Page 34 of The Quiet Rebuild

The funeral of Veronica Charron was held at the Smith-Jones Funeral Home, a ten-minute drive from Taylor’s rental and a fifteen-minute drive from the home where Veronica and Greg had lived out the past few decades. En route to the funeral home, Taylor asked Murray to drive them past her parents’ place. On the front porch were several bouquets, all honoring Veronica and a life cut short.

At the funeral home, Murray drove Taylor and Lindsey to the front door, where he opened the door for them both and said goodbye. “Call me when you need to be picked up,” he said to Taylor under his breath. “I can be back in a second.” He snapped his fingers.

Taylor thanked him, then turned to Lindsey. They were both in simple black dresses, Lindsey with her blond hair glowing beneath a California sun, Taylor with too much makeup on. She fought the urge to go immediately to the bathroom and take it off. She imagined her mother would say, “Really, Taylor? That shade of lipstick is all wrong on you.”

The funeral was set to begin in a half hour, but the home was already full of mourners. When Taylor and Lindsey walked in, Taylor heard her name whispered all over the foyer and into the next room. This was her first “public” appearance in a long time. She knew there would be countless photographs taken of her. There would be write-ups in gossip columns, wondering if she looked good or bad, if she looked tragically chic or just tragic.

Taylor spotted her father, sitting with his brothers and one of her mother’s sisters in the front row, near the coffin. Taylor knew that her mother hadn’t wanted the coffin to be open. She hadn’t wanted people to see her like that. But Veronica had died of natural causes—a surprise heart attack that nobody had seen coming. She was in her mid-sixties. She should have had many more years left.

Taylor tried to weigh up whether or not she wanted to approach her father. The reality was, she had nothing to say to him. She didn’t feel any amount of love for him, either. The strange thing was that she felt waves of love for her mother flowing through her. Maybe it was grief, too.

Taylor turned to look at Lindsey, preparing to ask her where she wanted to sit. But Lindsey’s eyes were enormous, watchful. Taylor turned to follow her gaze and discovered—with a sharp ache in her gut—that Jason was here.

Here he was, moving through the crowd, wearing a suit that made him look dark and brooding and terribly handsome. His eyes were black, and his face was shaved, and he was looking at Taylor the way he’d always looked at her, previously—with love, with promise, as though they were sharing secrets they’d never tell anyone else. Taylor’s knees wobbled. She told herself to keep it together. The last thing she wanted to do was fall into her ex-husband’s arms and weep.

But it was true, too, that she hadn’t seen Jason since she’d “surprised” him in Paris.

What a disaster that had been.

Suddenly, Jason was standing before her. “Hi,” he said.

Lindsey stepped away, giving them space. Jason seemed not to notice.

“Hey,” Taylor said, her voice shaking.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m here,” Jason said. “I was in town when I heard, and I just lost it. But you know how it was. Veronica was more my mother than my own mother. She was always around, always on set. Always taking care of me.”

“I remember. She really loved you.” Taylor swallowed the lump in her throat and tried and failed not to think of those long-ago days, when Veronica had teased Jason, calling him the son she’d never had. When Taylor and Jason officially started dating, her mother was overjoyed.

“I know things were complicated between you,” Jason said gently.

“Understatement of the century,” she said.

Jason laughed. “Yes. I’d say so.”

“Did you talk to her through the years?” Taylor asked. She remembered that Jason had always been good about not bringing her mother up in conversation, but it was possible that they’d maintained a relationship.

“She always called me on my birthday,” Jason admitted, dropping his gaze.

“I see.”

“I told her to call you,” Jason said.

“Well, she didn’t.” Taylor sighed. “I didn’t, either.”

Jason crossed and uncrossed his arms. Taylor could smell his cologne, the same brand she’d discovered for him during a trip to Barcelona. She’d told him to buy it, and he still wore it. Tears filled her eyes.

“Is, um, is she here?” Taylor asked. She wanted to yank the rug out from her own nostalgia. She wanted to remind herself what he’d done.

Jason didn’t flinch. “She’s back at the apartment,” he said.

“Makes sense. How is that going?” Taylor took a small step backward.

“It’s all right.” Jason’s eyes were cloudy, as though he wanted to get into all the ways his new girlfriend was failing him, or disappointing him, or not Taylor.

But Taylor wasn’t prepared to get into all that.

“I’d better find my friend and get a seat,” Taylor said. “Good seeing you.”