and in a few more minutes, the first part of the funeral was over. The minister told everyone which cemetery my mom was being buried at, if they’d like to join the procession there. Flags to stick on their cars sat in a basket near the main doors. They could take them, put the flag on their cars, and wait for the casket to get loaded into the hearse.
Everyone got up. A few found their way to me, telling me how sorry they were for my loss. I didn’t say much to them, because there was nothing to say at this point. My mom was dead, my family destroyed. I’d lost so much lately, it was hard to think I could go on.
But then I looked down at the girl beside me, and she looked up at me. Those big, pretty brown eyes told me everything I needed to hear: she wasn’t going to leave my side. Jaz would stick with me, help me get through this. Help me see through the fog of depression and make me want to live again.
Even though Ms. Smith might want to kill me, I found myself reaching for Jaz’s hand, holding it as we exited the church.
People were in no rush to put the flags onto their cars. Many of them remained just outside the doors, the sunlight a warm, spring day. Flowers bloomed all around, pretty pinks and yellows. They chatted, a few of them laughed. It was like they weren’t at a funeral, like they were at a bar, socializing. In that moment, I hated them. I did.
Ms. Smith spotted our entwined hands, but she said nothing. She turned her blonde head, glancing back inside the church. Oliver had stayed back to speak with the minister. “That was a lovely service,” she said, small talk that just wasn’t necessary.
I nodded, not wanting to say anything to that. Not wanting to continue this pointless conversation. Couldn’t we just bury my mom and get it over with?
She said something else, and Jaz looked at me as if she was apologizing for her mother. What could you do? Even though Ms. Smith might not like me, she’d taken it upon herself to become my stand-in mom during this shitty time.
A few gasps left a group beside us, and we turned to look at them, but they were busy staring at something far off, something on the outer edges of the mostly-empty parking lot.
My dentist, an older woman, muttered to herself, “Isn’t that…” She couldn’t finish. It seemed everyone was suddenly speechless.
That couldn’t be good.
“What’s going on?” Ms. Smith spoke, moving to the side, trying to see what had everyone’s attention. “Oh, my…”
Still holding onto Jaz’s hand, we both moved to see, and when I spotted what was there, I felt reality itself shatter around me. No. No, no, no. What—how? My mind was a jumbled mess, because it wasn’t a what I stared at across the parking lot; it was a who.
And that who was Brittany Pots, looking rather thin and covered in dirt and grime, wearing clothes that were now two sizes too big.
“What the fuck?” Jaz muttered, and even her mother was too shocked at the limping girl approaching the funeral party to scold her for swearing—something I’d noticed Ms. Smith had a habit of doing.
No, Jaz was right.
What the fuck was this?
Multiple people were on their phones, probably dialing for an ambulance. I didn’t move towards her, but that didn’t stop Brittany from struggling to get to me. She was barefoot, the bottoms of her feet a bit bloody, and when she made it to me, I had to release Jaz’s hand to catch her as she collapsed.
Jaz and I exchanged looks.
“Archer,” Brittany whispered, her lips dry. She said nothing more, passing out in my arms.
Well, I couldn’t see the future, but I knew this wasn’t good.
Leave it to Brittany Pots to ruin my mom’s funeral. Leave it to her to make the day all about her. Shouldn’t she be dead? It wasn’t like I wanted her to be dead, but damn it, things would be so much easier if she’d stayed dead.
An ambulance came and took her to the hospital. The minister couldn’t delay my mom’s service, but I couldn’t go and watch my mom’s casket get lowered into the ground while Brittany was in the hospital, telling anyone whatever she wanted. I had to get to the bottom of it. Needless to say, I didn’t trust her.