Killing Me Softly (20 page)
Authors: Kathryn R. Biel
Epic.
Dad's funeral will go down in history as one of the most epic events this town has ever experienced. I think it may even make people forget that I passed out and then vomited at Rob's wake. Maybe. I hope so.
The funeral starts like any other. We process from the funeral home, in the steel gray limo, to the church where I was baptized and made my First Communion. I always thought Dad would walk me down the aisle here, but instead, today, I'm walking him down one last time. I can just barely hear the click of my heels on the granite floor over the organ music. The incense hangs in a thick haze and is enough to make my eyes water. The readings are meaningful, the eulogy touching, the songs emotional. "On Eagles' Wings" brings me to tears. Mom is crying, and Brady is on the verge of hysterics. Tina is still stone-faced. She looks bored and pissed. You know, normal for her. It shouldn't be surprising to me that she has yet to shed a tear. Even if she didn't care about my dad, you would think that the emotional pain her husband was going through would mean something to her. Maybe she should have gone into business with Dad and Uncle Peter. She would be good at keeping the stoic look going while people are falling to pieces around her.
I know the last part of the funeral will be the hardest as the priest does his final blessing and we follow the casket down the aisle. I take Mom's arm, ready to escort her down. I don't mind being here for Mom, I really don't. I just wish I had someone to escort me. I wish there were someone for me to lean on. Father Timothy is back at the pulpit. "We will be recessing to a song personally picked by Simon. Internment will be at St. Joseph's cemetery, and friends and family are invited to a luncheon following the burial."
The bearers assemble and start to move the casket. I take a deep breath, trying to find the courage to hold my mom up, and say goodbye to Dad. I'm willing my face, unsuccessfully, not to contort into its ugly cry position. The deep bass of "Another One Bites the Dust" begins to reverberate through the church. We all stop. I'd say we stop dead but that seems in poor taste. I glance at Uncle Peter, who is laughing through his tears. He leans toward Mom and says, "We said for years that we wanted this played at our funerals. We had a pact that whoever was left behind had to play it for the other. We thought it would be great to break into song and dance going down the aisle."
Mom looks at Uncle Peter for a minute and then nods. She lets go of my arm and starts singing as she bops down the aisle. I shrug at Aunt Elaine and follow suit. Like something out of a movie, the entire church begins grooving and singing. It's cathartic and perfect. That is, until we get to the back of the church. The door swings open, surprising the two funeral directors who were on door duty. Max, looking a little worse for the wear, steps in. But, it's not Max who is drawing everyone's attention.
"Will you get your filthy paws off of me? I'm going to have you charged with kidnapping!" Jenna stumbles in, screeching and screaming at Max, swinging at him like a drunk. Her hair has been shorn off in a short bob. It's bleached platinum blond now. But her hair is the least striking change. Jenna is thin and trim. There is no hint of a baby bump. Or any baby weight for that matter. She's only been gone a week. I can't figure out what is happening. She's still screaming. "I'm calling the police! I—" She breaks off and realizes where she is. And who is standing there. And that we're all standing around a casket. "Mom? Mom, what's going on?"
Mom can't tear her eyes away from Jenna's midsection. Her flat midsection. I think that's what everyone is looking at.
Jenna wrenches out of Max's grasp and runs up to my mom. "Mommy, is ... is it Daddy?"
Fitzy steps up from the crowd. "We've been looking for you. You have some questions to answer. I think you should come with me."
Jenna looks at Fitzy and everyone else staring at her, and I can see the panic cross her face. She throws herself on the casket, wailing and sobbing. "Daddy! I came to say goodbye to you. Nothing could keep me away!"
Jenna, despite her lacking pregnancy weight, has enough momentum to knock the casket off the church truck. The pall cloth flies off. My cousin Bobby falls over and is pinned under the casket. There is yelling and chaos, and the cacophony reverberates off the church walls, echoing and amplifying the noise. The funeral directors spring to action to help the rest of the bearers right the casket, freeing Bobby. Jenna is hysterical. Not figuratively, but literally. Taking a page from old movies, as well as all my pent up frustrations, I step forward, haul back and slap that bitch across the face.
