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.
“I’m ready, Rin,” Luka said, tucking in his shirt as he walked out the door. He looked up at me and when he saw my outfit he grinned. “Two peas in a pod, eh?”
He was wearing a blue button down shirt and jeans too. It was like he was my twin, or something equally disturbing.
“Took you long enough. I’m starving. You’d better hope there’s some good food left when we get there.”
“You know, for someone so small, you’re a pretty big pig.” Luka put his fist to his nose to imitate a pig’s snout.
“Oink oink,” I retorted. “You’re so funny.”
It turns out I had nothing to fear. There were so many people at Marcus’ house that we could barely squeeze through the crowd to find Marcus himself. And I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that they had all brought a ton of food. There were casserole dishes overflowing, paper plates loaded with desserts, bowls of chips and dip and trays layered with finger foods. I was in hog heaven. Oink. Oink.
Luka found Marcus and we made a beeline to the longs tables laden with food. We each took two plates, one for real food and one for dessert. My dessert plate ended up piled high with watermelon slices, strawberries and a pile of cantaloupe balls. Marcus and Luka both had slices of several types of pie and chunks of chocolate cake, carrot cake, and pineapple upside-down cake.
“Healthy,” I commented, looking at the dessert plates, which must have contained ten pounds of baked sugar.
Marcus and Luka both opened their mouths to show me that they had already inhaled a piece of funfetti cake.
“Delightful,” I replied sarcastically. “No wonder all the girls are chasing after the two of you.”
Luka made a rude gesture that I took to mean that I was number one. Number one on his if-I-could-sell-someone-to-the-San Diego Zoo list.
“Let’s just find a place to sit.”
Swallowing hard, Marcus said, “There aren’t any places to sit. The adults are all sitting together in the living room. Let’s go outside.”
He wasn’t going to get an argument from us; what ten year old wants to be stuck in a room full of adults at a wake?
As always, I looked for the giant trampoline, but it was folded up in the garage like it had been for the entire winter. Weather in Sebastopol in February is notoriously wet. We ate on the path from the front door to the driveway; it was the only area that wasn’t covered in rain water. It was also the only covered area outside the house. When Mr. Stephenson bought the house, the pathway had a trellis on either side; Dad had helped him build a cover stretching from one trellis to the other creating a protected walkway. Luka and I had helped, until our helping became boisterous and unhelpful.
After fifteen minutes Luka scraped his plate clean. I finished eating just before he did, but wanted to act ladylike. Mom emphasized repeatedly that I ate way too fast, and it was something I needed to work on for the sake of my colon. Plus, it just wasn’t the best manners to wolf down a meal in ten minutes. I was still working on it. Luka got up to get another plate of food leaving Marcus and I alone on the walkway together.
“Is it weird?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Bad weird?”
“No, but I think Luka thinks it’s weird,” I said quietly.
“Luka’s weird. Are we good?”
“Yes. Nothing’s changed.”
“Thanks, Rin. It means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.” My response was muffled by Marcus’ sweatshirt as he pulled me into an awkward sideways hug.
I sat against Marcus, my hands lying limply in my lap, enjoying the warmth from Marcus’ arm around my shoulder. Marcus released me from the snugly hold when we heard the front door open.
“My turn,” I announced, in a lame attempt to cover the awkwardness as Luka arrived at our picnic spot.
He waited until I was at the front door where he apparently thought I wouldn’t be able to hear him to quiz Marcus about what had been going on while he was inside. It made me smile to think he was being protective of me over Marcus. It was Marcus for crying out loud. I spent more time with the two of them than I did with anyone else. We were like the Three Musketeers, if one of them had been an utterly fabulous girl. I contemplated eavesdropping on their conversation. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the door, paused just long enough to pretend I had walked in, and slammed the door shut while remaining outside.
“What was going on out here?”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“That’s my sister.”
“I know she’s your sister. She’s like my sister too. She can be bratty and annoying…”
Suddenly I wished I hadn’t stayed.
“But she talked with me for a long time the night I found out my mom died. It might have been out of pity, but it felt nice to have someone care about me.”
“She is a good listener when she’s not talking,” Luka agreed.
I smiled and slipped into the house wanting to end my eavesdropping on a pleasant note.