This does not feel the way it looks in movies. In the movies, it’s sad, tragic, and almost beautiful. Violins and soft piano, pretty people gliding around in black, dark sunglasses hiding their eyes. But this shit? Right here, right now is nothing close to an easy state of melancholy. The music comes from overhead in a static whisper, the same kind they play at Bev’s Grocery. The room is dingy and drab, even with the scattered floral arrangements that barely give off any scent. It smells like wet concrete and bar soap. The yellowed walls have seen so much that they just don’t care anymore. Feet shuffling, hands looking for things to do, no one, not one person wants to be here. Staring back at Maisey’s box, I know, just know that if she saw this, she wouldn’t have wanted any of it. She wouldn’t have left them behind.
Tears pool and I press my knuckles into my eyes. And just when I think it’s not like the movies in here, Jane walks in. Jane Hulmes, but with a reluctant air, lagging behind her mom and the guy from her driveway the night of Chris’s party. He’s thin, stiff suited, with Jane’s dark hair and eyes. Her mom’s a plump, pretty bleached blonde wearing too many layers for the spring and more than enough eyeliner rimming her eyes. Jane’s in a short black dress with her hair pulled into a low bun. Her eyes are blank, alternating her stare between straight ahead and the ground in front of her. I shrink a few inches lower in my seat.
Why on earth is she here? Mean girl with a heart of gold? An overwhelmingly guilty conscience? It must be the latter. If I feel bad, surely Belmont’s biggest bitch and Maisey’s nastiest critic must be rotting inside.
I “hmph” quietly. Too late on this one, Jane. Maybe next time.
They walk the aisle, and the eyes of Maisey’s parents quickly register their presence. A sudden flash of anger flashes in Mr. Morgan’s eyes. Mrs. Morgan sways and steps back.
They must have known what a bully Jane was.
Mr. Morgan lunges forward, stalking up to the Hulmes with such vengeance that I flinch. Collective gasps come from the mourners, seated and standing. Mrs. Morgan is frozen next to Maisey’s box, wringing her hands.
Mr. Morgan grabs the guy’s arm, spewing into his face, “Joe, you don’t belong here. The laws haven’t changed just because it’s a funeral. You have no right. No right. You’re an abomination.”
Mrs. Morgan steps up, her voice shakes. “Please leave before we notify the police.”
“I’m sorry,” the man mutters as he lowers his head and walks straight out without looking back. Mrs. Morgan turns to Jane and her mother. Jane’s head is down, her body shivering while her mom stands like a statue clasping Jane’s hand. Mrs. Morgan steps directly into Ms. Hulmes’s gaze. “You. You can leave with your husband.”
Ms. Hulmes shakes her head, chin quivering, tears falling from her eyes. “Please …”
Mr. Morgan puts his arm around his wife pulling her back, then addresses Ms. Hulmes as Jane studies the tops of her own shoes. “Janice, you need to go. Now.”
“Enough said, Charles. We’re leaving.”
“Oh jeez, let’s go too.” I poke Mom’s arm.
“Just hang on, it’d be rude to get up right now.” She rests her hand on my knee to stop me from rising.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say.
“Bree.” She presses harder on my knee.
“I’m serious. I promise. I’ll be right back.”
As I pass the window of the front doors, I see Ms. Hulmes and Joe walking back out into the parking lot. Jane isn’t behind them but three guys are at their heels as if making sure they’re leaving. Ms. Hulmes turns back toward the funeral home but the tallest guy blocks her as she argues, waving her hands around and pointing back my way. One of the guys turns and heads back as Jane’s mom and Joe are escorted to the black SUV from the other night. I step away from the door and head down the hallway looking for a restroom sign.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
I spin around and the tall guy from outside is waving me down.
“Um, yes?” I raise my eyebrows as my heart drops at the idea of being caught semi-eavesdropping.
“I hate to bother you but do you mind checking the ladies room for a small brunette in a black dress? Her name’s Jane.”
Uh, yeah, I do mind. I didn’t really want to see Jane here. “Sure, no problem. But I don’t know where the restrooms are.”
“Last door on the right. If she’s in there, please tell her to make it quick. Her ride’s in a hurry to leave.”
I push the bathroom door open, hoping to find it empty, but it’s not. Right away I notice Jane’s black heels and her voice echoing a whispered screech over a bathroom stall. “I’m not going back with you guys. I’ll find my own ride. I told you this was a bad idea. You’re so fucking delusional, Mom. No. I’m not getting back in the car with him. I have a ride. Just go. I’m hanging up now. Bye.”
I open the door again, and shake it a little and cough as I pretend to walk back in. “Hello? Is somebody in here? Jane?”
“Shit.” She whispers. “Hang on a second,” she calls out. A few seconds later, the stall door opens. Jane adjusts the thin black strap of a tiny black leather bag over her shoulder and speaks into her phone. “Hey, It’s me. I just texted you. I need you to pick me up from the SA gas station in about ten minutes. Call or text me as soon as you get this.”
She steps up to the sink and turns on the faucet. Her face is snide as hell as she yanks a towel to dry her hands. “What’re you doing here?”
“What do you think?”
Her lip twitches a little and she raises an eyebrow. “You just get here?” Her fear is way too easy to read. If I was half the asshole she is, I’d let her know the spectacle I just witnessed or at least make her sweat a little.