Damn it feels good. On a related note, my hand smarts.
Then, I catch Father Timothy's eye, and I feel ashamed. So very ashamed. I am not a good person. Uncle Peter and the other funeral directors manage to right the casket and drape the pall over the top. Uncle Peter smoothes it down lovingly. Jenna has finally quieted down. I look at my mother, expecting to see the seething rage I'm feeling. I don't see it. All I see is sadness and disappointment.
Jenna can see it too. Her voice is quiet, "Mom, I'm so sorry. I would have been here if I could have. I ... I had to go away. This has been a very difficult week." She rubs where her belly should be. "And then he—" she points at Max, "wouldn't let me come back. Until this morning. He threw me in the car against my will and brought me here like this."
"Jenna, we're saying goodbye to your father. It's time to go to the cemetery. If you're available to join us you may. Detective Fitzsimmons, is she available?"
Fitzy looks at my mom, searching for an answer in her face. "I think that will be all right. We'll need to talk to both Jenna and Mr. Schultz, but that can wait."
The funeral procession, disjointed and disrupted as it is, exits the church. The solemnity has returned, which I'm pretty sure is not what Dad wanted. I can almost guarantee the circus that just happened was definitely not what Dad had envisioned. The bearers load the casket into the back of the hearse as Mom gets into the limo. Brady and Tina, as well as Uncle Peter and Aunt Elaine, are riding in it too. Sticking close to Mom, Jenna climbs in as well.
I am not getting in that car. There is no way in hell you can make me.
On the other hand, my car is at Mom's, so I have no way to get to the cemetery. Standing there, watching the crowd disperse, I feel alone again. Arms circle me from behind.
"C'mon with us. Andy is moving the car seats."
I turn and hug my best friend. The tears have started again. "Thanks, Therese." We start walking to her minivan. "I don't suppose you have any more of those vodka water bottles in the car, do you?"
"No, but we probably have very old juice boxes that may have fermented. Could be like wine."
"Uhhh, I think I'll pass on that one, if it's all the same to you."
She smiles, her arm still around me. "I can't understand why."
Once we're in the minivan and all buckled in, as the cars begin to creep forward, Andy breaks the silence. "What the hell was that?"
"I have no idea. I mean, Jenna's alive, obviously." I'm talking to Andy and Therese, but more to myself, trying to put the pieces together.
"And she's certainly not pregnant. Do you think she lost the baby? Did she have it early? What happened?" Therese is firing questions faster than a firing squad.
"I ... I don't know. I know I want some answers. And what does Max have to do with it? And what the hell happened to her hair?"
"I know, when you're on the lam, who has time to get your hair done?" Therese is shaking her head.
"I think it's a better look for her. Certainly better than that red crap she had on her head that they've been showing on the news." Leave it to Andy to take that point of view. He's one of the good ones. Therese is lucky to have him. And I'm lucky that they're my friends and on my side.
We're at the cemetery and exit the cars. The burial occurs without incident, which is about all I could ask for at this point. I stand next to Mom, again supporting her during this trying time. Jenna is leaning on Uncle Peter, sobbing. A honking noise is pretty consistently coming from Brady, as he blows his nose. Tina is looking at her nails, obviously bored by the inconvenience of our family tragedy. Sigh.
Can I get a new family?
So you know that feeling when you're so tired and drained that breathing seems too effortful? Yeah, I'm there. What a day. What a freakin' mess. What the heck?
I try to process the events. Dad's funeral. Brady, hysterical. Tina not. Jenna's alive. Jenna toppling over Dad's casket. I guess we're just lucky that the casket didn't bust open and dump Dad everywhere. Probably a good thing that we went for the pricier casket. Jenna. Jenna's no longer pregnant. What happened there? Did she lose the baby? She had to have, right? She never really said when she was due. I mean, doing some mental math, which takes a Herculean effort at this point, I guess she is—was—probably due in October. Which means that the baby, best case, had to be about twenty-six weeks along. The baby could be alive. Probably in the hospital somewhere, in the NICU. I wonder if it's okay. I'm guessing she lost the baby. If I could feel anything right now, it would be heartbreak for that little child who never had a chance.
