The Funeral.
Chapter 1.
Monday's child is fair of face.
Quinn didn't know how these things began. With a phone call? With a bag hastily packed and even more hastily thrown into the back of a taxi?
Were these things enough to throw the lever forward and thrust the whirly-gigs of life into motion? Were these things strong enough to send her chug-chugging up the steep incline like a rollercoaster on a track, only to plummet moments later into oblivion? Or was the catalyst something earlier – something less obvious, less blatant? Could it have been as simple as a weakness hidden in the chambers of the heart that ticked off the minutes until…boom.
"Or not really boom," she thought wryly. "More like a whimper."
She shook these thoughts from her head as the plane landed. "Stop being so morbid," she berated herself. Thinking these things wouldn't do her any good now. They wouldn't change anything.
The fact was her father was dead. Russell Fabray was dead and somehow that was a let down. Not because he was taken too early or left her mother a widow and her and her sister fatherless, but because it didn't change anything. "I thought I'd feel something more," she thought with a laugh as she joined the other passengers trying to pull their carry-ons from the overhead bins.
Dazedly she made her way from the plane to the baggage claim area. She followed the woman with the purple hat who had been on her flight from Boston. Purple hat lady would know which carousel to wait at. Purple hat lady would lead her to her baggage. Purple hat lady would make this easier.
As she came to a stop in front of what she assumed was the right luggage carousel she adopted a pose of nonchalance an appropriate distance from purple hat lady. She wondered where she was going. Why was she at Dayton International at 9:00 PM on a Monday in November? For a split second she considered following purple hat lady out of the airport. She considered following her home and taking up residence in her (what she assumed would be) cute little bungalow in Findlay. She would follow her right into her house and sit in her warm kitchen and drink tea and eat some gingersnaps with her. She would find out that the woman had a collection of brightly hued hats. She would learn about her eight grandchildren. Maybe she would even try on her red bonnet and laugh and laugh as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
For a moment she let her mind wander. Then she realized that a moment had become a minute and a minute had become embarrassingly longer. Her worn rolling suitcase, marking time, had completed a few circuits around the carousel. Snapping to, she moved forward and retrieved it.
She walked over to the Hertz counter and made quick work of renting a Chevy Impala. She entertained the thought of line item vetoing some provisions in the contract like they taught her in law school, but then she thought better of it. It was almost 9:45 PM and it was time to go home.
An hour and a half later she pulled up in front of her childhood home. She looked off down the street. Street lamps illuminated patches of the asphalt in the darkness. She imagined standing in the center of one of the glowing circles. She wondered if it would be any warmer in the yellow light. Quinn turned back to her house – her family's house. There were a few cars parked in the driveway. She recognized her parents' SUV.
Steeling herself for the short walk up the front path to the front door she took in a long breath and turned off the car. Grabbing her suitcase and purse she walked up to the front door. She hesitated as she considered knocking or ringing the doorbell. How do children come home when home is no longer their home? She tried to remember what she had done the first time.
She settled on tapping lightly on the red door as she pushed it open.
"Hello," she tentatively called into the house. She paused in the front hall to peek into the living room. Empty.
"Hello," she called a little louder as she placed her purse and suitcase down by the stairs.
Just then she heard quiet laughter coming from the kitchen. She followed the voices to the back of the house.
She was surprised at the scene she walked in on. There were wine bottles open on the kitchen counter; a platter of sandwiches rested in the center of the table.
"And then he turned around and walked…he walked right…he just turned right into it." Her eyes landed on her mother as she tried to catch her breath. Her mother clutched at her stomach and tears slid from the corners of her eyes as she laughed that familiar belly laugh that revealed she had drank one too many glasses of Pinot. The room erupted in more laughter.
"He didn't even see it coming!" Her mom finished with a flourish.
She remained in the doorway to the kitchen, wondering if laughter was appropriate at a time like this.
"Mom," she quietly said as she walked into the kitchen.
Startled, the group at the kitchen table turned to look at her.
"Quinnie!" Her mother jumped up and rushed over to her, enveloping her in an all-consuming hug. "When did you get home?"
