Of the Trees(55)
“To Jess,” Rebecca spoke quietly. Everyone stilled, watching and listening to her. “My best friend.”
She took a small sip and swallowed with a grimace. The crowd was quiet until a small voice called out, “Here, here.” The rest offered soft murmurs of support and Rebecca passed the flask. It was cold in Cassie’s fingers, sloshing half-full with some kind of liquor. She raised it slowly, looking at all the pictures of Jessica that surrounded her. They spoke volumes, so much more than the formal school picture her family had chosen to enlarge, or the stiff tweed jacket someone had forced her body into. She was laughing, scowling, and in one, obviously swearing as she held a solitary finger aloft for the camera. She was afraid of nothing.
“To Jess,” Cassie said, her voice louder than the rest and more forceful. “I miss you already. I’m pissed that you’re gone. I love you, you stubborn bitch.”
There was a smattering of repressed laughter and someone called out “Cheers!” Cassie took a slug of what turned out to be whiskey and passed it around, settling with Rebecca next to a phone that showed Jessica lounging on a beach. They propped their own phones up: Rebecca with a photo of her and Jessica at a sleepover; Cassie had one of Jessica in her softball uniform, squinting at the camera.
Students came and went, retreating from the stiff, formal gathering inside to the colder but easier wake they created themselves, the send-off that Jessica would have approved of. They told stories, huddled in tight groups against the chill of the night. They laughed at the ridiculous things Jessica had done over the years, sharing things that had happened in elementary school through this past year. Rebecca wiped tears of laughter and anguish away to reveal that Jessica had hated her neighbor Claire, always complaining about how much the sixteen-year-old girl bothered her, and how Claire was now blubbering in the corner of the funeral home. Cassie found herself laughing at how much Jessica would have hated that. Hated the whole fussy thing.
Cassie didn’t know if it was the sip of whiskey, the rowdy toasts, or the general camaraderie found by making fun of the things Jessica hated, of making fun of Jessica herself, knowing that everyone there really had loved her and really would miss her, but she felt better. For the first time in days, she felt something small thaw inside her chest.
Even when the door opened, spilling golden light onto the gravel and grass that lined the back of the house, and Ryan appeared framed in the doorway, Cassie didn’t freeze. He moved out of the funeral home, Jon at his back. He watched her as he stepped onto the grass and she held his gaze, staring back with one eyebrow raised, an open challenge. Because yes, what had happened between them mattered. It hurt, and she ached at the thought of it. But there were other things, more important things, to consider. They were both still alive. They had that, and Jessica didn’t, and it felt disrespectful to not acknowledge it.
Someone tossed him the flask, and he caught it, his eyes widening slowly. But he raised it and made a toast of his own, calling Jessica an incredible friend to Rebecca, saying that she wasn’t easy to know, but that it was easy to see what she meant to others. Rebecca actually teared up again, and someone shoved him, teasing him for being so deep. He shrugged and grinned, taking a pull from the flask before tossing it back across the circle.
Cassie felt a small glow spark at his words. That was what she loved about him. He saw people. He understood. She watched him lean back against the house, talking quietly to Jon. He must have felt her stare because he looked up at her. She didn’t look away and, for a moment, neither did he. She couldn’t force a smile, her expression open and blank, but it didn’t matter because Jon nudged him an instant later and he was gone, walking around the edge of the circle and further from her. She felt a twinge in her chest, a twist of loss, but it was no worse than the other cacophony of horrid emotions that had been strangling her for days, so it was easy to ignore.
Cassie and Rebecca eventually made their way back inside, the whiskey still warm on her lips. People started to drift toward the exit. Cassie could actually see the end of the line of mourners, straggling at the doorway, but blessedly ending. The police still sat in stiff observance, watchful of the crowd. Cassie nudged Rebecca and nodded toward them, telling her she’d catch up later. Rebecca headed back toward the front, Jessica’s mother reaching back to squeeze her hand as she neared. Cassie went and sat in the row of chairs in front of the officers, twisting a bit in her seat so she could see them.
“Hi,” she murmured, catching Officer Gibbon’s eye. He nodded at her and gestured to his partner.
“Miss Harris?” Cassie nodded at his implied question, confirming her name, and he continued. “Officer Fitzpatrick.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cassie said, glancing briefly at the young, female officer. It could have been her first year on the job, she didn’t look that much older than Cassie. “Have you found anything more about Jude?”
“Jude,” Officer mused, frowning. “The boy Miss Evans was with that night.”
“The man,” Cassie corrected.
“The one from St. Paul’s,” Officer Gibbons continued, looking to his partner. She nodded in understanding. Cassie looked from one to the other.
“But, no,” she started, shaking her head, “I mean, he doesn’t actually go there, does he? He said he did, but I really think that was a lie. I saw him at the carnival, he was working one of the booths. Have you found him?”