Jenna has a lot of explaining to do.
For someone who's been AWOL for a week, and either lost a baby or gave birth to a preemie, I think it's odd that she had time to get a new hair-do. I have so many questions for her. I'm not the only one. Fitzy took her in for questioning. I mean, she's alive, so that means there's no foul play. I should be grateful that she didn't kill herself, and I am. But, yet again, there's Jenna, making a huge spectacle of herself.
I am relieved that she's alive. I really am. My conscience is clear now, not that it means that I want a relationship with my sister. There is so much to process. My brain feels like it's about to implode.
Luckily, it is saved from imminent doom by a knocking at the door. Using most of my energy to get myself vertical, I shuffle to the door and open it.
"Hey." Max, still disheveled, with his scruff more overgrown than usual and his curly hair definitely in the unruly phase.
I respond with a witty greeting. "Hey."
"I tried staying away. I know you told me you didn't want a relationship, but I think we could really have something."
"Max, I can't get into this right now. I'm not saying no. I'm not saying yes. I'm just saying I can't say right now." My brain is screaming a thousand thoughts, mostly centered on what Max was doing with my sister. I'm trying to figure out where to even start.
"I'm not asking you for a lifetime commitment right now. I'm just asking you to say yes to this." And he's kissing me. We're still standing in the doorway. I pull him closer, into the living room, letting the door close behind him. It doesn't feel quite as right as it did the first time we kissed. Something is off. His arms are around me, giving me the support I've been yearning for. Not breaking our embrace, we back up, half walking, half stumbling, until my legs hit the arm of the couch. I fall backwards pulling Max down on top of me. His weight feels good on top of me, like a safety blanket. His lips and hands are good too. Not in the same way, of course. His touch overrides all the whirring in my brain, and suddenly it's all I can focus on. It's like the primitive part of my brain is driving now.
"Oh, Max. I thought you didn't want anything to do with me," I breathe. He's nibbling on my neck, and his hands are getting busy under my shirt. He pulls back, pushing himself up so that he's looking at me.
"How could you think that?"
"Because that day—I can't even remember what day it was now—when you were here with the guys working on the windows—you left. You said you weren't coming back."
He gets up. I feel a little awkward sprawled on my back, my legs apart where his body had been. Sitting up, I pat the couch for him to sit down next to me.
"I hated the thought that the guys saw you like that. I mean, I've never even gotten to see you like that."
"You know that was a mistake. I didn't know what the heck was going on in my house."
"I know, I overreacted."
"Yes you did, but then you got even worse."
"Well, you admitted you were fooling around with another guy. The one you had been in love with your whole life."
His tone makes me defensive. It's like he's jealous. I don't like it one bit. It's not cute. It bothers me. "I did not say I've been in love with him my whole life. I said he was my first love."
"It's the same difference. I mean, you flipped out that I'm still friends with Tracy even though we used to have sex."
"I flipped out because we—" I gesture between him and I, "almost had sex, you left, and then I didn't hear from you. The next time I see you, you're with another girl. And one that you admit you've had relations with in the past."
"How is that any better than you fooling around with the guy you've been pining for your entire life?"
"To be perfectly honest, until the day he showed up in my living room, I hadn't thought about him in ages. And, when he tried something, I said no. Which," I stand up, "I'm tempted to say to you right now." It's been a long day, and my nerves and patience are shot. Max is pissing me off. I don't find jealousy an attractive quality. Not at all. I sink back into the couch and close my eyes. "You know Max, it's been quite the day. I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally. I just really want to go to bed."
His arm snakes around my waist. "No, Max. That's not what I mean. I mean I just really want to go to sleep right now."