"Just now mom." Her mother stepped back to look at her, as her sister Frannie walked over to give her a hug. Quinn awkwardly hugged her around her protruding pregnant belly.
"Do you want something to eat?" Her mom moved over to the kitchen counter and started to put a plate together.
"No thanks, I'm good." Quinn turned to her sister. "Hey, I didn't think you'd be here yet."
"Yeah, I figured I'd come a day early and help mom with the preparations – keep her company," Frannie said with a small nod. She turned back to the women sitting at the table. "Quinn you remember Mrs. Oliver, she works with mom."
Quinn nodded as the woman gave her a sad smile. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Quinn nodded again and returned her sad smile, unsure of what to say in response. "And you know Mary-Lou and Linda," Frannie continued.
"Right." Quinn smiled at her neighbors. She had known these women for close to 12 years now. They had become her mom's instant friends when they had moved to this house in middle school. They were always sharing neighborhood gossip and helping her mom with the famous Fabray holiday parties.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," they both said to her with sad smiles and hugs that lingered a beat too long. Their eyes searched her's. Quinn wondered what they were looking for. She wondered if there was something wrong with her response. Luckily, her mom chose that moment to usher her to a chair and set a plate of food in front of her.
"Would you like some wine Quinnie? There's red and white and I think there's a blush downstairs." Her mom poured her a glass of white without waiting for a response.
"Mom!" Frannie chastised. "You know she doesn't drink. Want an ice tea Quinn?"
Quinn wished her sister wouldn't be like this. One of Frannie's worst qualities was never knowing how the things she said sounded to others.
"Frannie, it's fine. Just leave it. I'm fine." Quinn turned to the other ladies at the table who had suddenly gotten quiet at Frannie's remark.
Uncomfortable with the silence Quinn tried to break the tension, "I'm not an alcoholic or anything."
That should do the trick.
It didn't. The women took that as the cue to start cleaning up the spread on the table. That in turn left Quinn sitting alone with a mountain of food in front of her.
"Judy it's getting late. I'm sure you and the girls need some sleep before tomorrow," Mrs. Oliver said as she moved to put the mayonnaise and mustard back in the refrigerator.
Quinn stared down at her plate. Macaroni salad, casserole and a slice of a turkey sub. She fiddled with the toothpick holding the sandwich together. She played with the red cellophane that topped the toothpick like a jaunty little hat and she thought of purple hat lady.
"Quinn, eat." Her mother nudged her shoulder as she passed on her way to put some crackers back in a cabinet.
"I'm not really hungry mom," she mumbled.
"Fine. Don't eat." Her mother slammed the cabinet.
"Judy, why don't you leave the dishes, and we can come back tomorrow and get them for you," Linda offered. Good old Linda. Always so helpful. Always so diplomatic. Quinn couldn't stand her.
"It's fine Linda, I'll get them," Frannie offered.
"Do what you want," Judy Fabray said coldly as she turned toward the hallway. "I'm just going to use the bathroom and then I'll walk you out."
When she was out of earshot Frannie looked at Quinn who had not stopped playing with the little toothpick spear in her sandwich. "Good job Quinn."
"Frannie don't," Quinn countered.
"Don't tell me what to do," Frannie said.
"You're the one who started it," Quinn said quietly.
"Really Quinn? What did I start?" Frannie said with her hands on her hips.
"Frannie, why don't you go sit down? You shouldn't be on your feet," Linda said as she tried to move Frannie toward the den.
Freaking Linda. So thoughtful. Quinn really couldn't stand her at all.
"I'm fine Linda, thanks," Frannie said as she moved toward Quinn.
"Stop being selfish for five minutes and think of mom," Frannie spit out at her in a harsh whisper.
She wanted to say, "I am thinking of mom. But she should be thinking of me too." She didn't though. Instead she picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
As she took her second bite Judy returned to the kitchen.
"Thanks for everything," she said kindly to her friends. There was a chorus of "Anything for you Judy," and "It's nothing Judy," in response.
"What time do you want us over tomorrow?" Mary-Lou asked.
