I gestured at Ren as best I could without being able to grab his arm. He caught on, following me into a curtained-off little room toward the back of the reception area. This would normally be someplace visitors could go to blow their noses in peace, but it would do for us.
Once we were as alone as we could get, he sighed, burying his brow in his hand. “I fucking croaked back there.”
I shrugged, trying my best to hitch up a smile, perhaps lift some of his guilt along with it. “You did good. I didn’t.”
That did nothing to ease the burden on his brow. “You didn’t cross over or anything—does that mean it didn’t work?”
“That’s not why I wanted to do this.”
I could nearly feel the weight of his heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
My hands itched. If my words couldn’t reach him, perhaps I had nothing left but to try the warmth of touch. Only, I couldn’t, of course. I couldn’t even attempt to straighten his tie.
“You’ve done more than you know,” I said. “If you want, you don’t have to sit through the rest.”
“Seriously?” he asked, his face all sober. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Finally, he returned my attempt at a smile. I followed as he pushed back the curtain. There were more than enough open seats left.
Everyone around us was whispering as we took our places in the back. The service hadn’t started yet. I looked up, and gaped along with everybody else as the funeral director found himself joined at the pulpit. He stepped back in surprise, unintentionally making room for the buxom, bespectacled redhead.
I choked on a laugh. She’d always been good at cracking me up, even while I broke her heart.
Ren stared at me, his eyebrows questioning.
“That’s my best friend from college, and, uh, ex.”
Vicki wore exactly what she’d always joked she’d wear if I died, black satin with a plunging neckline, and a classic mourning hat, complete with the net. I wondered how she’d found out about this, because I couldn’t imagine she’d been invited. Or why she’d even want to come. I didn’t know if this meant she’d forgiven me, or she’d come to gloat.
“This is just sad,” she said, in her tiny, sultry voice. “I know, it’s a wake, it’s supposed to be sad. But this is a goddamn tragedy.”
Gloria was stony-faced as ever, not about to dignify this interruption with an acknowledgment. Cris, on the other hand, stood up, hovering in indecision. Not so quick to quietly smooth over any interruptions as I’d expected.
The funeral director cleared his throat. “Have some respect.”
Vicki reeled on him. “Excuse me, but I have way more respect for her than anybody else here. You all even know who the hell it is you’re sending off?”
Good fucking question. Around us, the guests murmured. After all, they clearly didn’t know me.
The funeral director left the pulpit purposefully, on his way to find somebody to deal with the situation.
“You call this a wake?” asked Vicki. “There ought to be booze, and beautiful men and women tearing at their hair and clothes, and music, for God’s sake!”
My whole body shuddered. I could feel my last meal, climbing up my throat.
“Please don’t,” I said.
“She was an artist,” said Vicki. “That’s her biggest legacy.”
All the strangers around me were swiveling their heads, talking openly, looking around as if someone here might have an answer. My mother and sister did, of course, but they didn’t say anything.
“Shut up,” I said.
“You’re not even gonna play any of her songs?”
Maybe now they’d start putting two and two together.
I got to my feet. “Would you shut the fuck up?”
They didn’t know. I’d worked so hard so they wouldn’t know. Better that they thought I’d always been a nobody than a failed somebody.
“She should’ve gone out in a bang, not this sad little whimper.”
One of the lamps behind her blinked a few times.
“That’s enough,” said the funeral director, returning meekly. Behind him hovered a big guy in a suit, security. He looked apologetic, awkward about putting his hands on a lady, even a rowdy one.
“I’m not finished!”
Vicki complained all the way as security gingerly showed her out. Like she didn’t love the dramatic exit.
Cris stepped up in her place. The mic picked up her throat-clearing.
“Well, that was awkward,” she said.
That got some surprised laughter, nothing too loud, but enough to relieve the tension.
“She’s right, though,” said Cris. It went dead quiet. She flashed that brittle, teary-eyed grin again. “We’ve all been pretending, but isn’t it a little late for that? I’m sick of acting like I’m not fucking furious.”
My whole body shuddered in surprise. It might’ve been the first time I’d ever heard her curse. And it wasn’t even funny, like I’d always hoped it would be.
Gloria stood, but didn’t approach. I wondered if she was frightened, seeing her better daughter behaving this way, realizing it had never been so cut and dry as the golden child and the black sheep.
“Some people still say it’s a mortal sin, what she did,” said Cris. “I don’t wanna believe that I’ll have to pray for her the rest of my life to try and get her out of purgatory, not knowing if it’s working, if it’ll ever be safe to stop.”
At last, her mask cracked, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. She struggled to speak past her sobs. I dug my nails into my palms, my own eyes stinging.
The two lamps on either side behind her went out, only the ones overhead keeping the room from darkness.
“But I’m already so tired of praying, and praying, and feeling like an idiot doing it, because I don’t even know if there’s anybody on the other line. Because what if there’s not? What if she’s just—” Her voice broke. “Gone?”
In the dim light, she crumpled in on herself, our mother rushing and taking her in her arms as if she were about to collapse. I got the wailing I’d hoped for after all.
Something shattered, glass breaking, sunflowers spilling.
“Mal?” Ren said. Out loud, in front of everyone.
The remaining lights went out. But it didn’t go dark, not for me. I shut my eyes against the glaring white.