“I guess I’m going to need a coat.”
She shoved him out of the way and began to choose things from her closet.
As she stepped out onto the front porch, she saw Bucky’s ladder, still propped up against the fence. The snow had collected on every rung.
* * *
The snow fell harder as they drove to the church. There were not many cars in the parking lot. The church looked the same, but the roof was white from the snow. She recognized the Chief’s truck, and the same station wagons and vans from the wedding.
It broke her heart a little bit, to see that the parking lot was barely a quarter full.
When they entered the church, it was worse than she expected. The front row was empty, except for Krystal, Bert, and the baby. Nobody sat in the pew across from them. The rows behind were occupied, contained all of the people she remembered from the day Bert and Krystal were married. Those plain people in their plain clothing. They were dressed identically, and it infuriated Rachel to see them in their cheap dark jackets and black pleated dresses.
Only Krystal was distinguishable. Rachel could see her from behind, in the seat closest to the aisle. She wore lipstick. Bert sat next to her, in a dark gray sweater. He was holding the baby, and Krystal rested her head on his shoulder.
The Chief and his wife sat in the back by themselves. Bucky steered Rachel over to them, and she sat down next to the Chief, who was holding on to his wife’s hand tightly.
There were no flowers. Rachel hated this place, the plainness, the cheapness; apparently there would be some sort of wake afterward—one wall was lined with those same card tables, covered in things wrapped in tinfoil and wax paper.
The door of the church opened, and a girl with dyed-black hair stomped past in heavy boots. She wore a black leather jacket and torn blue jeans. The congregation turned to stare. Rachel could smell her leather jacket as she sat down in front of them, the leather wet from the falling snow. The Chief tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around and glared at him.
“Misty?” The Chief seemed flabbergasted. “How did you get here?”
“Hitchhiked,” she said, and turned back around.
“There are no flowers,” said Rachel, and nobody responded.
She wanted to stand up and scream at the top of her lungs. This place was so empty and quiet and everything was too new, and Jake was a kid who appreciated things that were loud, things that had a previous life of their own. Jake’s funeral should have been held at Buley’s, not a place that still had pieces of masking tape around the doorjambs, a place that still smelled of fresh paint.
As if she had been conjured, Buley and Rocky entered the church. Rachel knew that nothing would keep Rocky away from his nephew’s funeral, even if his presence was unwanted. He helped Buley sit in the empty pew across from Krystal and Bert, a pew meant for family.
Bucky put his arm around Rachel, and the Chief’s wife offered her a handkerchief, the real kind, cloth, and the fact that Jake would have appreciated that made her cry even harder.
Reverend Foote came out onto the raised stage, entering from a little door off to the left.
Rachel gritted her teeth as he walked to the pulpit.
He led them in prayer. Rachel glanced over at Bucky, who was watching her closely.
She could not focus on his words, just kept staring at the row of card tables, thinking about how none of these people who belonged to this church belonged to Jake; they were here out of duty, and then to eat.
The parishioners began to sing “We Shall All Be Reunited.” The Chief opened up the songbook and placed it on her lap, but she refused to acknowledge it, and it fell to the floor and made a thump as it landed. It slid beneath Misty’s bench, and Misty kicked at it, and it came to rest between the third and fourth row.
Reverend Foote smiled when the song was over, and began to talk about lives cut short, about how God had a plan for each and every one of them. She could see Bert nodding his head.
Rachel found herself staring at the coffin. In truth, she had suspected that the size of it would gut her, but it wasn’t terribly small. Jake had been a little over five feet tall. He had just seemed so waifish and slight in real life. The coffin was plain, and brown, and didn’t look like expensive wood. It didn’t even seem polished. It didn’t gleam in the lights that shone on the reverend.
Reverend Foote was speaking about the survivors, Krystal and the baby, and Bert, and those in the church who had gotten to know and cherish Jake. At that point, Rachel was ready to start throwing casseroles, but she just pulled her jacket tighter around her.
Reverend Foote talked about lambs in heaven.
Rachel heard the door as it opened behind her. She didn’t turn around.
Then Rachel smelled something familiar. She immediately twisted in her seat.