"Well let's see," Judy said, consulting the clock over the microwave. "The wake's at four and the flowers will be there and set up when we get there. I have my dress and Frannie already said she'd drive, so I think we're set."
"Are you sure? It would be no trouble for me to pick you ladies up," that bitch Linda said.
"I'm sure it wouldn't," Quinn mumbled under her breath.
Judy's head snapped to her. "What was that?" she asked, although she had heard.
"Nothing, I just said I could drive," Quinn covered.
"Okay, so Quinn will drive tomorrow. Thank you though Linda," Judy said with a smile aimed at her friend.
Quinn returned her attention to her plate. She pierced a piece of macaroni salad with her fork and thoughtfully chewed it as her mother and Frannie walked the ladies to the front door and said their goodbyes.
Ten minutes later Quinn stood in her childhood bedroom. She had abandoned her plate of condolences and well-wishes in favor of unpacking for the week.
She set her suitcase on her bed and thought about putting her clothes into the white dresser that stood watch in the far corner.
"It's only a week," she sighed, moving the suitcase to the floor and flopping unceremoniously onto the bed.
She looked around her room – her childhood room. She didn't want to forget that she no longer had any ties to this place. Her eyes glided around the space taking in the empty bookshelf, the bare nightstand and the vacant closet. She took in a deep breath as she reminded herself that this place was no longer "home." Her life was in Boston. Her life and friends and home were in Boston. It was comforting to repeat this, a lullaby to sing her to sleep.
After a moment she heard the sound of muffled voices from across the hall. She turned her head toward the sound and could make out the faint chatter of her mother and Frannie in Frannie's old room.
Sighing, she picked herself up off of the bed and made her way across the hall. She paused in the doorway to see the two women, blonde heads bowed over what looked to be a photo album.
"This was on our honeymoon," her mother said, pointing to a picture in the album.
"Oh my God! Look at those jeans," Frannie shrieked.
"Keep in mind that was the style back then," her mother explained as she flipped the page.
Frannie's hand moved to stop her mother from turning another page.
"Wow mom you look like Quinn in this picture," she laughed. "Or Quinn looks like you."
"Let me see," Quinn said, startling the two women on the bed.
"Here, push over Frannie," Judy instructed.
Quinn looked at the photo in question. A smiling Russell and Judy Fabray standing at an overlook by the Grand Canyon while on their honeymoon. Her mom's face is tilted toward Russell's as she squints into the sun. A look of amusement – mirth almost – plays across her face as her hand moves to fix the strands of golden hair that were blown into her face. Russell's eyes sparkle with mischief as he beams at the camera. They look happy. They look so happy.
"You look so happy," Frannie commented. "What was he saying to you?"
"I can't remember. It must have been good though. Your father was always joking and making people laugh," Judy said as she traced a finger around the edge of the photo. "Quinnie, I was your age when this was taken. Don't you think we look alike?" Judy asked turning to Quinn.
"Not really," Quinn started.
"Don't you think? In the eyes?" her mom pressed.
"No mom, in the mouth and in the posture. You both move your hands like that," Frannie said, leaning forward to get a better look at Quinn. "Yeah, but it's definitely in the smile," she concluded.
"I still don't see it," Quinn said shaking her head slightly.
She squinted at the photo, thinking if she screwed up her eyes enough and the image blurred enough she could see what they were talking about. It was like those Magic Eye books. She never saw the hidden picture, and she most certainly didn't see a resemblance. They looked so happy standing at the edge of the giant canyon and truthfully she couldn't remember ever feeling that kind of happiness.
Turning back to her mom and sister she said, "You're right. In the mouth. For sure."
That seemed to appease the two.
"Why are you looking at these?" Quinn asked, gesturing to a pile of old photo albums.
"We had to find one for Dad's obituary and for the prayer card for the funeral," Frannie explained.
"Here, this one went in the paper," Frannie handed Quinn a photo of Russell Fabray from when he and Judy went on a cruise a few years earlier.
"Nice," Quinn responded as Judy took the picture from her.
