Nick had thought that the service would drag on and take forever, but before he realized it, Jack had been lowered into the ground in front of his tombstone. Nick stayed long after the last shovel full of dirt had been thrown on and everyone else had left. A woman lingered a bit longer than everyone else, but Nick didn't know who she was. He had never seen her before, he was sure of that even though he couldn't get a good look at her face because she kept it mostly hidden behind a tissue she was crying into.
Mike's service went much the same. The weather was almost identical, except there was a slight misting of freezing cold rain. Nick stood in between Catherine and Warrick, just like he had done at Jack's. He shoved his hands into his pants' pockets, hoping to warm them up, but not succeeding. His breath exploded in front of him as soon as it escaped his mouth, but he could still clearly see Mike's tombstone in front of him, telling everyone that he had only been forty-nine years of age when his life ended.
Mike's service was almost the exact same as Jack, except when it was done, Nick didn't hang around. He couldn't take it anymore. As soon as it was over, he went as quickly as he could away from everyone and towards the far edge of the cememtary where there was a bench and a small clutter of trees. He disappeared there, away from everyone and away from where both Mike and Jack were now buried, forever.
The first cigarette was lit and in his mouth thirteen-steps before Nick got to the trees. He didn't bother to sit down on the bench. He just leaned up against the nearest tree, inhaling the heat from the cigarette deeply. He held it in his lungs before beathing it out slowly. He wasn't surprised that it wasn't doing much to ease his nerves. He knew nothing would be able to. That was one of the only things he was sure of. That, and the fact that Catherine and Warrick knew him well enough not to chase after him. He knew his friends were going to give him time, and he was thankful for that, because he sure as hell needed it.
Nick was glad that he had bought a new pack of cigarettes yesterday, because he was sure going through this one fast. He never smoked this much, especially in one day, but he figured he had a good enough excuse. One after the other, he smoked them and then disposed of them in the ash tray next to the bench to his left. He stopped leaning up against the tree for support. He stood straight up, starting at the sky in front of him, wondering how long until the it was going to turn black. He didn't want to look at his watch for fear that only ten minutes had gone by when it felt like ten days. So he just stood there, completely still except for the up and down motion of his arm bringing the cigarette back to his lips.
Nick had just turned to put out his eleventh cigarette when out of the corner of his eye he saw someone walking towards him. He twisted the butt into the ashes before turning completely to see who it was. It was the woman fro Jack's funeral, the one who had lingered a longer than everyone else. She had apparently done the same, and this sparked in interest in Nick. He didn't know who she was, but she obviously knew who he was and had known both Jack and Mike.
Nick stood there, his hands shaking slightly by his sides, both from the cold and the millions of emotions flowing through him at the moment. He didn't know what to say or do, so he just stood there, waiting as she walked towards him with her head down. She finally came to a stop in front of him before looking up and smiling at him with the traces of tears in her eyes. She was about twenty-five or so years older than Nick, but she still took care of how she looked. Her dark hair was tied neatly behind her, two loose strands falling down the sides of her face. Her dark eyes locked with Nick's, giving away nothing more than her tanned face was.
"Hi Nick," she said. Her voice was light and had a slight accent to it, but Nick couldn't quite place it.
"Hi," he said quietly. He hadn't expected his voice to be so weak, but apparently the woman did because she didn't seem phased by it.
"I'm Christina Palani. I know you don't know me," she said.
Nick shook his head slightly. "Should I?" he asked.
A stray tear fell from her right eye and trickled down her cheek. She nodded slowly. "I'm your mother."
Nick felt like he had been punched in the throat. He stopped breathing for a good couple of seconds before air finally went back into his lungs. His hands stopped shaking, but his head didn't. He stared at the woman in front of him for a long time before he could speak again.
"What?" was all he could muster. All that waiting for not that much.
Christina nodded slightly. "I'm your mother."
