spot up front. She ignores the sign marking it for the immediate family of the deceased and switches off the car to save on gas while we wait for everyone else to arrive.
I slouch down in my seat as far as possible and wish I could just completely disappear.
“Who shows up early to a funeral?”
A couple other cars have started to pull up and park beside us, and I catch one of the people dressed in black eyeing our parking job with narrowed eyes. Ms. Martin doesn’t look at me from where’s she’s fixing her gaudy red lipstick in the car mirror. She smacks her lips a couple times, and then flicks the visor back up.
When she does, I spot a figure getting out of the car beside us and suddenly everything starts making sense. Ms. Martin sees where my eyes go, and suddenly her claws are digging into my arm. She leans down close and glares at me.
“You’re going to be nice and quiet and put on a good show or you’re going to regret it. Do you want a bruise on your other arm to match the first one? Because I can put it there if you need convincing.”
A face appears on the other side of the glass and she quickly lets go of my arm.
“Oh, fancy seeing you here!” Ms. Martin says as she cranks down the manual window on her side.
Lola Hines, the social services officer in charge of Ms. Martin’s case leans in to peer through the crack in the window.
“I didn’t expect you see you here,” she says, her eyes flitting to the candy wrappers littering the floor and vodka bottle Ms. Martin keeps kicking back under the seat only for it to roll right back out.
“We were just so devastated to hear about little Sadie White …” Ms. Martin starts, her voice dripping with fake concern.
I can’t sit in here a moment longer to hear this garbage. It’s obvious the only reason we’re here in the first place is so Ms. Martin can try to impress Lola. She’s always looking for some kind of opportunity to try to convince her there’s no need for a home visit any time soon. All it ever does is make sure Lola’s going to stop by very soon and one of us is going to be blamed for it.
I was already irritated with Ms. Martin for making me go to this funeral, but this is just too much. Screw her threats. Even I have my limits.
I hop out and slam the door behind me before Ms. Martin can try to stop me. It’s a deceptively nice day for a funeral. That late-summer smell of cut grass is offset by the hum of bees already busily trying to pollinate the cut flowers laid out on nearby gravesites.
My feet have barely touched the pavement when the morning quiet is pierced with an ear-spitting shriek.
“Sadie!”
Before I can register what’s going on, a tear-streaked woman is barreling into me with arms outstretched wide. Her hands clutch at by back, my hair, and then grab me by either side of my face and holds me out at arm’s length.
Sadie’s mother, Mrs. White looks over me with a crazed look in her eye. Black liner is smudged and streaked down her cheeks, highlighting the look of desperation painted across her features.
“Sadie, sweetie, I almost … I thought …”
Her outburst has started drawing other eyes. Lola has stepped back from the car and looks mortified as Mrs. White’s break down continues and I just try to pry myself from her grip without gathering even more of a crowd.
But she isn’t having any of it. Unable to hold on to her daughter in life, Mrs. White isn’t going to let go now. Everything in me tenses and she crushes me in a vice-like grip. “You’re back! You’re here!” She begins to sob, and all I can do is plead silently as her husband finally appears over her shoulder, an equally confused look on his face. I’m frozen to the spot. I can’t move from a combination of fear and her iron arms around me.
Her husband, Mr. White, blinks a few times, and then reaches for his wife mechanically, forcing her back and off of me.
“Dear, get a hold of yourself. This is … this is not Sadie.” He stops for a second, his eyes searching over me as if trying to convince himself of what he’s already saying. But he just shakes his head and frowns as his wife tries to pull herself free so she can lunge at me again.
“Stop! It’s Sadie! Look at her! How can you say that it’s not? That’s my baby!” Mrs. White is in hysterics, but then she looks at me again, and I see the realization come into her tear-flooded eyes. She’s only just now starting to come back to her senses, and her tears are quickly turning to confusion as she looks me over once more.
“Wait. You’re not … if you’re not … who are you?” She looks up at her husband with wide, vacant eyes. “I thought you said only close friends. At this pace … everyone is going to know …” She covers her face with her hands. “Isn’t it enough that our baby girl is … gone … now everyone is going to know everything.”
Several of Sadie’s old friends have stopped at the edge of the parking lot and are staring as the scene unfolds. They’ve taken this opportunity to show off a variety of stylish black outfits, and from the way they’re greedily eyeing the spectacle I can tell they’re already trying to figure out the best way to retell this story to friends later. Well … the ones that are still alive.
That got dark fast. I’m sure they’re grieving in their own, weird and shallow, way.
Lola Hines has managed to slip away from the car and hurries over to make sure I haven’t been hurt in Mrs. White’s temporarily melt-down. She puts a hand protectively around my shoulders, and though I know she means well, I tense up again.
“This is Theodora Price. You were one of Sadie’s friends, weren’t you?” She shakes her head, and glances sadly at the Whites.
For a second, Sadie’s mother gets that glassy-eyed look on her face again. She reaches out with one hand to brush a stray lock that’s escaped my ponytail away from my face, but she stops herself at the last second. Lola and her husband are both holding their breath, waiting to see if she’s going to melt down again.