Sweet Dreams
Page 154

“Bubby baby,” she whispered, latched onto Jonas so that Jonas’s face was stuffed into her ample cle**age. His hands were at her waist in a way I couldn’t tell if he was trying to push away or hold on and she was rocking him roughly back and forth.
I got close. “Um, can I help you?”
She lifted her head to look at me with dark brown eyes flecked with tawny, eyes I knew very well.
Tate’s mother.
Wow.
Something washed over her face as she stared at me and I didn’t know her but I knew that something was not good.
I felt Tate round the hood of the SUV as I saw my family round the back.
“Mom?” Tate asked and she tore her eyes from me to look at Tate.
She unceremoniously let Jonas go so swiftly he listed to the side and she said, “Buck, baby.” Then she threw herself in Tate’s arms.
I moved to Jonas, pulling him carefully to my side with an arm around his shoulders, his arm slid along my waist and I looked at Tate to see he was holding his mother but his eyes were aimed over her head at me.
“I can’t believe it, baby, I can’t. I heard and I couldn’t believe it.” Her voice was heavy with tears, she tipped her head back and Tate looked down at her when she finished. “You must be devastated.”
“Mom –” Tate started.
“I mean Neeta,” she went on.
“Mom –”
“Your Neeta,” she continued.
“Mom, you wanna –”
“I never thought I’d see it, it’s like the end of an era. You were born two halves of a whole,” Tate’s Mom proclaimed then wailed, “Buck, baby, how’re you gonna live without your other half?” And she collapsed in Tate’s arms, her sobs clearly audible because they were loud.
I watched Tate’s jaw get tight as his eyes went over his mother’s head to find mine.
“Babe, take Jonas inside,” he ordered.
I nodded because he looked pissed. And because of that, I tried not to let it show that his mother’s words affected me, I glanced at my family and then led Jonas toward the building.
We’d taken five steps when I heard her say in a loud whisper, “Buck, darlin’, who on earth is she?”
Jonas’s arm convulsed at my waist, I avoided my family’s eyes and I hurried him forward.
* * * * *
Jonas didn’t stay glued to me during the run up to the memorial service because Tate’s Mom, Shania, (Stella shared her name with me, she also shared that wasn’t her real name, her real name was Bernadette, but it was the name she changed it to when she was forty and having her first (Stella reported there were three that she knew of) mid-life crisis) commandeered him, acting like she was a staple in his life even though he looked confused and uncomfortable as she pulled him this way and that, keeping her hands on him nearly all the time.
Shania also spent a great deal of time sobbing, exclaiming about what a loss wild, crazy, full of life Neeta was to the world and generally sucking all of the attention she could get.
I hung back with my family, who stayed close and quiet. What made matters worse was the fact that Tate was clearly incensed by his mother’s behavior and he wasn’t the only one. Pop, Wood, Stella, Krystal, Jim-Billy, Betty, Ned and practically everyone else glared at her openly but her shields were solid and these glares glanced off her with no visible effect. Tate stayed close to Shania but I figured this was because of Jonas rather than any need to be near his mother. In fact, he seemed to be struggling with his desire to say something. But the events of the day forced him to behave with decorum and I knew this was taking a lot out of him because my man pretty much let it rip whenever the mood came over him and I could tell the mood was most definitely over him.
It was when the service was about to start and I’d shifted with my family and sat in the back when it happened.
Shania led Tate and Jonas to the front row and made a show of declaring the seating arrangements, herself between “my two boys” (her loud words). Tate nor Jonas sat, however, even when she pushed at the both of them. The Jackson boys’ eyes searched the large congregation and found me. When they did, I shook my head and smiled that it was okay and it was. It wasn’t for me to sit with them in the front row at Neeta’s funeral.
I was looking at my boys therefore I was startled when I heard Pop say from beside me, “Sweetheart.”
I looked to the side and up to see he had his arm extended in front of my Dad, his hand toward me.
“Pop, it’s okay,” I whispered.
“Family sits in front,” Pop stated.
“It’s okay, I think –”
“Family sits in front, Laurie.”
“Pop, you should –”
“Front,” he rumbled.
“Go, hon,” Dad whispered, I looked at him, he nodded to me, I bit my lip, looked at Pop and took his hand.
He led me to the front.
“Move along, Shania,” Stella demanded quietly when Pop and I got there.
“What?” Shania asked Stella but her eyes were on me.
“Down the row,” Stella stated.
Shania twisted her neck to look at Stella. “I’m sittin’ with my boys.”
“Fine, you can do that but down the row,” Stella returned.
“But –” Shania started and Tate moved.
He leaned in, grabbed my hand and looked down at Jonas. “Sit, Bub.”
Instantly, Jonas sat, Tate used my hand to pull me in front of Shania and he pushed me in the seat beside Jonas then he sat down beside me.
He looked up at his mother and jerked his head down the row. “Sit, Mom.”
Quickly, Stella sat at the end of the aisle. Wood sat by her, Wood’s pretty, dark-haired six year old daughter crawling into his lap. Pop sat between Wood and Jonas, Tate sat by me and Shania had no choice but to sit at the end.
Blake, Neeta’s man, sat opposite the aisle with what looked like his parents beside him and Neeta’s posse led by Carmen plopping down in seats by the parents. I glanced in his direction but Tate didn’t, nor did any of Neeta’s family, nor Jonas, and Blake didn’t look our way. But I could see, even from his profile, he was lost and suffering. It might have gone bad along the way but once it had been good and that was what Blake Daniels was remembering while he stared at the closed casket.
“This is bullshit.” I heard Shania mutter, taking my mind off Blake and then I felt Tate’s angry, dark energy flash.
He turned to her and whispered, “One more word, I swear to God…”