Nick kept shaking his head. "But Mike said that-"
"I was dead," she finished. "He thought that. James and I decided that it was best for you two to think that. When his business took off, so did I. I couldn't live like that anymore. I wanted out, and those were the conditions that came with it. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to meet my youngest son because of the death of my oldest."
"I don't...understand," Nick said, even though he did. "Why didn't Jack ever tell me?"
"He didn't have the heart to do it," she answered. "He knew you wouldn't be allowed to see me, but knew you'd try. It was for the same reason he never told you about Mikey. He was protecting you. I know it may not seem like that, but he was."
"Okay," Nick said before he took a deep breath. "Okay, fine. This is fine. I can handle this."
Christina smiled sadly. "Are you sure?"
Nick nodded. "Yeah. It's not like I've never had to deal with something like this before. Suddenly, I'm finding out anything I've ever wanted to know. Better than never knowing I guess."
"I'm not here because I want anything from you," Christina said. "I'm here because I couldn't go one more day without talking to you. Without seeing you. This is the closest I've been to you since the night you left. I think about it everyday, and it hurts like nothing else. But truth be told, if I could go back, I wouldn't do anything differently. You had a better life without me. You grew up to be a great young man, and I'm just glad that I get to see you."
"Too bad Mike isn't still here," Nick said.
Christina shook her head. "There's nothing I could wish for more. But he's not, and it hurts like it hurt when I lost you. But I wasn't going to let you walk away without knowing."
Nick nodded slightly and fell silent. He looked down at the cobblestone path beneath his black shoes. He was thirty-six years old, and had just met his mother for the first time. Well, techinally not, but he couldn't remember her from before, so he was counting this as the first time. He wasn't mad or anything. He didn't know what he was. Relieved maybe. But definitely not mad like he thought he would be.
"You get that awful habit from your father," Christina said suddenly, breaking the five or so minutes of silence.
Nick looked up at her, then followed her gaze to the ashtray with the cigarette butts in it. He frowned slightly, not understanding her. "James didn't smoke," Nick said matter-of-factly.
"I know," Christina said. "Jack did."
"But you said-" Nick started, but stopped abruptly when he put it together faster than he could speak. His words fell short, and all he could do for a moment was stare at Christina. "No," he said softly, shaking his head again.
Christina nodded, another tear escaping her dark eyes. "Jack's your father."
Nick kept shaking his head. "He can't be. He always said...he always told me it was James. And then Mike's blood matched mine, which means we have the same two parents, and his father's James."
Christina shook her head. "You both have the same parents, Jack and myself."
"How?" Nick breathed.
"I met Jack years before James," Christina said. "His mother was from Italy, and that's where I was born. We met there when we were thirteen and spent every summer after that together. We never got married, but it was almost as if we had. I had Mike when I was only eighteen, then Jack and I moved to the states for Jack's work. He met James here, and they became partners. Jack was looking to get out of the business, but knew if he did, his old enemies would be after him if he wasn't a boss. He was afraid they'd come after me and Mike too, so he set me up with James. James wanted me as a trophy, nothing more, and I never loved James."
"Then how did James think Mike was his son?" Nick asked.
"He pretended Mike was," Christina said, "so that it wouldn't be hard on him. James knew Mike was Jack's. But what he doesn't know is that when he was away on one of his business excursions in Europe when I was living in New York, that Jack came by like he usually did and we would spend the night or weekend together. The only difference that time was that I got pregnant, with you. Jack wouldn't let me tell James. He was so scared that James would kill me, and you, for it."
"I can't belive this," Nick said, his voice barely above a whisper. "All this time, Jack was my father, and he never said anything. He never told me, I never knew. Now it's too late."
"What would you have done differently?" Christina asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "You two were closer than any father and son. He loved you and you loved him. Titles wouldn't have changed it."
"Jack said the same thing about my last name," Nick said. "He said it didn't make me who I am."
"He's right," Christina said. "Your last name is Stokes, for all intents and purposes. But it doesn't change how you act or who you are as a person. And from what I see here and what Jack has told me about you, you're doing just fine Nick."