Page 4 of Dirty Liars
I hop out and slam the door behind me before Ms. Martin can try to stop me. It’s a deceptively nice day for a funeral. That late-summer smell of cut grass is offset by the hum of bees already busily trying to pollinate the cut flowers laid out on nearby gravesites.
My feet have barely touched the pavement when the morning quiet is pierced with an ear-spitting shriek.
“Sadie!”
Before I can register what’s going on, a tear-streaked woman is barreling into me with arms outstretched wide. Her hands clutch at by back, my hair, and then grab me by either side of my face and holds me out at arm’s length.
Sadie’s mother, Mrs. White looks over me with a crazed look in her eye. Black liner is smudged and streaked down her cheeks, highlighting the look of desperation painted across her features.
“Sadie, sweetie, I almost … I thought …”
Her outburst has started drawing other eyes. Lola has stepped back from the car and looks mortified as Mrs. White’s break down continues and I just try to pry myself from her grip without gathering even more of a crowd.
But she isn’t having any of it. Unable to hold on to her daughter in life, Mrs. White isn’t going to let go now. Everything in me tenses and she crushes me in a vice-like grip. “You’re back! You’re here!” She begins to sob, and all I can do is plead silently as her husband finally appears over her shoulder, an equally confused look on his face. I’m frozen to the spot. I can’t move from a combination of fear and her iron arms around me.
Her husband, Mr. White, blinks a few times, and then reaches for his wife mechanically, forcing her back and off of me.
“Dear, get a hold of yourself. This is … this is not Sadie.” He stops for a second, his eyes searching over me as if trying to convince himself of what he’s already saying. But he just shakes his head and frowns as his wife tries to pull herself free so she can lunge at me again.
“Stop! It’s Sadie! Look at her! How can you say that it’s not? That’s my baby!” Mrs. White is in hysterics, but then she looks at me again, and I see the realization come into her tear-flooded eyes. She’s only just now starting to come back to her senses, and her tears are quickly turning to confusion as she looks me over once more.
“Wait. You’re not … if you’re not … who are you?” She looks up at her husband with wide, vacant eyes. “I thought you said only close friends. At this pace … everyone is going to know …” She covers her face with her hands. “Isn’t it enough that our baby girl is … gone … now everyone is going to knoweverything.”
Several of Sadie’s old friends have stopped at the edge of the parking lot and are staring as the scene unfolds. They’ve taken this opportunity to show off a variety of stylish black outfits, and from the way they’re greedily eyeing the spectacle I can tell they’re already trying to figure out the best way to retell this story to friends later. Well … the ones that are still alive.
That got dark fast.I’m sure they’re grieving in their own, weird and shallow, way.
Lola Hines has managed to slip away from the car and hurries over to make sure I haven’t been hurt in Mrs. White’s temporarily melt-down. She puts a hand protectively around my shoulders, and though I know she means well, I tense up again.
“This is Theodora Price. You were one of Sadie’s friends, weren’t you?” She shakes her head, and glances sadly at the Whites.
For a second, Sadie’s mother gets that glassy-eyed look on her face again. She reaches out with one hand to brush a stray lock that’s escaped my ponytail away from my face, but she stops herself at the last second. Lola and her husband are both holding their breath, waiting to see if she’s going to melt down again.
I’m not waiting for anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ms. Martin take a last swig out of one of her many hidden flasks. She herds the girls out of the car in their own black outfits and then staggers over and interrupts us, trying to strike up a casual conversation like she’s Mrs. White’s long-lost best friend. Her voice is loud and abrasive as ever, but here it draws even more looks.
Lola isn’t an idiot; she knows Ms. Martin is full of it, but she is a nice lady, and she tries to nod politely while her eyes scan the crowd for any opportunity to pull my horrendous excuse for a mother away from the grieving parents.Sorry lady, I think as I make my own withdrawal,she’s your problem now.
Fortunately, a life of petty crime has taught me how to blend into crowds, so before either of them can try and stop me, I’ve already slipped onto the other side of some trees between the parking lot and the funeral home where the reception is being held.
From my vantage point beyond the trees I can watch as the rest of the cars arrive. I’m surprised that there are so few of them at first. Under any other circumstances, Sadie’s funeral would have had the turnout of the decade … but from the looks of things, her parents really are doing everything they can to keep things under wraps.
The ushers aren’t even handing out obituaries, and there are big “no pictures” signs hanging all over. I can see Sadie White’s disappointed face shaking her head in my mind I almost feel sorry for her.
She’d be so pissed to know so few people showed up to her last party. In a way, I’m pissed too. Sadie was supposed to have everything, but the moment she fucked up, her parents abandoned her too.
This funeral isn’t about celebrating Sadie’s life, it’s about hiding her death … and it makes me sick. Maybe I don’t know much about what good parents do, but it seems to me that Sadie’s are doing this all wrong for her.
I catch one of the caterers stepping outside the small funeral home to take a smoke behind me and I catch a whiff of the spread inside. My stomach, still empty after a long night outside, draws me in. No use letting good food go to waste if I’m already forced to be here.
Lola has managed to get Ms. Martin away from the Whites, but now she’s stuck being gabbed at about how well things are going at the house. She doesn’t look convinced.
While the rest of the people who actually knew Sadie linger outside, I start picking over the best buffet spread I’ve ever seen. Forget shrimp cocktail, there’s carefully braised swordfish, lobster tails, prime rib—and those are just the entrees. I catch one of the caterer’s sizing me up, and just stuff another lobster tail in my mouth.
“Everyone grieves differently,” I say through my mouthful of food. He looks skeptical, but he leaves me alone—and that’s all the permission I need.
The whole setup is made a little off-putting by the fact that they’ve put up big “in memorial” posters on the other side of the table. Even I feel a little guilty taking that third dinner roll with Sadie’s yearbook photo smiling down at me like a ghost of prom-queens past.