He leans in and kisses me softly on the cheek. "I understand, Sadie. I'll wait. I've been waiting. You're worth waiting for."
Although it's a sweet thing to say, it doesn't make a difference. All I can think about is my bed, as in a passing-out-and-sleeping-for-twelve-hours sort of way. "I need to go to sleep."
"Do you want me to stay?"
"That would be nice." I summon all my energy and stand up. I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and collapse on my bed as soon as I get into my room. A few minutes later, I feel the other side of the bed sag under Max's weight. His arms reach around me, pulling my body into his. It's comforting and warm, and I can no longer stay awake.
In the morning, things are awkward. I wouldn't have thought they would be. Lying there, trying to scoot away from Max's outstretched arms, I ponder what the change is. We fought. My distrust of his relationship with Tracy. His jealousy about Fitzy and then the crew seeing me in my skivvies (which, let's face it, is more embarrassing than sexual). Him not showing up at the wake. Him showing up at the funeral with Jenna. Jenna. Why does it all come back to her?
And what the hell was Max doing with Jenna in the first place?
I bolt upright. "Why were you with my sister?" My voice is loud and shrill and reverberates through the room, breaking the calm and silence of the early morning. I'm clutching the sheet to my chest. No matter that I'm wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I feel like I woke up naked next to a total stranger.
Max is groggy and slow to wake up. I nudge him with one hand, still clutching the sheet like a shield with the other.
"Huh?" He rolls over, still not awake.
I kick him. "Max. Max. MAX!"
"What?" It almost sounds like a whine. I guess he's not a morning person. I look at the clock. It is only five-thirty. Okay, I guess it's a little early, but this can't wait.
"Why did you bring Jenna to my dad's funeral?"
He sits up a little, leaning his head against my headboard. "Don't you think she should have been there?"
"Oh no you don't. I'm not falling for that again!" I slide out of bed. I sort of wish I had some other furniture in my room because I'm standing with nowhere to go.
"Falling for what?"
"You, answering every question with a question. Fitzy did it to me to get information when Jenna went missing." Things are clicking around my brain. Something does not make sense. Maybe it is too early to be having this discussion. It's too early to be human right now.
"I'm not Fitzy." It's almost a growl.
Now I'm on the defense. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just saying you need to answer my questions. How did you find Jenna? How did you know she wasn't dead? Where ... how ... I don't understand?"
He sighs, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Holding his head in his hands, he starts. "I thought it would help you."
"If you found Jenna?"
There's no answer, so I fill the silence.
"Well, I guess it helped, but I wasn't even under suspicion. I guess they didn't think she was dead at all, so I wasn't a murder suspect anymore. The evidence indicated that she was alive. I think I'm the only one who thought maybe her wrist slashing wasn't just an attention thing but a real suicide attempt."
"Didn't you know Jenna wasn't serious? Isn't that what you said? Isn't that why you kicked her out?"
I shrug. "I guess. I mean, I did think she was just acting out. Again. I didn't think she was truly suicidal. But then she disappeared. I've been so wracked with guilt. I mean, I should have done something."
"I think you should have trusted that your first instinct was right."
"How was I supposed to, when I had the police crawling all over the place? I was under surveillance and all. So, FYI, that's why Fitzy was around. Not because he was interested in me. He never has been and never will be. He was here because he was getting paid to be here."
Max stands up. His hair is unruly and his eyes are puffy. I'm sure I don't look much better. My hair is in that messy bun thing again. "I need some coffee. Do you want some?" I don't care if he wants any or not. I need some, or I won't be able to function much more.
After a quick bathroom pit stop, the coffee maker is calling my name, and I fumble around, trying to get it started. The four minutes until the pot is ready seem interminable. With the magic elixir finally brewed, I sit down at my kitchen table with a mug for myself and one poured for Max. He joins me and takes a sip, still not saying anything. The coffee it too hot to drink, so I just hold my mug and wait.
Then he starts, and I wish he had reserved his right to remain silent.
