some point and has never quite found her way back to the
world. I got that cold, unfurling pain in my chest again—like something was
trying to break free, trapped by blood and muscle and bone. Ida, Wyatt’s
youngest, whispered to me. I leaned down to hear her. She took my hand in hers.
It was warm and damp, her freckled face blotchy from crying.
“What’s
that, sweetheart?” I whispered.
“Daddy’s
glad you’re here,” she whispered back. “I know he’s watchin’. He’s glad you
come back home to us.”
“I’m
glad I’m here, too,” I lied. In a church. To a seven-year-old kid. If I
believed in hell, I would have felt the flames licking at my feet.
The
service wasn’t long. There was a lot of praying, and a lot of singing, and a
lot of crying. People snuck glances out the windows toward Barnel’s
demonstrators and there was plenty of angry whispering from those in the
congregation, but otherwise the service went smoothly. Toward the end, I stood,
adjusted my tie, and smoothed out the eulogy Mae had asked me to write. I
passed Wyatt’s open coffin without looking inside. Somehow, I made it through
the entire speech without breaking down, my gaze fixed on the double doors at
the back of the church.
When
I was finished, I got down from the pulpit and returned to my seat, wishing for
a drink or a smoke or, more than anything, a line of white lightning to dull
the pain and make everything a little brighter. Instead, I bowed my head while
the congregation prayed one last time to a god I don’t believe in, and then I
joined the other pallbearers as we carried my childhood best friend to the
hearse waiting outside.
Solomon
joined me in the parking lot once the hearse was on its way. Her mascara was
running, and I saw no sign of her shoes. Historically, Solomon didn’t really do
funerals; now I remembered why. I pulled her into my arms as much for myself as
her, and held on tightly while she mumbled something unintelligible into my jacket.
Her hair smelled of honeysuckle, and I was acutely aware of the warmth of her
body and the curves pressed against me.
Eventually,
she extricated herself. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled wetly. “God, I hate
funerals.”
“Well,
you certainly handle them well.”
She
laughed. “I was fine until you got up there. I’m officially booking you for my
final farewell.”
“If
there’s any order at all in the universe, I won’t be around for that day,” I
said. She was trying to be light, I knew, but I couldn’t summon a smile at the
thought.
She
hesitated, studying me now. “It really was beautiful, you know. Are you okay?”
“You
have to stop asking me that. I’ll let you know if I’m not—or, more likely,
you’ll be able to tell before I can.” I glanced at her bare feet. “Didn’t you
have shoes when this thing started?”
She
swore, earning a sour glance from the few stragglers who hadn’t left for the
interment, and darted back into the church to retrieve her heels.
Solomon
was just out of sight when I spotted Reverend Barnel again, ambling toward me.
He wore a double-breasted blazer too small for his girth, and he was surrounded
by three oversized white guys in equally ill-fitting suits. Danny was already
headed to the cemetery with the rest of the family, which meant there was no
reason for me to play the rational adult any longer. I bridged the distance
between us in a few strides, my anger flaring as soon as Barnel opened his
mouth to speak.
I had
no interest in listening.
Instead,
I tried to plow through his entourage, ready to beat the sanctimonious snot out
of him—regardless of his age. A guy built like a Frigidaire—Brother Jimmy,
Barnel’s son—pulled me back, and one of his buddies delivered an uppercut that
would have knocked me on my ass if Jimmy hadn’t been holding me up. My leg,
still throbbing from the snake attack the night before, buckled beneath me.
“Settle
down, boys,” Barnel said.
His
voice was the clear,
world. I got that cold, unfurling pain in my chest again—like something was
trying to break free, trapped by blood and muscle and bone. Ida, Wyatt’s
youngest, whispered to me. I leaned down to hear her. She took my hand in hers.
It was warm and damp, her freckled face blotchy from crying.
“What’s
that, sweetheart?” I whispered.
“Daddy’s
glad you’re here,” she whispered back. “I know he’s watchin’. He’s glad you
come back home to us.”
“I’m
glad I’m here, too,” I lied. In a church. To a seven-year-old kid. If I
believed in hell, I would have felt the flames licking at my feet.
The
service wasn’t long. There was a lot of praying, and a lot of singing, and a
lot of crying. People snuck glances out the windows toward Barnel’s
demonstrators and there was plenty of angry whispering from those in the
congregation, but otherwise the service went smoothly. Toward the end, I stood,
adjusted my tie, and smoothed out the eulogy Mae had asked me to write. I
passed Wyatt’s open coffin without looking inside. Somehow, I made it through
the entire speech without breaking down, my gaze fixed on the double doors at
the back of the church.
When
I was finished, I got down from the pulpit and returned to my seat, wishing for
a drink or a smoke or, more than anything, a line of white lightning to dull
the pain and make everything a little brighter. Instead, I bowed my head while
the congregation prayed one last time to a god I don’t believe in, and then I
joined the other pallbearers as we carried my childhood best friend to the
hearse waiting outside.
Solomon
joined me in the parking lot once the hearse was on its way. Her mascara was
running, and I saw no sign of her shoes. Historically, Solomon didn’t really do
funerals; now I remembered why. I pulled her into my arms as much for myself as
her, and held on tightly while she mumbled something unintelligible into my jacket.
Her hair smelled of honeysuckle, and I was acutely aware of the warmth of her
body and the curves pressed against me.
Eventually,
she extricated herself. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled wetly. “God, I hate
funerals.”
“Well,
you certainly handle them well.”
She
laughed. “I was fine until you got up there. I’m officially booking you for my
final farewell.”
“If
there’s any order at all in the universe, I won’t be around for that day,” I
said. She was trying to be light, I knew, but I couldn’t summon a smile at the
thought.
She
hesitated, studying me now. “It really was beautiful, you know. Are you okay?”
“You
have to stop asking me that. I’ll let you know if I’m not—or, more likely,
you’ll be able to tell before I can.” I glanced at her bare feet. “Didn’t you
have shoes when this thing started?”
She
swore, earning a sour glance from the few stragglers who hadn’t left for the
interment, and darted back into the church to retrieve her heels.
Solomon
was just out of sight when I spotted Reverend Barnel again, ambling toward me.
He wore a double-breasted blazer too small for his girth, and he was surrounded
by three oversized white guys in equally ill-fitting suits. Danny was already
headed to the cemetery with the rest of the family, which meant there was no
reason for me to play the rational adult any longer. I bridged the distance
between us in a few strides, my anger flaring as soon as Barnel opened his
mouth to speak.
I had
no interest in listening.
Instead,
I tried to plow through his entourage, ready to beat the sanctimonious snot out
of him—regardless of his age. A guy built like a Frigidaire—Brother Jimmy,
Barnel’s son—pulled me back, and one of his buddies delivered an uppercut that
would have knocked me on my ass if Jimmy hadn’t been holding me up. My leg,
still throbbing from the snake attack the night before, buckled beneath me.
“Settle
down, boys,” Barnel said.
His
voice was the clear,
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