To Die For

Watching myself turn from side to side in the mirror, I was surprised how much older I looked. Surely, Violet would approve. "I think this dress will work. But, uh, do you have something that would be good for the visitation tonight?"

My request excited the clerk and she returned with several skirts and blouses. With her help, I settled on a pale green skirt and a white sleeveless blouse.

"Do you have shoes to match?" she asked.

I paused and that was all the encouragement she needed. She returned with several pair for me to try on. The first were black pumps with two-inch heels. I hoped I could figure out how to walk in them before the funeral the next day. The other was a pair of white sandals. As I slipped them on, I felt a vision coming.

"Your daughter is sneakin' out of the house to see her boyfriend at night."

The woman appeared startled. "What? How did you know I had a daughter?"

I shrugged. "Lucky guess." Thank goodness I was done shopping because she gave me a wary look.

I paid for my things and drove home, overcome with exhaustion. I wasn't used to shopping and wondered how people did it all day. I barely lasted a half an hour.

When I opened the kitchen door, the soft glow of the living room caught my eye. The warmth made me eager to put up the curtains and move the furniture back in. I briefly entertained the idea of asking Joe for help, but his car wasn't in his driveway. It was for the best. I needed to learn to do things on my own.

It was early afternoon, and I didn't have to meet Violet at the funeral home until six o'clock. I had plenty of time to work on the living room. I hung the new curtains and moved the chair and the television back in, trying to figure out how to arrange them. The lone chair looked ridiculous so I decided to bring out a slipper chair tucked in Momma's room.

I pushed open the door, the smell of dust and Estee Lauder perfume wafting out. Tears stung my eyes. Momma would never be in her room again.

I took a deep breath and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The curtains were pulled shut, her bed made. I hadn't been in Momma's room in years and it felt like walking into a museum. I knew at some point I'd have to clean it out, but not now. I couldn't bear to think about it. Right now I only planned to take her chair. The upholstery of ivory with red flowers and green leaves would go perfect in the living room. I scooted it down the hall and placed it next to the other chair. It would work for now, but there was no denying I needed a new sofa.

I wondered how I could even be considering furniture when Momma lay in a box several miles away.

Since I stirred up a lot of dust, I took a bath before I dressed in my new clothes. A glimpse of myself in the mirror told me my scraggly hair wouldn't work with my new outfit. After finding some bobby pins in a drawer, I put my hair in a French roll, something I'd seen Violet do. I wasn't used to working with my hair though and it took me multiple tries until I finally got it to where it looked pa.s.sable. Surveying the results, I decided Violet would approve. I ate a quick sandwich and headed to the funeral home.

Violet and Mike were already there. Violet took one look at me as I walked in, clearly not expecting what she saw.

"Rose, you look...different." She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Good different?"

She pulled away and studied me. "Good... I think. Older. Just different."

Mike kissed me on the cheek. "You look beautiful, Rose. Violet just prefers that you look seventeen years old is all."

That wasn't the reaction I hoped for, but I'd take it. Mike was probably right.

Daddy's younger sister, Aunt Bessie, had already arrived along with her husband, Uncle Earl. They lived in Lafayette County, the next county over, but I'd only seen them a few times since Daddy's funeral. Momma made it no secret she wasn't partial to them. I always suspected it had something to do with Aunt Bessie being younger and more stylish. Uncle Earl rarely spoke but that made him guilty by a.s.sociation.

They both gave me warm hugs.

"Look at you, Rose, all grown up. You're beautiful, child." Aunt Bessie gushed.

"Thanks, Aunt Bessie." I shrugged off her comment. "It's good to see you." I meant it. She was one of the few people in the world who understood me.

She put an arm around my shoulder. "I'm sorry about your momma."

I thanked her, wondering why I didn't feel more grief. Mostly I felt freedom.

A man in a suit told us it was time. The five of us walked down a hall and he opened a door to the Magnolia Room, revealing an open casket against the far wall flanked by sprays of flowers. They made me feel like we were hosting a garden party and Momma was the hostess everyone came to see.

Laid in her coffin, Momma looked different. Kind of like a new and improved Momma, only she was dead and couldn't enjoy it. They had fixed her hair and put a small hat over the spot where her head had been smashed in. She actually had on makeup, though it was kind of pancakey. But even so, she looked good, better than I'd ever seen her.

