Sister City

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

One by one, people filed out of the church, presumably heading to Marcus’ house. There would be no public burial at the grave site. Marcus and his father would attend a private burial the next day. The wake was planned for eleven at the Stephenson house. It was supposed to be a quiet, low-key affair but when we got to Ragle Avenue, the street was filled with parked cars from Bodega Avenue to Ragle Park. We turned onto Frankel Lane and saw that it would be a tight squeeze to park in our driveway. Dad, usually even tempered, was swearing by the time he managed to inch the Durango past the cars parked illegally in the cul-de-sac.

“Don’t these people have any respect?” he said before swearing at a small Honda parked in our driveway. “Who parks in someone else’s driveway?”

“Dan,” Mom admonished.

“I’m not going to call a tow-truck. It costs too much money to get your car out of the impound lot and that’s not fair. I am going to park behind them,” he announced. When nobody replied, he continued, “That way, when they need to leave, they’ll have to deal with the consequences of their actions. They can explain to me why they parked in MY driveway.”

Dad had us get out of the car before he parked. We all ran inside to change before going back to Marcus’ for the death party. No one was looking forward to it, but Mom had told us that we would be able to play outside in their yard after paying our respects.

“Nobody will expect you to sit on the couch and make polite conversation with the adults,” she explained. “Dress nicely in good play clothes. We’ll eat and get the kitchen cleaned up; then you may go outside and play quietly.”

Among collective groans about washing dishes, Inara said, “I will help you, Mom.”

“Thank you, Inara. Now, everyone go and change then head across the street. Mind you, I expect you all to behave. I cannot stress just how angry I will be if someone causes a ruckus today.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if she was looking directly at me. I didn’t think she was; I couldn’t recall anything in the recent past that would make her worry, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something I had conveniently forgotten.

I changed out of Inara’s dress and pulled on a clean, hole-free pair of jeans. I didn’t want to risk choosing an offensive t-shirt. I knew that my Simpsons shirts weren’t appropriate, ditto for the Family Guy and South Park t-shirts. The Buffy shirts were questionable; Angel’s chiseled vampire chest was bare. I’m pretty sure that the zombies snacking on human flesh that adorned the front of my ’28 days later’ movie shirt wouldn’t fly, and the one from ‘House of 1000 Corpses’ would probably get me grounded for life. After digging to the bottom of my drawer, I came across a plain blue shirt. No writing, no pictures, no logos; one small pocket and three small buttons, nothing offensive. Phaedra, on the other hand, was changing into a bright pink dress, complete with patterned tights and patent leather shoes. I started to say something and then changed my mind; the last thing I wanted was to upset Mom with a knock-down drag-out fight over an unnecessary and snarky comment.

I pounded on the door to James and Luka’s bedroom.

“Hurry up,” I hollered through the closed door. “We’ve got to go.”

“I’m almost done,” he bellowed back.

“Right,” I muttered.

I amused myself by tapping out the melody to different songs on his door jam. I was just finishing the chorus to Jenny from the Block when James flung the door open.

“Do you have to do that?” he asked irritably.

“Yes.”

He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at me. Then, for good measure I suppose, he bopped me on the head as he walked down the hall. I might have deserved that. Maybe.