Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game(18)

My fork clattered noisily onto my plate. “Grammy,” I started calmly, trying to keep my temper in check so she wouldn’t ride my ass. “I would really appreciate you dropping the subject of Greg considering the shi—the stuff I’m going through right now. I mean, isn’t it enough I have go to the funeral home for…” I broke off when my voice wavered at the thought of Jake being connected to Whitfield’s.

She sighed. “I’ve raised five boys, Noah. I’ve seen evah range of emotion possible since all of my boys are different in their own way. Life is hard, but it’s even harder when you don’t wanna face it.”

“But I am facing things,” I protested.

“Facin’ means acknowledgement and acceptance.” She shook her head. “You’re not there yet, baby.”

Suddenly, my favorite meal wasn’t so tasty anymore. I put my napkin on my plate and stood up from the table. Knowing how she was a stickler for manners, I said, “Excuse me, Grammy, but I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, you can’t go yet,” she hopped up from the table and hurried over the countertop. “I want you to take this cake to the Nelson’s for me.”

“I think you did enough last night,” I argued.

Grammy waved her hand dismissively at me. “Grieving bodies need fuel.”

My heart constricted a little in my chest when she lifted the lid on the ancient Tupperware container. It was her signature chocolate cake, and it was Jake’s favorite. She always made him one for his birthday. Even without closing my eyes, I could see him perched on a stool at the bar with a mixture of a chocolate and milk mustache smeared across his face—even when he was seventeen.

I took the cake from her. “Thanks, Grammy. I’m sure the Nelson’s will really appreciate this. And thanks for cooking dinner for me.” Giving her a weak smile, I added, “I really needed it.”

Grammy smiled. “I know you did, sweetheart.” She held the door open for me, and then hurried out to my jeep to open the passenger side door. I eased the cake down on the floorboard. I wasn’t about to tell Grammy that I wasn’t going in the funeral home with a cake in my hands. That was the last thing my reputation needed. I doubted anyone would wait around long enough for me to explain my grandmother had baked it. I’d already decided I’d wait until the crowd died down to give it to Jonathan or Jason.

After kissing Grammy goodbye, I buckled my seatbelt. With a heavy heart, I started my pilgrimage over to Whitfield’s. The parking lot was packed when I pulled in. It was quite a difference than last night when Maddie and I had come to drop off Jake’s things. I eased into a space next to a SUV full of football players. “Noah!” they called as soon as I hopped out of the Jeep.

“Hey guys,” I said. I glanced around the parking lot. “You all waiting on somebody?”

The four hefty full-backs eyed each other before staring down at the pavement. “Uh, no,” Paul Monroe muttered.

At any other time, it might have been remotely funny that four hulking football players were afraid to go in a funeral home. But I think I’d left my sense of humor back at Grammy’s.

“Yeah, well, I think I’ll go on in,” I said.

They nodded. As I started to the side door, I heard a scuffle behind me. The guys were following me.

The moment I opened the door, I cringed. Weeping wafted out of the viewing room into the corridor. I took a deep breath and pushed on through the doorway.

Jason and Jonathan were stationed at the double doors leading into the room with Jake’s urn. They looked quite different than how I’d seen them earlier in the afternoon. Their dark hair was slicked back, and they were wearing our “planned” outfits along with a black suit jacket.

A line formed out of the room and down the hallway. Kids from all groups of the Creekview caste system were lined up to pay their respects. The guy in front of me had dyed black hair and a studded dog collar on.

When Jonathan saw me, he motioned me forward. I felt kinda shitty cutting in line at a funeral home, but I did it anyway.

The crying got louder the closer I got to the room. It came together like a tragic symphony of sobs, sniffling, and rattling tissues.

I craned my neck to find Mrs. Nelson. She was weaving erratically around the room. One minute she would be laughing with someone after they shared a funny story about Jake, then in an instant like flicking on a switch, she was sobbing hysterically. Whenever she did that, Mr. Nelson would obediently go to her side. As if he could sense it, his hand would hover at the small of her back until she was overcome. Then he would catch her just before she slumped into the floor.

Jason must have noticed me eyeing his mom’s behavior. He eased over to me and lowered his voice. “She’s tripping on Valium and Xanex—it’s the only way we could get her here.”

“And a shot of PawPaw’s White Lightning,” Jonathan muttered, after the woman he’d been speaking to walked away.

“Wait, he gave her some of that shit?” Jason questioned.

Jonathan nodded grimly. “You were in the shower, I think. I took a spoon full, but she drank a half a cup.”

“Fuck me,” Jason murmured as he shook his head and stared in awe at his mother. “It’s a wonder she’s even still standing after all that. PawPaw’s moonshine is some serious shit.”