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Matilda’s funeral was far more foreboding than I remembered my great-grandma’s being. The panic set in the second my eyes opened Tuesday morning.
I spent half an hour destroying my closet, looking for something suitably depressing that didn’t make me look like Wednesday Addams. I finally settled on a black skirt and a light gray sweater. My hair darkened to a deep chestnut during the winter months, and I liked it. I probably should have worn it up in a bun to offset the cheerfully light color of my sweater, but it looked nice over my black wool coat, so I left it down and just curled the ends.
My dad surprised me with a hug when I came downstairs. “I know you hate funerals, but I’m really proud of you for going today. I know Wayne will appreciate it.”
I swallowed and nodded, still not sure if I was going to make it out of the car once we arrived at the cemetery. I began fantasizing about all the ways the funeral could be canceled. Maybe a storm would roll over Jasper. The rain would pour and lightning would strike and knock out all the power. Maybe an earthquake would hit. Maybe the preacher would catch the flu. Maybe we’d drive through a wormhole that would shoot us out a day into the future. Hey, it could happen.
The drive across town was impossibly longer than it should have been. It took us right past Jasper High, where the marquee board out front flashed, “The Dangers of Teen Drinking, Assembly Wednesday, guest speakers Ned and Susan Hunt of Hubbard Lake Oasis.” Chloe had been onto something. As much as I despised Matilda, it seemed sick and wrong of her parents to be using her death as a marketing tool. I began to wonder if they were the reason she turned out to be such a narcissistic twit, but I put it out of my mind once I started to sympathize with her parental plight. I would not cry for Matilda Hunt.
I felt a little better once we arrived at the cemetery and the Russells pulled up behind us, though I almost cried when Wayne stepped out of the SUV. All of his golden curls were gone. His new, militant buzz cut didn’t do much to conceal the shaved and stitched portion of his head, but it definitely looked less ridiculous than having half a head of curls. His eye was still bruised and puffy, and in his plain black suit he looked more like a defendant than a high school jock. The cast on his arm was giving him a hard time, so I helped him slip his good arm through his coat and draped it over his opposite shoulder. He gave me the faintest smile before we made our way to the open grave at the edge of the cemetery.
Chloe had also been right about the Ds. They were dressed in full black, mostly blending in with the crowd. Denise was the shorter of the two, so she had still made a point to wear heels that were almost inappropriate. Her lack of visible cleavage surprised me, as did her silence. Danielle was a little more subtle in black slacks and a turtleneck. Her blond hair had been pulled back into a sophisticated French twist that made her look much older than she was. They each took a turn to glare at me over Matilda’s closed casket. I dropped my eyes and tried to distract myself away from them by focusing on the shadows beneath the casket rigging. Did they really measure down six feet? Or was that just a rough estimate?
When the sermon began, Wayne squeezed my hand. My heart skipped, and I glanced up to see if the Ds had noticed, but just as quickly, Wayne let go and tucked his hand into the pocket of his coat. I wondered if it had been intentional or just a reflex. I felt my cheeks flare and kept my eyes diverted downward as the hybrid Matilda guilt crept over me.
I couldn’t focus on what the preacher was saying. I knew if I did, I’d end up puking in Matilda’s open grave. Instead, I went over the periodic table in my head, silently singing Tom Lehrer’s elements song. Around the sixth pass of “These are the only ones of which the news has come to Harvard,” Wayne squeezed my hand again and leaned into me.
“And there may be many others, but they haven’t been discarvard. You’re humming,” he whispered.
I let out a tiny gasp.
“I don’t think anyone else noticed.”
“Good.” I sighed and peeked up at him. He looked mildly amused but was still zeroed in on Matilda’s casket.
“Janie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming today.”
“You’re welcome.”
The sermon finished up, and then the Hunts replaced the preacher behind the podium. Mr. Hunt was dressed in the same generic black suit as every other male at the funeral, but his wraparound sunglasses set him apart from the crowd. I imagined they were meant to hide his supposed tears, but they just made him look like a prick. Mrs. Hunt looked like she belonged on a cheesy movie set with her oversized veiled hat. I felt their gazes drift over to Wayne and me. A sick feeling settled in my gut. I steadied my eyes on the upper edge of the podium so I would at least look like I was paying attention and began reciting grammar rules in my head, careful not to hum this time. When two vowels go walking, the first does the talking. I before E except after C, except when you run a feisty heist on a weird beige foreign neighbor.
I let the Hunts’ words filter through my mind like the mindless buzz of the news my dad insisted on watching every morning. As an afterthought, I wondered if I should have been paying enough attention to count the number of times they mentioned their resort, just in case Chloe asked. The Hunts talked for almost half an hour. They looked like they were ready to drone on for another half an hour, but after a dozen people slipped out of the cemetery, the preacher tactfully cut them off. Before giving up the microphone, Mrs. Hunt mentioned the school assembly and requested that all “responsible and caring parents” contact her to make their donations.
The preacher said a short prayer, mindful of the restless mourners, and then a pair of men in black suits began to lower Matilda’s casket. An older woman brought around a basket of white roses to toss into the grave. Wayne took one, but I passed. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to do, throw flowers into the ground to be covered up with dirt. It was far more practical to leave them by the headstone once she was buried, but I guess they had extra flowers for that too.
The Ds tossed their roses in quickly and left, sparing a few nervous glances towards Officer Russell. Wayne waited until almost everyone had cleared out.
“Do you want some time alone?” I asked, glancing back at our parents. They were gathered near the cars, talking to a few people I didn’t recognize.
Wayne shrugged. “It’s okay. You can stay if you want.” He had said the same thing the night of the party. My heart tightened at the memory. I should have stayed. I would stay this time.
Wayne tossed his rose in and cleared his throat. “I guess this is goodbye. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
It wasn’t very poetic or deep, but it was heartfelt. As big of a pain as Matilda had been, Wayne had really cared about her. For a split second, I wondered if she was really as bad as I thought she was. Then I remembered the spray foam in my locker and the holes in my blouse. Yup. She was definitely evil.
Wayne didn’t take my hand again as we made our way towards our parents and the cars, but he did take his time and brushed his shoulder against mine so we could talk quietly. “I finished the makeup work you brought by, but it would probably be best to go over it tomorrow. My mom said that the teachers aren’t expecting me to turn it in until my suspension is over next week.”
I nodded. “I think I’m going to stay home tomorrow. I don’t have it in me to sit through that assembly.”
“I’m not supposed to have guests over, being grounded and all, but I doubt I’d get in much trouble if it was you.”
The blood rushed to my face. “You want me to come over tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Wayne gave me a crooked smile. “My mom’s going to visit my aunt, and I really don’t want to be alone all day.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
It seemed innocent enough, and I knew nothing especially exciting would happen, but I felt like doing cartwheels anyway. Probably not the best idea in a cemetery. I could wait until I made it home.