Dust plumes behind the tires as they take off down the road.
“Fucking Feds,” Soul grumbles, standing beside me and watching them go.
“Fucking Feds,” I repeat, taking another drag. But all I hear is what he said playing on a loop in my head.
“I know who you all are, and I know just how much each of you has to lose.”
A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t think I had anything to lose anymore. I made sure of it. Now, I’m not so sure.
Everything is brown.
The walls. The pews. The cross.
Even the flowers are a strange shade of red that edges on chocolate.
They spill over the sides of Mom’s casket, and I wonder, what’s the point? It’s not like there’s any way to dress this up.
She’s dead.
There’s nothing pretty about that.
My brother sits at my side, shifting in his seat. Every time a tear falls, he wipes it away, like he doesn’t want to be caught crying. What I wouldn’t give for one single tear. For something to cut through this numbness crawling through me.
It started in my hands.
No, actually, it started in my toes. Slowly working its way up like I was being dipped in grief. And now, I can’t feel anything except this hard thrum between my temples. A blinding jackhammer, ringing in my mind, muting anything the priest says.
A priest.
It’s almost laughable.
Mom didn’t go to church; she didn’t really believe in anything. The cross hanging over her now feels more like judgment than salvation.
They say people find peace in death, but there’s no peace here.
She’ll never have another dinner with the family.
She’ll never see my brother’s and my graduations.
She’s just gone.
Something knocks my leg, and I look down to see Willa’s knee pressed up to mine. Her parents are sitting farther down the row by Tate. Her fingers inch closer to mine,brushing my pinky ever so slightly where it sits on the seat beside me.
But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.
Our stares connect, and at least her eyes are gray and not brown. Stormy like my chest is right now. Brewing with anger. Resentment.
Willa stares at me so long I almost forget where I am. But then the funeral ends, and Willa drifts away with everything else until it’s just me and my mother’s brown casket. So I say goodbye to the only person who saw me for who I really am.
16
Willa
My fingers have finallystopped shaking as I take the glass of water Luna offers me. It’s cool on my throat. Soothing. Even as the echo of gunfire rings loudly in my thoughts.
“Thank you.” I set the glass down on the coffee table. “I could have gotten it myself.”
“It’s no trouble.” She yawns, taking a step back.
