I’m not waiting for anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ms. Martin take a last swig out of one of her many hidden flasks. She herds the girls out of the car in their own black outfits and then staggers over and interrupts us, trying to strike up a casual conversation like she’s Mrs. White’s long-lost best friend. Her voice is loud and abrasive as ever, but here it draws even more looks.
Lola isn’t an idiot; she knows Ms. Martin is full of it, but she is a nice lady, and she tries to nod politely while her eyes scan the crowd for any opportunity to pull my horrendous excuse for a mother away from the grieving parents. Sorry lady, I think as I make my own withdrawal, she’s your problem now.
Fortunately, a life of petty crime has taught me how to blend into crowds, so before either of them can try and stop me, I’ve already slipped onto the other side of some trees between the parking lot and the funeral home where the reception is being held.
From my vantage point beyond the trees I can watch as the rest of the cars arrive. I’m surprised that there are so few of them at first. Under any other circumstances, Sadie’s funeral would have had the turnout of the decade … but from the looks of things, her parents really are doing everything they can to keep things under wraps.
The ushers aren’t even handing out obituaries, and there are big “no pictures” signs hanging all over. I can see Sadie White’s disappointed face shaking her head in my mind I almost feel sorry for her.
She’d be so pissed to know so few people showed up to her last party. In a way, I’m pissed too. Sadie was supposed to have everything, but the moment she fucked up, her parents abandoned her too.
This funeral isn’t about celebrating Sadie’s life, it’s about hiding her death … and it makes me sick. Maybe I don’t know much about what good parents do, but it seems to me that Sadie’s are doing this all wrong for her.
I catch one of the caterers stepping outside the small funeral home to take a smoke behind me and I catch a whiff of the spread inside. My stomach, still empty after a long night outside, draws me in. No use letting good food go to waste if I’m already forced to be here.
Lola has managed to get Ms. Martin away from the Whites, but now she’s stuck being gabbed at about how well things are going at the house. She doesn’t look convinced.
While the rest of the people who actually knew Sadie linger outside, I start picking over the best buffet spread I’ve ever seen. Forget shrimp cocktail, there’s carefully braised swordfish, lobster tails, prime rib—and those are just the entrees. I catch one of the caterer’s sizing me up, and just stuff another lobster tail in my mouth.
“Everyone grieves differently,” I say through my mouthful of food. He looks skeptical, but he leaves me alone—and that’s all the permission I need.
The whole setup is made a little off-putting by the fact that they’ve put up big “in memorial” posters on the other side of the table. Even I feel a little guilty taking that third dinner roll with Sadie’s yearbook photo smiling down at me like a ghost of prom-queens past.
As I look over the photos, the truly sad thing is how normal and happy she looked as a kid, before she grew up into an entitled monster who literally snubbed her nose at me any time someone inadvertently hurt her honor by saying we looked alike.
There’s a turning point mid-memorial where all the photographs shift from a happy little girl sitting on her uncle’s lap to a duck-faced debutante wearing short skirts and touting pom-poms. The real things are glued tackily to the end of the display beside her homecoming sash. They are the last things in the chronological line, her crowning glory. I stop for a closer look. Now this is the Sadie I knew.
I’m just reaching to pick at the edge of her driver’s license that’s been taped to the board when I hear the doors open behind me.
Instinctively, I step to the side and behind a pillar and immediately curse myself. It’s only weird if I make it weird, and I just made it weird. As soon as I hear them speaking, however, I know I made the right decision.
Sadie’s friend’s voices sound about as stale as their personalities. I catch the tail end of their conversation as they burst inside, whispering just quiet enough to give the appearance that they’re trying to be respectful, but still loud enough for anyone inside to overhear everything they say.
“… the way she reacted? Ugh. I’m embarrassed for Sadie.”
They stop moving at the end of the buffet to look at the memorial. None of them reaches for a plate, but I’m pretty sure it’s because none of them has actually eaten real food since they hit puberty.
I’m imagining one of the other girls is shaking her head. I can practically hear her brain rattling around in there.
“No wonder she wanted to go to Hawthorne. If I had a mother like that, I’d want out too.”
“I’d kill to go there,” the third girl says, sighing. She then quickly adds, “But I didn’t kill Sadie. I promise.”
I roll my eyes just in case none of them had the good sense to. Good lord woman, can’t one of you not make today about yourselves for once? Your best friend just died for goodness sake.
I’ve just about heard all I can handle from these girls. I’m about to turn back and face the fact that Ms. Martin is probably going to kill me if I don’t make an appearance outside and fast, when I hear a crackling, tearing sound.
One of the girls has pried Sadie’s new driver’s license from the board with her long, pointed nails. She wrinkles up her nose as she peers down at it.
“Little bitch,” she whispers. “This is what you get for trying to leave us.”
The other girls giggle nervously. She throws the card back down on the table.
“All she had to do was show up for the first day of school tomorrow, and the rest would be history. But she had to go and … and …” for the first time, one of the girls has to pause to sniff.