I stood in front of the coffin unsure of what was expected of me. Daddy's funeral was a hazy memory. Overcome with grief, I never wondered what to do. As I stared at Momma, I dug deep inside, finding my sorrow buried under all the pain she'd inflicted on me for so many years. Maybe Momma was right after all. Maybe I did have a demon.

Violet stood next to the casket and patted Momma's hand, tears falling down her cheeks. I couldn't help but wonder what she shed her tears for: the loss of the Momma we had or the loss of the Momma we always wanted.

Soon, the funeral

I remembered from Daddy's funeral that it was the family's duty to stand at the casket and greet the guests. Momma and Violet had done it before. I knew I couldn't get out of it this time.

Momma didn't have very many real friends, but everybody and their brother showed up, hoping to get a glimpse of the hole in her head. An elderly member of the Henryetta Southern Baptist Church limped over and patted Violet's hand. "Your mother was a dear woman who will be greatly missed."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Are you talkin' about Agnes Gardner?" I had a sneaking suspicion she was at the wrong visitation.

Violet dug her elbow into my side. "Thank you, Mrs. Stringer. It helps so much to hear that."

"She looks good, so good I almost didn't recognize her."

I almost laughed, but my side was already sore. I didn't need any more bruises.

As the evening went on, I discovered that visitations are all about lying. Momma never looked so good, both physically and in personality, as she did dead. We heard how wonderful, kind, clever, and generous she was, adjectives no one in their right mind would have used a week ago. People patted our arms, our hands, and one old coot actually tried to pat my behind. We got hugs, advice and offers of food. I say we, but it was really Violet. Most people talked to Violet, either outright ignoring me or staring at me, fearful. I suspected a good number of them thought I hid a rolling pin in the folds of my skirt, ready to whip it out at any moment and start bas.h.i.+ng heads in.

While Violet greeted our guests, playing the perfect hostess, I listened to the people who stood in front of the casket.

"They must have some amazin' morticians here. I heard her whole face was smashed in, but you can't even tell."

"She got what was comin' to her. She was a mean old witch."

"That youngest girl of Agnes' has never been right in the head. I ain't surprised one bit. I just hope the police have the sense to lock her up before she starts murderin' the whole town."

In a room full of people, I never felt so alone. Tears burned my eyes and I wondered how much longer this would last but knew it was nowhere close to being over. Half of Henryetta showed up to see what they thought I'd done. Just when I was about to bolt, I saw Joe, standing two people back in line, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeved b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt. While everyone else's eyes were focused on the casket, his gaze was on me. His mouth lifted into a small smile.

I thought he would never reach us. The woman in front of him went on and on about the wonderful pies Momma had made the last few years. I bit my lower lip to keep from telling her those were my pies, but it wouldn't accomplish anything. Let Momma go out in a pie-blazing glory.

Joe shook Violet's hand. "I am sorry for your loss."

Violet gave him a curt thank-you, obviously still blaming him for something, the act itself a mystery.

Joe moved in front of me and allowed the person behind him to approach Violet. Grasping my hand, he said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Rose." He took a deep breath. "And I'm equally sorry for the other night. Still friends?"

He was serious. He thought we were friends. Although I knew I shouldn't, I smiled. "I'd like that."

"How are you holding up?"

Tears filled my eyes. "I'm okay." It was then I realized he was still holding my hand.

"Are you sure?"

I turned to the side and put my back to Violet and the person with her. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I glanced to the line of people next to the casket. "They all think I did this, Joe. The whole town thinks I murdered my own Momma. No one will talk to me, they just ignore me. They're all afraid I'm goin' to start runnin' around the room killin' everyone." Tears fell down my cheeks and I wiped them off with the back of my free hand.

"I'm sure they're not thinkin' that."

"Joe, I heard 'em."

Joe rubbed my arm and to my dismay, I started to cry harder. He leaned over to Violet. "I'm goin' to take her out to get some air. I'll bring her right back."

Violet didn't look pleased, but even she had to admit my presence wouldn't be missed.

Aunt Bessie watched Joe lead me out of the room, her eyes lighting up. The visitors cast sneers in my direction. If lynchings were still legal in Fenton County, I knew there'd be a big public execution tonight, bonfire included.

Joe led me down a hall and out a back door. The sun had begun to set, hanging close to the horizon, the sky lit up in a pink splendor. We stood in silence, side by side against the brick wall, while I had a good cry. My tears unlocking the dam to my sadness over Momma's death. When my tears slowed, Joe held up a box of tissues.

