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Joey glowers at me as I leave. I’ll pick up a bottle of whiskey on my way home. There’s a game tonight. Maybe I’ll catch that.
NAOMI
It’s March, so the days are getting longer and hotter. It’s a lovely spring day, the warm breeze blowing off the desert. It’s a beautiful day for a funeral. Mama would have been in her element, talking to and feeding everyone.
The pastor smiles. He took over the church a few years ago. Mama loved him. He’s young, gorgeous, and one of the kindest people I have ever met. After Mama died, he sat with me at the hospital for almost three hours, holding my hand while I cried.
I nod to him. There’s no point waiting any longer. If she were going to come, she would be here by now.
“Thank you all for coming. We are gathered in the memory of -.”
“I can’t believe you fucking started without me!”
Oh god. Here we go. Joey strides through the graveyard in a too-short, too-tight black dress, with hair, red lips, and tattoos everywhere. Mama’s church friends look scandalized. Mama was one of a group of women from the South Side Baptist Church everyone callsThe Sparrows. They’re a bit snobby, a lot gossipy, and only a little Christian. They are judging Joeyhardright now.
She pauses beside the coffin, her eyes sweeping over the assembled mourners, stopping and narrowing when they land on me.
“Get up,” she orders Mrs. Waverly, one of Mama’s closest friends and a fellow Sparrow, sitting next to me. “I’m family. I sit here.”
Mrs. Waverly swells like a bullfrog, ready to give Joey a piece of her mind. Pastor Nick can obviously smell a fight brewing a mile off because he takes a step away from his temporary lectern.
Mama would hate a fight at her gravesite. I have to do something.
“Here, Joey. You take this seat. I don’t mind standing.”
The words are out of my mouth before I even compute. I shove to my feet and stand helplessly as Joey smirks, sauntering over and dropping into my seat. She kicks my purse out of the way, actually kicks it. I stoop, gathering it up and hugging it to my chest as I move to stand near the podium.
Pastor Nick looks like he’s going to ask if I’m okay, so I quickly nod at him. Let’s get this done before Joey starts complaining about something.
The funeral feels like it’s over too soon. The flower-covered coffin lowers, and my heart feels like it’s about to explode in my chest. Mama can’t be gone. She just can’t. What am I supposed to do with my life now?
Pastor Nick murmurs a few nice words as his hands press against mine. Something about knowing where he is if I need anything and his door always being open. Some of the Sparrows say nice things, but they aren’t going to hang around. The wake is being catered at the hall near the church. They’ll want to be there for the free food and sodas.
“Finally came back to town, huh?” Joey’s sneering voice cuts across me. “Figured which way the wind was blowing and thought you’d try your hand for some inheritance?”
I flinch, hugging my arms around my middle. Joey is my big sister. She always was mean to me, but I thought she might lay off for Mama’s funeral. I guess I was wrong.
“I live here,” I mumble. I left San Remo for a hot second to go to college, but I’ve been living here for the last three years. If Joey ever bothered to visit Mamaonce, she might know that.
Joey does a double-take, her eyes narrowing. “Where?”
“At the house.” Where else would I live? It’s not the right thing to say. Joey swells up more than Mrs. Waverly.
“The fuck you do,” Joey spits, her voice full of venom. “That house is mine.”
I mean, Mama left a will. I don’t know what is in it, but I assume she left the house to both of us. Maybe I could get a loan to buy Joey out or something. I shrug, not sure what else to say. I live where I live. I don’t know what Joey expects me to do or where she expects me to go.
She sneers again, turning her back and walking off in the opposite direction to the church hall across the road from the graveyard. Is she not coming to the wake? That’s rude. She has to come. She has to at least put in an appearance.
A few taxis are waiting on the other side of the graveyard. They always hover after a funeral, guaranteed one or two fares. Joey slides into one, and I have no idea what comes over me, but I jump into the second.
“Follow that taxi,” I tell the driver, who glances over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows raising.
“All right, miss.”
We go north from the South Side, through the industrial area to the northwest of San Remo. I’ve never been here before. Where the hell is Joey going?
Her taxi turns into a compound with a chain-link fence. I can see a sign on the fence proclaimingWild Hawks Clubhouse and Garage. Oh. Right. She runs with the Wild Hawks Motorcycle Club. They’re a one-percenter club here in San Remo. Of course she’s coming here after Mama’s funeral. I’ve never been here before. It’s more Joey’s style than mine.
