by Cassie Cole
“This isn’t a big deal,” I said, seizing on the moment. “I’m only going because I have to. In and out and back here in a few hours.”
I dumped my half-eaten sandwich in the trash and went out to my car before they could argue further. They stood on the porch and watched as I drove away.
I was serious when I said I didn’t want them to come, but it was cute how they wanted to be my backup. Chase especially: he was surprisingly protective, with an eagerness that reminded me of a dog waiting to be let off its leash. I wondered what he would have done if it had been him with me when the Honeycombs came taunting rather than Daniel. I imagined him tackling Francis and Herald, punching their stupid faces in.
On the way to my father’s funeral, the image made me smile.
The funeral home was the only one in town, a plain building with an overhang on the left side where a hearse was parked. I wondered how this place had stayed in business while everyone else was going under. It was probably just a matter of time.
I remembered the little married couple who ran the place from momma’s funeral. They had been so warm and helpful during that process. More than I’d expected funeral directors to be.
They said all the proper words of apology to me today, and I said all the right grieving words back. It was like reciting the lyrics to a song. Everyone knew their line.
“Just to confirm: it’s only a simple service in our chapel,” the man said. “No graveside service at all. A private burial later.”
“That’s right,” I said, glad that Mr. Bonile had heeded my request. I didn’t care for funerals. Not that anyone did, but to me they were an extravagant waste of time and money. People you barely knew showing up to pretend to grieve, all while judging others and gossiping about the family. When I died, I wanted the money for a funeral to instead be spent on a party for all my friends. One giant bar tab while everyone drank on me.
“Very good,” the man said, clasping his hands in front of his perfect suit. “Now, err, there was one other point to discuss. I’m sorry to be blunt, but your estate lawyer was evasive when we discussed when payment would be made from the estate. It shouldn’t be an issue: we typically bill out 60 days, to give the family time to get their affairs in order, receive life insurance, all of that.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I’m loathe to bring it up to you now, but Mr. Bonile insisted we speak to you about the matter. Is our 60 day billing acceptable, or…”
Great. Another financial issue to deal with. Fortunately, my conscious made this decision easy.
“I’ll be paying right now,” I said, pulling out my checkbook from my clutch.
The alarm on his face was comical. “Miss Jameson, I wasn’t trying to force you to—”
“When my momma died,” I said as I scribbled on the check, “you hugged me after the service. It was the best hug I got that day. On the worst day of my life, it made me feel a little bit better.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
I tore the check out and handed it to him. “You’ll thank me later. Can I see… him?”
I followed the man into the service room. He waited at the back while I walked up the aisle toward the casket on numb legs. I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel, or if I should feel anything at all. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to look.
The mortician had done a good job, but it didn’t look like him. Not just because of the suit, which already was out of place on a man who always wore jeans and a work shirt. The tone of his skin was too warm, and his expression was calm. Calmer than he’d ever seemed in life. It was like squinting at a bad photocopy.
“Dad,” I whispered, “did you kill yourself?”
Standing over my father, my throat tightened and a few tears came. I found myself relieved that I could cry, even just a little bit. No matter how our relationship, and all the bad that had happened, and all the other shit he’d left me with, a girl ought to cry at her dad’s funeral.
People from town arrived in twos and threes. They didn’t know me, but that didn’t stop them from shuffling toward me and saying words they probably thought were comforting. I nodded along and thanked them, because that’s what you were supposed to do.
Aunt Sophie’s arrival was a shock. She cried out loudly when she saw me, and clomped her way down to me on heels that probably cost more than the entire funeral. She loudly announced that she had canceled her river cruise early to be here because Richard was her dear baby brother, and she had always tried to be a good sister even when it was tough, and maybe if she’d been closer none of this would have happened. I hugged her, and prayed she wouldn’t be staying in town long.
The room was a quarter full when the minister began the service. Sophie was a cartoon of a grieving sister, howling like a damn wolf. The minister launched into a long, folksy tale about a farmer at work. I zoned out.
And before I knew it, it was over. Sophie and I lingered near the casket and made small talk with the visitors who didn’t want to go home, and eventually made our way back toward the exit.
I was shocked to see Francis Honeycomb waiting outside the door.
“Hey, Cindy,” he said, wringing his hands. “I’m real sorry about your dad.”
He seemed genuinely sorry, which for a brief moment was touching. Then his dad appeared behind him, a handful of mints in his hand from the bowl by the door.
“Figured we’d pay our respects,” he said with a sneer. His entire appearance here was obscene. “Don’t want any bad karma before we buy the land.”
I’ve never been so angry in my life. I don’t know how I didn’t attack him right then and there. Maybe it was because I could tell that’s what he wanted: for the stupid girl who wouldn’t marry his son to make a fool of herself at her father’s funeral.
“Fuck off,” I said, but before I could leave Sophie was standing next to me.
“Cindy, who is this man?”
“A piece of shit.”
“Cindy!”
