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“And I’m not comfortable not going, so we have a problem, don’t we?” I look at James, all suited and booted, ready to pay respects he doesn’t want to pay. Ready for a funeral he doesn’t even want us to go to. Which tells me he knows he’s losing this one. “I’ll be late.” I take the steps down and slide into the passenger seat of his Range Rover. Rose is at the door before I close it, her face solemn. “It’s fine,” I assure her. “I knew it was coming. Besides, no one liked him. Not even me.”
“We wouldn’t be going for him. I should be there. Everyone should be there for you.” She holds my hand.
“But you can’t be there.” I reach for her head and pull her sunglasses off. “Mind if I borrow these?”
“Sure.” She looks down my bare arm, contemplative. If she asks why I have my scar on full display today, I would never be able to tell her. “Have you put sunscreen on?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Good.” Leaning in, she kisses my cheek. “Heads-up,” she whispers. “He’s going to put you in a bulletproof vest.”
“What?” I blurt, looking down the lovely chic pencil dress. I want to say he’s being ridiculous. I can’t.
“I’ve put a light trench coat on the back seat. You’re gonna need it.”
I don’t express my exasperation because, really, it’s a wise move on James’s part. “Has anyone heard from Brad?”
“Not that I know of.” Rose looks up over the roof of the car. “Here comes Zinnea.”
I slip the shades on to protect me from the unfathomable glare of her rainbow-striped sequin suit. “I should be there,” she gripes. “He was my brother.”
“He was horrible to you,” I point out.
“’Tis true.” She pouts her pink glossed lips. “Be safe.”
James gets in beside me and starts the car, tense and annoyed, and I say a silent goodbye to Zinnea before she pushes my door closed. But James doesn’t pull off, he just sits stationary on the driveway, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. I glance at the clock. “We’ll be late.”
The back door opens, and someone gets in. I look over my shoulder. Danny’s eyebrows are sky high, daring me to question him. But, of course, I do. “You’re coming?” He doesn’t answer, just stares at me with icy-blue unhappy eyes as he wedges his elbow into the door, getting comfortable. I return my attention forward. “Can we all agree that my father’s funeral doesn’t turn into a massacre?” It’s a possibility that Ollie will be there, as well as Frazer Cartwright, and perhaps a few police officers too.
I get no answer.
But Danny passes something forward to me.
The coat Rose put in the car.
And a vest.
I’ve felt eyes on me constantly. Had people approach me and offer their condolences. I’ve remained silent, accepting their words with a small, tight smile. I’m overwhelmed. There are so many people at the crematorium, many are having to stand. It’s like a concert, as many bodies squished into the space as possible. This, of course, means James and Danny are twitchier. It also means it’s impossible to see Ollie or Cartwright. If at all they are here. The number of mourners paying their respects says much about my father. Esteemed, generous businessman, who gave both time and money to various charitable causes. These people are mourning the loss of a pillar in their community. But is that what they’re doing? Paying their respects? Mourning? Or are they here for the same reason I am? Selfishness. So that I may walk away and know I’ve at least made silent peace.
It's bullshit.
I’ll never be at peace.
In fact, being here is making me feel worse, and that’s on top of the anxiety rising within me from just being in a crowded space. All these individuals here for a man who let me down so many times. A man who wasn’t there for me. A man who left me to slowly wither in a psychiatric hospital. How can he be so valued to all of these people? I want to stand up and yell at them. Tell them how much and how often he let me down. Can I? Will it make me feel better? Cure me? I’m chewing that over for most of the service, and I have my answer by the time the funeral celebrant requests we all pray. I might feel better for a few moments. Enjoy the release of pressure of simply shouting. And then I will return to wondering if he ever truly felt guilty. If he had any regrets. Because now, Icannotask him. I can’t ask him why he let me down. Why he kept his distance. Why he wasn’t the dad I needed him to be.
I will never know!
Everyone around me stands on instruction and bows their heads. I follow, pulling the tie at the waist of my coat, tightening it, worried it will fall open and reveal what I’m wearing underneath. I don’t bow my head. I don’t pray. I look back to all of the people in the room, all of their faces down. My urge to yell becomes too much.
I swing back around, feeling James peek at me, curious. “What is it?” he asks, stepping into me, prompting me to push into Danny who’s on my other side. He too looks at me.
“Nothing.”
“Amen,” the congregation murmurs, all lifting their heads as Dad is blessed and somber music begins to play, the curtains slowly drawing around his coffin.
Cremation.
It feels like one last kick in the gut from my father. Why would he ever wish to be scorched? Why would he make me stand here and watch his body be drawn into a raging inferno? My arm starts to tingle, and I try to blink away the black dots springing into my vision.
