She’s got me buried in her bosom before I can stand all the way up from my chair.
“Hi, Aunt Jane,” I say, voice muffled in her dress—a plunging black number. “Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs, finally freeing me, “I only wish I’d come sooner. I couldn’t get a flight till this morning, can you imagine?” She pulls a tissue from her sleeve. For all her exaggeration, I can tell my aunt is genuinely sad, and I feel guilty that I can’t cry with her. The night at the hospital seemed to take all my tears.
“I think I’ve got everything straight here, Miss St. James,” Pastor Gene smiles. His teeth are coffee-stained and crooked. “Go on out, greet your family and friends.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, and Aunt Jane immediately pulls me to the front of the building.
“To tell you the truth,” she says gravely, like a secret, “I have no idea how many people will show up today.”
I nod. “I requested the smaller room.”
Aunt Jane gasps like I’ve slapped her. “Sweetheart,” she says, peering at the small chapel down the hall, “that’s not nearly big enough.”
“What?” I follow her gaze. “It—it holds like…I don’t know, twenty people….”
She’s got her compact out, checking her lipstick. “It’s fine, dear, Aunt Jane will handle everything.” The compact snaps shut to punctuate her sentence like a gavel. “Just stay here and look pretty for our guests.” And, fast as she blew into the place, she tornadoes away.
“Who was that?”
I jump, Silas’s hand on my arm startling me. “Uh…my aunt, Jane,” I tell him, composing myself. “Mom’s sister.”
“She’s…interesting.”
“That’s an understatement.” Through the glass doors, I see car after car pulling into the lot. “She says Chapel B won’t be large enough,” I say, wary, “and I’m starting to believe her.”
“Told you,” Silas grins. He wiggles his fingers like bugs. “Woodwork.” His hands move to my waist to tickle me.
“Stop, stop, people are coming in,” I hiss. “If they see me giggling, they’ll think I’m a heartless bitch.”
“Sorry. I promise, I’ll behave.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “I guess I’m just trying to lighten the mood because I hate seeing you sad. But this is a sad occasion. So I’ll let you be sad.”
I give him a compromise: a half-smile. I know today is solemn, and I feel every bit of that weight. But there's something nice about the occasional break, like a burst of fresh air when you're drowning. Every so often, he brings me up. Just enough to sustain me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You can make sure I don’t get too sad. Deal?”
“Deal.”
For once, Aunt Jane isn’t exaggerating: Chapel A, after being hurriedly set up by the funeral home staff, fills up fast. I can’t keep track of all the people who take my hands and offer condolences: old coworkers, old classmates, extended family I haven’t seen since I was four. Silas stands behind me in stoic silence, one hand on my shoulder, the other available to help accept everyone’s apologies. He doesn’t introduce himself beyond, “Silas Marlowe—thank you for coming,” but I hear chatty women in big hats whisper about him when they walk away.
“Everyone’s wondering who the hell you are,” I tell him quietly.
“Hi, Aunt Jane,” I say, voice muffled in her dress—a plunging black number. “Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs, finally freeing me, “I only wish I’d come sooner. I couldn’t get a flight till this morning, can you imagine?” She pulls a tissue from her sleeve. For all her exaggeration, I can tell my aunt is genuinely sad, and I feel guilty that I can’t cry with her. The night at the hospital seemed to take all my tears.
“I think I’ve got everything straight here, Miss St. James,” Pastor Gene smiles. His teeth are coffee-stained and crooked. “Go on out, greet your family and friends.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, and Aunt Jane immediately pulls me to the front of the building.
“To tell you the truth,” she says gravely, like a secret, “I have no idea how many people will show up today.”
I nod. “I requested the smaller room.”
Aunt Jane gasps like I’ve slapped her. “Sweetheart,” she says, peering at the small chapel down the hall, “that’s not nearly big enough.”
“What?” I follow her gaze. “It—it holds like…I don’t know, twenty people….”
She’s got her compact out, checking her lipstick. “It’s fine, dear, Aunt Jane will handle everything.” The compact snaps shut to punctuate her sentence like a gavel. “Just stay here and look pretty for our guests.” And, fast as she blew into the place, she tornadoes away.
“Who was that?”
I jump, Silas’s hand on my arm startling me. “Uh…my aunt, Jane,” I tell him, composing myself. “Mom’s sister.”
“She’s…interesting.”
“That’s an understatement.” Through the glass doors, I see car after car pulling into the lot. “She says Chapel B won’t be large enough,” I say, wary, “and I’m starting to believe her.”
“Told you,” Silas grins. He wiggles his fingers like bugs. “Woodwork.” His hands move to my waist to tickle me.
“Stop, stop, people are coming in,” I hiss. “If they see me giggling, they’ll think I’m a heartless bitch.”
“Sorry. I promise, I’ll behave.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “I guess I’m just trying to lighten the mood because I hate seeing you sad. But this is a sad occasion. So I’ll let you be sad.”
I give him a compromise: a half-smile. I know today is solemn, and I feel every bit of that weight. But there's something nice about the occasional break, like a burst of fresh air when you're drowning. Every so often, he brings me up. Just enough to sustain me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You can make sure I don’t get too sad. Deal?”
“Deal.”
For once, Aunt Jane isn’t exaggerating: Chapel A, after being hurriedly set up by the funeral home staff, fills up fast. I can’t keep track of all the people who take my hands and offer condolences: old coworkers, old classmates, extended family I haven’t seen since I was four. Silas stands behind me in stoic silence, one hand on my shoulder, the other available to help accept everyone’s apologies. He doesn’t introduce himself beyond, “Silas Marlowe—thank you for coming,” but I hear chatty women in big hats whisper about him when they walk away.
“Everyone’s wondering who the hell you are,” I tell him quietly.
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