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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lyra pulled into theparking lot of the Catholic church. It was packed—apparently all the funerals held locally for Brady Everdeen’s victims had been packed—and to find a place to park, she had to drive off the paved lot onto the bare dirt that made up the space between the church and the strip mall next door.
She cut the engine and turned to look at Michelle, sitting beside her, dressed in black pants and a black button shirt, which was about as dressed up as Michelle ever got.
Lyra didn’t dress up often either, but when she did, she went quite a bit farther than Michelle. Today, she was wearing the only black dress she had that wasn’t a date dress. This was a demure thing she’d in fact bought for another funeral, when Grandma Miller, Mom’s mom, died in San Diego four years earlier.
As it had been purchased for her grandma’s funeral, the dress was practically virginal: knee-length flared skirt, long fitted sleeves, plain black with a white Peter Pan collar.
Lyra felt like a Catholic schoolgirl in it. Or Wednesday Addams. Either was was fitting, in different ways, considering where they were headed.
“Ready?” she asked when Michelle made no move to exit the car.
Michelle sighed. “I must really love you, because this is the seventh funeral I’ve been to in five days, and I’ve got four more in the next week. And I hated the dude, Ly. I hated him before he ever noticed you, and I hated him triple when you were with him and I had to pretend I didn’t want to mash his face in every time I looked at it. I’mgladhe’s fuckin’ dead. Yet here I am, at his funeral, with no plans to throw confetti over his coffin. Yep, really must love you.”
Lyra reached over the console and squeezed her best friend’s hand. She’d been to a couple funerals already herself, and she had a couple others after this one—including Pop’s friend Jason, whom Zach called Gargoyle. There were so many funerals going on around Laughlin right now there was an actual backlog at funeral homes, churches, and cemeteries in all three states that made up the Laughlin area.
“I know you love me. And I love you. I’m really grateful you came with me. Going alone felt ... scary.” Zach had told her he’d go with her if she wanted, but it had been only a few days since he was shot and he wasn’t totally back on his feet yet. Besides, having Zach with her at her ex’s funeral would have been weird.
“I don’t understand why you want to be here,” Michelle muttered.
They’d gone over this already, but Lyra repeated herself. “I told you I don’t totally understand it, either. It’s just like this drumbeat in my head, that I need this. And anyway, his mom is sweet, and Tommy was her only kid. I need at least to pay my respects to Mrs. Como.”
Michelle nodded and unfastened her seat belt. “Welp, let’s get to it. At least you didn’t drag me to the funeral home.”
There had been three whole days of visitation for Tommy at the funeral home, which she guessed was a Catholic thing, but the thought of standing around making small talk while his body lay in an open casket in the middle of the room freaked Lyra out more than a little. The whole funeral ritual was a major event, with an actual program, including those three days of visitation. There had been some kind of service at the funeral home this morning, the third day, before a hearse brought Tommy to the church for a full mass. After that, the trip to the cemetery and another service for the burial.
Michelle hadn’t committed to anything but the church service, and Lyra wasn’t sure about the burial herself. She just wanted Mrs. Como to know she was thinking of her. Thinking of Tommy, too.
“Okay, let’s go in.”
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~oOo~
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As it turned out, Catholicfuneral services were long—like more than an hour of sitting and standing and kneeling and everybody around them talking back to the priest like there was a script. And, while there was a whole communion thing, there wasn’t a eulogy! No loved ones spoke for Tommy. The priest hardly mentioned him, though his casket stood right there before the altar.
Then the pallbearers carried the casket out, and the priest and his attendants filed out behind, and Mrs. Como and her sisters, and then everybody else moved into the aisle and filed out of the church. The only chance Lyra had to do the one thing she was here to do—give her condolences to Tommy’s mother—was on the church steps, where Mrs. Como stood, accepting condolences from the people leaving the church.
“Hi, Mrs. Como. I’m so, so sorry,” she said when it was her turn. She held out her hand.
“Oh, Lyra, honey,” Mrs. Como said, clutching Lyra’s hand in both of hers. There was a damp handkerchief in her hand as well. “Thank you so much for coming. I know it didn’t work out between you two, but Tommy loved you—” Her voice broke, and her face, behind a black veil, crumpled. She finished her sentence through tears. “He loved you to the day he died, honey. Your prom picture is still sitting on the table by his bed. You meant everything to him.”
Lyra’s expression felt glued to her face. She could feel there was a kind of sad smile tightening her cheeks, and now she felt trapped in it. How was she supposed to respond to all that? With nothing else to say, and saved by the line of people behind her waiting their turn, Lyra simply repeated “I’m so sorry,” and worked her hand from Mrs. Como’s soggy grip.