Herald chuckled, and took Sophie’s hand. “Don’t listen to her. The girl’s overcome with emotion today. Completely understandable, given the circumstances. We’re Richard’s neighbors. Close friends of the family. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, thank you,” my aunt breathed, eating it up without realizing his condolences were as fake as his smile. “Richard spoke often of you. Said you were a kind soul.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“As tragic as this all is, it warms my heart he was surrounded with kind and caring people.”
“We need to go,” I growled, grabbing my aunt’s arm and practically dragging her out the door and into her car.
Herald appeared in my rear view mirror as I drove away, waving and smiling widely.
23
Daniel
Replacing the damaged floor was a huge pain in the ass.
Modern flooring was easy. These days, wood was cut with rapid-locking grooves so that each piece fit into the next one seamlessly. All someone had to do was put each piece down one at a time like a big, too-easy jigsaw puzzle, then use cleat nails to fasten them to the plywood underneath.
But this house was old. Whoever built it didn’t give two shits about efficiency, or if they would eventually have to be repaired or replaced. It was a haphazard assortment of planks that probably hadn’t come from the same bundle of lumber.
Hell, gauging how old this was they might have been cut by hand.
The easiest thing would have been replacing the entire floor. Every plank. Start over from scratch. Then things would be easy, and uniform. A consistent surface. But that was cost prohibitive, and cost was the name of this game. So I spent most of the day on my knees, toiling away at individual planks.
It took two days just to find the right stain color. Testing samples and waiting for them to dry, then comparing with what the house had. Even still, it wasn’t perfect: the existing boards were more faded. But it was close, and close would have to do.
Cutting the board
s to the exact size was the most tedious part. Once I ripped out the old one I had to match the new one over the hole, which rarely fit just right on account of the old planks being so random. Several times I had to cut a slightly diagonal piece into the new board to make it flush with the old. I had to do this with every single damaged board. Remove, measure, cut, fit, cut again, fit again. It was slow going.
I found myself wishing I could jump on a horse and help my brothers with the herd instead. But even just wishing for that made me remember what had happened, which made my skin go cold and my heart race.
I hoped Cindy was okay. She claimed she wasn’t close with her dad and had never been, but funerals were always hard.
Chase and Landon must have been worried about her too, because they came in much earlier than normal. They killed time by helping me with the floor: Chase ripping up the old boards while Landon measured with the tape.
“Are we all gunna ignore that we’re worried about her?” Chase finally said.
“Who’s ignoring that?” I said.
Chase shrugged. “Just seems like we are, is all.”
“She’s a grown woman,” Landon said dismissively. “She can handle herself.”
“Which is why you punched an insurance agent in the jaw?”
Landon didn’t respond
“We should talk about what happens,” Chase said. “After. Assuming everything goes according to plan.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Landon asked.
Chase rested back on his knees and leaned on the crowbar. “I intend to ask her out.”
I expected Landon to burst out laughing, but he remained suspiciously quiet. “Who says she’s into you?”
“I do. I get a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“Sure.”
Landon glanced at me. I quickly turned away out of fear that he would be able to see the truth on my face: that I’d already kissed her.
“Well,” Landon said slowly, “I just might ask her out too.”
“Be my guest. She’s a grown woman, like you said. She can choose.”
“She sure can. And it’d be an easy choice.”
“She might just choose me.”
They both swung their heads.
“Remember Anastasia?” I said, unable to stop my grin. “The foreign exchange student?”
“Oh God, not Anastasia again,” Chase muttered.
“Might as well throw your hat in the ring,” Landon said coolly. “And may the best man win.”
I bet he will, I thought smugly, remembering how hard Cindy had kissed me back.
The moment we heard tires on gravel we all jumped up, then milled around in the kitchen. But there were two cars that pulled into the driveway, and when Cindy came inside she wasn’t alone.
“Oh wow, look at this place,” the other woman said. She was older, maybe in her 40s or 50s, with a little too much makeup on her cheeks. “I haven’t seen… Oh. Hello.”
She looked at the three of us like we here for her enjoyment. I looked around awkwardly.
“This is my aunt Sophie. And these are the three ranch hands helping get this place in order.”
“You have been busy,” the woman said. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to us, or Cindy.
“This one’s especially yummy.” She approached and put a black-gloved hand on Chase’s chest. He grinned a mischievous grin.
“Sophie’s husband works for the United Nations,” Cindy cut in a little too fast. “Isn’t that fascinating?”
“Oh, Pierre. He’s always away on travel.”
“You were just in France, Aunt Sophie.”
“Yes, but that was vacation! Pierre travels for business. It makes all the difference, dear.” She turned her hungry eyes onto me. “It leaves me home a lot. Alone.”
“Let me get your things,” Cindy said, disappearing down the hall. I wanted to shout after her not to leave us alone.
She looked each of us up and down like we were cattle at the auction. Cattle she wanted to buy.
