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Authors: Jennifer Scott
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them some, even at Christmas. It didn’t matter what her mother wanted for them—if he disagreed, they’d better comply. Or deal with the consequences.
“Done,” Bradley said, jolting her out of her memory. He held up his BlackBerry and waved it in Maya’s direction. “Not a problem.” He offered her a sickly smile, but she only pulled a gooey chunk of snack cracker out of Molly’s hair and went back to glaring at the table.
Julia took a sip of wine. “What’s done?” she asked. She turned to Elise again. “Mom? What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?”
Elise tapped the wooden spoon against the side of the saucepan and laid it carefully on the spoon rest on the counter next to the stove.
“It’s the funeral,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“What about it?” Claire asked. She was still in her coat, the hood still up and framing her face, tufts of her wild hair sticking out.
“It’s been moved.”
“Oh,” Julia said. “Okay. What time?”
Her mom took a breath and turned to face the kitchen, pressing her hands against the counter behind her. “Same time. On the twenty-seventh.”
Julia gulped her wine in surprise, then let out a cough. “Twenty-seventh? Why?”
Elise shrugged. “Joe Dale had a family emergency up in Cameron. He can’t be here to bury anyone until the twenty-seventh. Nothing to be done about it.”
“What do you mean, ‘nothing to be done’?” Julia said. “Can’t someone else take his place? One of his sons?”
Elise knit her brow. “Robert was friends with Joe. He wouldn’t want someone else to bury him. And Joe would want to be there.”
“But, God, Mom, that’s six days after he died,” Claire said. “Won’t he be all gross and bloated and rotting and shit?”
Will laughed and Molly stared wide-eyed. “For God’s sake, Claire, a little filtering would go a long way,” Maya muttered, covering Molly’s ears with her hands. “Not to mention a little sensitivity. But I guess you never were very good at that.” For the first time since arriving, Maya met Claire’s eyes, her glare wicked.
“Maya . . . ,” Julia said, though she didn’t know what to say next. The last thing she needed was for one of her sisters to be on her case, especially given what she was already going through with Eli. Thinking of her son, she edged over next to him and put her arm around him. He ducked one of his shoulders toward the floor, causing her arm to slide off. She bit her lip, hoping nobody else saw that, trying not to take it personally. Trying not to notice that once again her son was too far away for her to reach, even when he was in the same room with her. Once again she had no idea how long it had been this way or how to even try to find him.
“It’s a valid question,” Claire said, her voice going high and squeaky just like it always did when she was maintaining her innocence. “How can they keep a body fresh for seven days before burying it? Won’t it start to . . . decompose?”
“Grandpa’s gonna be rotted? Like a zombie?” Will said around his crackers, and Maya shushed him.
“No. Aunt Claire is just being rude,” she said, and again sent a glare across the room. “As usual. Can you at least try to have some respect for the children in the room?”
“Maya.” This time it was Bradley’s voice that cut through the air, soft and unsure, gently chastising.
Time ticked by, the only sound Elise’s apple mixture bubbling in the pan, and for a moment Julia felt, actually felt, hate slither past her like a rolling fog. Were she still a child, she might have said, “Uuummm,” like they always did when someone said or did something that might get them in trouble. That was what the room felt like—one big collective
uuummm
.
Then the silence was broken as Maya’s chair scraped backward on the tile. “Of course,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “I should have expected.” She stood so abruptly that the chair
“Done,” Bradley said, jolting her out of her memory. He held up his BlackBerry and waved it in Maya’s direction. “Not a problem.” He offered her a sickly smile, but she only pulled a gooey chunk of snack cracker out of Molly’s hair and went back to glaring at the table.
Julia took a sip of wine. “What’s done?” she asked. She turned to Elise again. “Mom? What’s going on? Why’s everyone so quiet?”
Elise tapped the wooden spoon against the side of the saucepan and laid it carefully on the spoon rest on the counter next to the stove.
“It’s the funeral,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“What about it?” Claire asked. She was still in her coat, the hood still up and framing her face, tufts of her wild hair sticking out.
“It’s been moved.”
“Oh,” Julia said. “Okay. What time?”
Her mom took a breath and turned to face the kitchen, pressing her hands against the counter behind her. “Same time. On the twenty-seventh.”
Julia gulped her wine in surprise, then let out a cough. “Twenty-seventh? Why?”
Elise shrugged. “Joe Dale had a family emergency up in Cameron. He can’t be here to bury anyone until the twenty-seventh. Nothing to be done about it.”
“What do you mean, ‘nothing to be done’?” Julia said. “Can’t someone else take his place? One of his sons?”
Elise knit her brow. “Robert was friends with Joe. He wouldn’t want someone else to bury him. And Joe would want to be there.”
“But, God, Mom, that’s six days after he died,” Claire said. “Won’t he be all gross and bloated and rotting and shit?”
Will laughed and Molly stared wide-eyed. “For God’s sake, Claire, a little filtering would go a long way,” Maya muttered, covering Molly’s ears with her hands. “Not to mention a little sensitivity. But I guess you never were very good at that.” For the first time since arriving, Maya met Claire’s eyes, her glare wicked.
“Maya . . . ,” Julia said, though she didn’t know what to say next. The last thing she needed was for one of her sisters to be on her case, especially given what she was already going through with Eli. Thinking of her son, she edged over next to him and put her arm around him. He ducked one of his shoulders toward the floor, causing her arm to slide off. She bit her lip, hoping nobody else saw that, trying not to take it personally. Trying not to notice that once again her son was too far away for her to reach, even when he was in the same room with her. Once again she had no idea how long it had been this way or how to even try to find him.
“It’s a valid question,” Claire said, her voice going high and squeaky just like it always did when she was maintaining her innocence. “How can they keep a body fresh for seven days before burying it? Won’t it start to . . . decompose?”
“Grandpa’s gonna be rotted? Like a zombie?” Will said around his crackers, and Maya shushed him.
“No. Aunt Claire is just being rude,” she said, and again sent a glare across the room. “As usual. Can you at least try to have some respect for the children in the room?”
“Maya.” This time it was Bradley’s voice that cut through the air, soft and unsure, gently chastising.
Time ticked by, the only sound Elise’s apple mixture bubbling in the pan, and for a moment Julia felt, actually felt, hate slither past her like a rolling fog. Were she still a child, she might have said, “Uuummm,” like they always did when someone said or did something that might get them in trouble. That was what the room felt like—one big collective
uuummm
.
Then the silence was broken as Maya’s chair scraped backward on the tile. “Of course,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “I should have expected.” She stood so abruptly that the chair
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