Real Bad Things(28)

Loved

Not a dumbass who would fall into a river and drown (as originally reported when he first went missing)

Not a criminal



Even Jason couldn’t suppress a laugh at that one.

He looked the same and different, like standing in front of a stranger she knew well. Gone were the tube socks with colorful stripes and hair in his face; instead he wore an ironed black button-down, mirrored sunglasses, and waxed black jeans. He looked like he could be an action star, or the handsome villain.

“Hey, kid,” she’d said when he’d come walking up the cemetery path before the funeral. She motioned for him to join her under the shade of a tree while waiting to take a seat. She wasn’t willing to sit in the front row and be stared at or stare at a casket any longer than necessary.

He didn’t nod or wave back but course corrected in her direction, like a robot, which didn’t match how he looked.

As he came closer, his lips lifted into a smile. She was reminded of watching movie stars walk the red carpet. That blink-and-you-miss-it hint of dread and annoyance, replaced with a warm smile as reporters and photographers approached.

She greeted him with a hug, which he accepted with a little pat on her back. His skin was cold from the air-conditioning in his car. He smelled expensive, like some of the guys she sometimes—used to—hung out with at Club Café in Boston.

She stuck her nostrils right on his neck and took a big whiff. He used to laugh when she did that.

“What are you doing?” he asked and pulled away from her, clearly not amused. First words she’d heard him say in years. His voice firm, mature, authoritative. His teeth so white.

“Lighten up,” she joked. “It’s just a funeral.”

“What are you doing here?” His plaster smile returned, as if the world watched.

“Trust me. It’s not by choice.” Jane had offered to sit this one out, but Diane wouldn’t hear of it. You’re gonna sit next to me and think about what you’ve done, she’d said. Such a mom thing to say for a mother who couldn’t be bothered half the time.

“There’s always a choice,” he said.

She didn’t know what to say in return. She felt scolded, small. Now she was the weird, quiet sibling with all the outsize feelings.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and surveyed the crowd. A few reporters lurked along with their crew, but they didn’t recognize Jane—at least not until Diane waved her and Jason over to take their seats. The plastic chairs squeaked as reporters and everyone else turned to stare.

“Ready?” she asked.

He stared at his phone, calculating responses in his head to whomever required his attention before committing them to ones and zeros. Finally, he looked up. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jane took a deep breath and stepped into the tent and onto the artificial turf, heading to the front row where Diane sat. Jason followed her. Whispers gathered as she passed. More than one phone camera clicked. The KMSM news crew hefted their cameras onto their shoulders. She could see the headlines. Hear the reporter’s disbelief that Diane had the heart to forgive her, that Jane had the audacity to show her face at her victim’s funeral, the question mark in the reporter’s tone asking the audience if they could do the same. She considered giving them all a little pageant wave but decided against it at the last minute. This part would be over soon. No need to prolong it or give Diane or anyone else fodder for the next round of gossip.

Warren’s family sat in the opposite row—cousins however many times removed, his parents being dead and sisters likely in jail for misdemeanor charges. Warren’s relations stared at Diane and Jane and Jason. Mostly they stared at Jane in her black suit. She wondered if any of them had changed the channel beyond CBS or Fox or seen anything outside their opioid-and-Confederate-flag-filled bubble. Definitely had never read anything longer than a receipt. They all had that Ingram eyelid droop, making them look inbred, shit drunk, or both. They didn’t come up to them before the service to hug Diane or give condolences. They wouldn’t after. Warren might’ve been loud and violent, but his family was quiet in their hatefulness. They looked without turning away. Their looks told Jane exactly what they thought of her.

Jason greeted Diane like someone he was forced to work with on a group project. All forced smiles and then grimaces when they parted. Meanwhile, Diane clung to him like a parasite, hungry for attention or affection, which he didn’t give. When he sat in a chair, Diane sat right next to him. But he pretended to have dropped something in the aisle, got up to feign a look, and managed to commandeer the seat next to Jane instead upon his return.

“Move down one,” he told Jane.

She screwed up her lip.

“So it doesn’t look weird,” he said.

Jane had grumbled and reluctantly moved to the vacant seat next to Diane, leaving Jane stuck in the middle. She wondered what had happened between them.

Now, while Chuck droned on, she also fantasized about the inside of Jason’s house and what it would feel like to cross the threshold of a world he’d built without her, to see if the walls were white and bare, the shades drawn down on the world, as they’d been in the roach-infested apartments they’d inhabited as kids, the oddly sweet scent of roach spray forever lodged in her nose. She wanted to believe Jason lived in one of the McMansions in Maud Proper, out near the golf course, where they’d gone trick or treating in the years when Diane remembered to take them. She wanted to believe he had hardwood floors instead of linoleum. Real art on the walls, not the shitty knockoffs you could buy at home stores. A dog with a human name—something like Bob or Harry—because Jason was too serious for cutesy names. A refrigerator stocked with steak and craft beer, not just condiments and stale white bread and Bud Light. A gym membership. A Netflix queue. A clean house, a backyard, neighbors who invited him over for barbecues, friends and colleagues who knew what made him laugh, what made him angry, what made him him.