“She holds it in well,” she said quietly, “but don’t let that fool you. The death of a parent is always terrible. I hope you three will help her through this difficult time.”
“We’re working hard to do so, ma’am,” Landon said.
“Mmm hmm,” Sophie said. “The best medicine for a grieving woman is a man. Or three.”
I laughed nervously, and Landon joined me. Only Chase continued grinning like a fool.
“If I weren’t flying home tonight…” She bit her lip.
“Here you go,” Cindy said, returning with a box. “All the family photo albums and videos dad left you.”
“Oh, honey. Are you sure you don’t want any of it?”
“I already went through most of this when momma passed two years ago. Everything else is stuff before I was born. I’ll carry it to your car. Say goodbye to the boys.”
She waggled her fingers like a mermaid trying to coax a ship to shore. “Bye, boys.”
I sighed with relief when she was gone. Chase grinned at both of us. “Now she was definitely into me.”
“On that point, you’re correct,” I said.
Cindy came back inside and slumped against the doorway to the kitchen. Heidi sat on her hind legs and licked her hand.
“You alright?” Landon asked.
“I will be after I have a drink.” She went to a cabinet, found a bottle of whiskey, and carried it to the table without a glass.
“Your aunt is somethin’,” I said.
“She is,” Cindy said, “but this drink isn’t for her.” She removed the stopper and drank a long pull straight from the bottle.
Landon grabbed a handful of glasses from the cabinet. “Tough funeral?”
She slammed the bottle back down on the table. “It was fine. No issues. Until Francis and Herald Honeycomb showed up to pay their respects.”
Chase stiffened next to me, a motion like lion preparing to attack. “Those motherfuckers.”
“They didn’t do anything bad,” Cindy said with a dismissive wave. “They were just there. Tainting everything with their presence.”
Chase grabbed the bottle and threw back his head. When he’d taken four gulps he put it back down. I could see murder in his blue eyes.
“I ought to go over there and kick their asses.”
“I’d love that,” Cindy muttered.
“Hey!” I said. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’d love it more if you stay and drink with me,” she said. “We can talk about kicking their asses without actually doing it. All the reward without any of the broken fingers.”
She looked sideways at Landon. Chase and I burst out laughing.
The four of us shared a few drinks, then got up to make dinner together. I marinated the chicken and baked it while Landon boiled pasta. Chase and Cindy made the white sauce from scratch, shredding cheese and making dirty jokes about the texture of the cream sauce.
“Stop it!” Cindy said with a laugh, elbowing Chase.
“You started it by saying I like a creamy mouthful!” he responded, flicking cheese at her.
I felt a flash of jealousy at their playful flirting. It was harmless, and I had no right to be jealous, but I couldn’t help it.
Even in my tipsy state, I recognized I was projecting. I was the only person in the wrong here: I’d kissed Cindy, not them. Chase’s playful cheese-flicking was innocent.
But I wanted to kiss her again. To feel her tongue mingling wetly with mine, to feel her hair brushing across my face.
I wanted to do more.
The best medicine for a grieving woman…
I shook it off and added the chicken to the pasta.
24
Landon
Cindy was getting sloshy, and it made me nervous.
With every dirty joke she and Chase told, I expected her to mention something about me. You know who has a creamy load? Landon. A few times she glanced sideways at me, like she was thinking abou
t it. Teasing me.
Or maybe it was my imagination. But still, I worried.
We sat around the table after dinner sharing another drink. Worries aside, it was good to hear her laughing and having a good time. It was good to know that we were helping her forget all her problems. Especially on the day of the funeral.
“And then,” Cindy said, “he fainted. Right in front of the casket!”
Chase sputtered. “No way!”
“Swear to God. Right in front of my uncle’s body and 100 church members. When he came to, the first question he asked about was lunch!”
We were taking turns sharing embarrassing stories. A little dark humor to take the edge off the day.
“How old was your cousin?” I asked.
Cindy leaned back in her chair and extended her legs, resting them on my lap. I grabbed my glass of whiskey and pretended not to notice. “Nine. He’s in his 20s, now. That story gets told at every family reunion, or so I hear.” She jabbed a finger at me. “Your turn! Most embarrassing funeral event.”
I took a sip to pretend to think, then glanced at Chase. All the color drained out of his face. “No…”
“Yes,” I said.
“Please don’t…”
A fire ignited in Cindy’s eyes. “What?”
“Landon…”
“Now you have to tell me,” she said.
“Our great-grams funeral,” I began. Chase groaned and turned his chair away, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “She was close to 100, and we were only kids. Chase was maybe six years old.”
“I was four,” he said, back still turned to us.
“Chase was four. Well, the minister is in the middle of his service. Going on and on, like ministers do. Suddenly, Chase runs up the aisle screaming at the top of his lungs that he can’t do it, that he can’t live anymore, that he wants to die. And he throws his arms wide onto the casket and refused to leave. It took three parents to drag him off it.”
“Ahha!”
“It gets exaggerated every time,” Chase grumbled.