I laughed. "Where did you get those?" I pulled several out and patted my face.

"I swiped them off a table. Figured you might need some."

I blew my nose, the noise interrupting the chirping crickets and slamming car doors. "Momma hated parties."

"I guess visitations are kind of like parties."

"Momma hated most everythin'. I know I shouldn't say it, but it's true."

Joe dug the toe of his loafer into the crack of the sidewalk. "Some people think they need to make the newly deceased look like a saint and ignore all the bad parts of them. But I always thought the bad parts were just as much part of them as the good. n.o.body's perfect. We shouldn't try to remember them that way."

We stood in silence until Joe said, "I'm sure she didn't hate everything. She loved you and your sister."

I twisted my mouth into a sad smile and turned my face toward him. "And there you would be wrong. My Momma hated me."

"I'm sure you thought so at times."

I faced the sunset, the sun dipping lower, almost touching the earth. I wished I could disappear with it.

"No, Joe. She did." Of course, he would want to know why. What mother could possibly hate her child without a reason? But I'd finally found a friend. He said we were friends. I wasn't willing to lose him just yet.

He waited for an explanation. I sighed and wiped the tears that started to fall again. "I'm not like everyone else. Momma always said I was evil and demon-possessed."

"Why on earth would she say that?"

My breath caught in my throat. The way he studied me made me nervous. I couldn't tell him. After seeing his compa.s.sion, I couldn't bear to see it replaced with the fear and disgust I saw in everyone else's eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if she was right," I said. "If you stick around me long enough, you'll figure it out too. Just like everyone else does sooner or later." I grabbed a tissue out of the box and wiped my face.

Joe's brow furrowed, like what I said went against the law of gravity. Impossible.

"Thanks for talking to me," I told him. "I better go back inside before Violet sends out a search party."

"I'll walk you in."

I put my hand on his arm."Thanks, but you know what? You've got enough strikes against you, being new in this town. No reason to hurt your social standin' any more by bein' seen with me. Good night, Joe."

I opened the door and took one last glance at him. He looked like he'd been blindsided. I supposed he had.

CHAPTER SIX.

I went back to the visitation room and plastered on a smile that said thank you for coming but my heart is breaking. And while the thank you for coming part wasn't true, the my heart is breaking part was.

A couple of hours later, my feet ached from standing and my cheeks hurt from smiling but a few stragglers remained. They munched on cookies while trying to determine the size and location of the hole in Momma's head from the placement of her hat. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl stayed the entire time. They brought bottles of water to Violet because she did so much talking over the course of three and a half hours that she had become hoa.r.s.e. And me, too, because Aunt Bessie worried that I'd become dehydrated from the slow flow of tears that I couldn't stop.

Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl were supposed to spend the night with Violet. But Aunt Bessie suggested they stay with me instead.

"Rose has grown an independent streak," Violet said in a snippy tone. "She might not let you."

I gasped. "Of course, they can stay with me. They can take Momma's room."

We said goodbye in the parking lot, Violet and I giving each other awkward hugs. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl followed me to the house. I pulled into the driveway and gave Joe's house a mournful glance as I waited for them to get their suitcase from the car.

"I heard Mr. Williams died a few months ago. Who lives there now?" Aunt Bessie asked, the softness of her voice telling me she knew my look meant something.

"Joe McAllister."

"The young man from tonight?"

"Yeah, but don't be thinkin' anythin' about it, Aunt Bessie. We're just friends." My tongue tripped over the word friends and to my chagrin, I felt tears building again. "I never met him before the night Momma was killed."

She watched me unlock the door. "Isn't that deadbolt new? I don't' remember seein' it before."

I'd forgotten she had the memory of an elephant. "Joe put it in for me when he fixed the broken lock."

"Oh?"

I ignored the question in her voice and flipped on the light. She oohed and awed over the new paint color, finding it perfectly reasonable and logical to paint two days after Momma died, given the circ.u.mstances.

Uncle Earl took their suitcase to the room. I offered to help change the sheets on Momma's bed, but Aunt Bessie suggested I put on pajamas and make us hot tea instead. I sat at the kitchen table with two cups ready when she entered the kitchen.

Even though I dressed for bed, I hadn't taken my hair down. Aunt Bessie stood behind me, taking out the pins, running her fingers through the strands. I closed my eyes, relaxing at the feel of it.

"Tonight was a long night, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," I murmured softly, leaning my head back into her hands.