A Beautiful Funeral
Page 42

The only solution was to stand and fight.
That recognition both devastated and empowered me, as each new understanding did. I swiped the page again, feeling my cheeks burn with the tears that had begun to spill over. I sniffed and wiped my nose, waking my husband.
He saw my face and sat up, tucking a stray strand that had fallen from my bun behind my ear. “Elle,” he said, barely above a whisper. “What is it?”
“Just reading a sad part,” I said.
He smiled. He teased me often that I was the only person he knew who cried over non-fiction, but growth was rattling, and I often had to leave the bruised pieces of me behind, no matter how attached I’d become to them.
“What part is that?” he asked, settling in next to me.
“That Thomas and Travis’s choice was reasonable, and it must have been so hard for them. They’ve been walking this earth so conflicted.”
Tyler thought about my words and then sighed. “Probably.”
“It’s hard to see the light in circumstances like this, even if you’re holding the candle.”
Tyler chuckled and then turned to me. “Did you read that?”
“No.”
“Your brain amazes me. Your thoughts are poetry.”
I breathed out a laugh. “Sometimes, I guess. It’s important to find strength in pain.”
Tyler kissed my cheek and then reached for our son. Gavin was the perfect balance of Tyler and me—at peace when he was angry, wearing pale, soft skin encompassing a kind, brave spirit, and an analytical mind. I ran my fingers over the short cut he insisted upon to look more like his daddy, making his lids flutter. His warm russet eyes embraced the dark. Just like us, he would live through his worst before being his best, and I both dreaded and welcomed the challenge. I’d spent a lot of time earning the right to be his mother.
“He’s been sleeping for a long time,” Tyler said.
“I don’t think he got a lot of sleep at the hospital. He needs it. His body will wake when it’s rested.”
We heard footsteps pass our door, walking down the hallway to the top of the stairs. Once they’d descended, Jim’s muffled voice greeted them.
“He’s up,” Tyler said. “We should go down.”
I nodded, carefully lifting Gavin’s head from my lap. Tyler placed a pillow under his head, and I tucked the blankets in around him. Tyler held my hand as we made our way to the table where Jim sat with Liis and Mr. Baird, the representative from the funeral home. He’d come earlier before Jim had woken from his nap, and insisted on waiting patiently for the family to gather. Mr. Baird was tall and lanky, his ash-colored hair parted to the side and carefully gelled and combed over. He turned the page of a catalog, quietly discussing the pros and cons of oak, cedar, and pine, and the more eco-friendly bamboo or banana leaf and explaining the difference between a coffin and a casket.
Two boxes of tissue were the centerpiece of the dining table, and Camille reached over her seated husband to pull out a sheet, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. She was standing behind him, rubbing his shoulders, but it seemed to be comforting her as well.
Liis was sitting next to Jim, stoic, almost disconnected. I assumed she would handle the details as she did her job, organized and meticulous, but she was deferring to Jim for almost every decision.
“What about an urn?” Travis asked.
Jim frowned, likely imagining the cremation of Thomas’s body instead of the vision Travis meant.
Liis nodded. “We could spread his remains in the backyard. He has so many stories of watching his brothers play there. I think he would like that.”
“I was thinking of giving him my plot next to his mother,” Jim said.
“That’s sweet,” I said, acknowledging the thought, but Trenton sighed, agitated.
“No, Dad,” Trenton said. “You belong next to Mom. Liis is right. Thomas wouldn’t want people staring at his body lying in a coffin.”
“Casket,” Mr. Baird corrected. “A coffin is a six or eight-sided wooden or metal burial unit that was historically used as a less expensive option. The angles provided use of fewer materials and…”
“No offense, Mr. Baird,” Trenton said, “but I don’t fucking care.” He looked down at his watch. “Damn it. I have to get to work.”
“I called in for you,” Camille said.
“You did?” Trenton asked, bewildered.
“You should be here.”
“Did you call in, too?” he asked.
“I can work from home.” She put her hands on his forearm, their skin a masterpiece of lines and colors. “I should be here with you.”
He turned, nodding and taking a deep breath. The smallest things seemed to bring everyone closer to the fact that this wasn’t a bad dream. Thomas was dead, and we were going to say goodbye to him soon.
“Most of us haven’t seen him since Christmas,” Taylor said, holding Falyn’s hand in his lap. They’d barely been able to stop touching since they’d made up earlier that day. “It would be closure for me to see him.”
Everyone looked at Liis, who stumbled over her next words. “I don’t think … I think in this case, an urn is preferable.”
“Are you saying that because he won’t look the same or because it can’t be an open casket?”
I tried not to gasp, but it happened, anyway. Olive did, too.
“I think,” Liis said, trading glances with Travis, “an urn is preferable.”
Jim looked away, trying to gather his emotions before responding. He cleared his throat. “Let’s see the urns, then.”
Papers rattled while Mr. Baird gathered the casket choices and put them away. He brought out a new catalog and printouts, and Liis opened the book to the first page of options.
“I need to know,” Trenton said.
“Please don’t,” Camille cried.
“Why can’t we have an open casket?” Trenton asked.
“Olive,” Falyn warned. “Go check on the kids.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, immediately turning for the stairs.
“Liis?” Trenton prompted.
“Trent,” Liis said, closing her eyes. “I understand knowing is part of your grieving process, but I can’t. This is too hard.”
Travis walked over to her and cupped her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Trent.”
“It fucking matters. I wanna know what happened to my brother.”
“He died,” Travis said.
Trenton slammed his fist on the table and stood. “I know! I know he fucking died! I wanna know why! I wanna know who let that happen!”
Travis’s voice was noticeably restrained. “No one. No one let it happen. It just is. We don’t have to pick someone to blame, Trent …”
“Yeah, we do. Tommy is dead, Travis. He’s fucking dead, and I blame the FBI. I blame him. I blame her,” he said, pointing at Liis. “And I blame you.” He was shaking, his eyes bloodshot and glossed over.
“Fuck you, Trent,” Travis said.
Trenton rounded the table, prompting the twins to stand between them. Travis stood stoic, unflinching while Trenton thrashed about wildly. I scrambled from my chair and stood with my back to the corner, palms flat against the walls.
“Every last one of you suited up motherfuckers ...!” Trenton seethed.
“Stop!” Tyler said, gripping the collar of Trenton’s shirt. “Stop, goddammit!”