"Frannie is going to put together a photo board for the wake. Maybe you can help her tomorrow morning," Judy said, still looking at the photo. "Wasn't he so handsome," her mother asked, more to the photo than to either of her daughters.
Frannie moved an arm to her mother's shoulder as Quinn sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
"Yes he was. All my friends always called him 'hot Dad,'" Frannie laughed with tears in her eyes.
"I just can't believe…" Judy said quietly.
"I know," Frannie comforted.
Quinn looked down awkwardly at her hands clasped in her lap.
"He was so proud of you girls. His teacher and his lawyer. That's what he always said," Judy smiled at them. "He was so proud of you," she said as she tucked some of Frannie's hair behind her ear.
"I'm not a lawyer," Quinn said still not looking at her mom or her sister.
"You will be though," Judy corrected as she repeated the same gesture of tucking hair behind Quinn's ear. "Dad was so proud. He'd tell everyone at work how his daughter was at the top of her class at law school," Judy continued.
Quinn felt tears prickling the back of her eyes. She blinked them away. There was no way she would let Russell Fabray get the benefit of her tears.
"I think I'm going to go to sleep now. I have to go shopping for something to wear for tomorrow and Wednesday, okay?" Quinn said as she moved toward the door.
"Oh look at this one! Was this at Aunt Joyce's wedding?" Frannie said flipping to another page in the album. "Oh my God! Look at you in that hat," Frannie said pointing to a new photo.
"Mom?" Quinn asked.
"That was the style for bridesmaids," Judy laughed.
"Mom," Quinn said a little louder.
"What?" Judy asked a little exasperated.
"You didn't answer me," she said.
"Yes," Judy said.
"I have to get something to wear for tomorrow," Quinn explained again.
"Okay," Judy responded. "We'll go get something in the morning."
"Okay, cool. And mom, I'm sorry," Quinn said for the first time.
Judy looked up from the album at that.
"I know sweetie. I'm sorry too," she smiled sadly at her daughter.
Quinn knew what she was sorry for. Her mom had lost the man she had been married to for 32 tumultuous years. Quinn was sorry that her mom had wasted over 32 years on a man who did nothing to deserve her love and devotion.
But, she was lost as to what her mom was sorry for. A man who Quinn had been acquainted with for 26 years had died. She was not sure how a non-relationship warranted an "I'm sorry" from anyone. She wondered if her mom was sorry that she had made her daughters suffer through a life with Russell Fabray. She decided that was probably not the case though.
Judy stared at Quinn as she stood silently in the doorframe. Quinn felt uncomfortable under her gaze. She hoped her mom couldn't read minds, but she had come to learn that moms usually could – even if they later choose to ignore what they discover.
Quinn turned to leave the room. "Goodnight," she said without turning back.
"'Night Quinnie," her mom and sister shouted after her before turning back to the fashions at Aunt Joyce's wedding.
Quinn climbed into bed after changing into her pajamas. She kept the small lamp on the nightstand turned on. She studied the walls of the room where she had spent many hours. They were bare. She had removed all vestiges of her youth after she graduated from Yale almost four years ago.
She closed her eyes. Four years. Had it really been that long ago? Four years since she was at least a little hopeful and excited about entering the real world and changing the world and coming into her own and making her dreams come true.
Four years ago she was ending one chapter of her life – happily. Four years ago she held out hope that there was plenty of time to figure herself out, to figure her life out. Four years – it felt like forever and no time at all.
Four years ago Russell was alive. Hell, last week Russell was alive. And now he wasn't. And now she wasn't hopeful and she still hadn't figured herself out.
"What a bust huh Russell?" She said out loud to the dark. She chuckled to herself, opening her eyes to once again study the room that had once been a sanctuary and now felt like a prison.
Her eyes landed on the bulletin board above her desk. She squinted in the dim light to make out the odds and ends tacked to the cork. On impulse she threw the covers off and made her way to the board. Leaning on the desk she looked at the movie ticket stubs (apparently she had seen "The Help" in 2011. "Wow, that was before senior year," she thought.), the key chains from Disney World (Cinderella was always her thing) and the backstage passes from Glee Club Nationals. Behind these she found a photo stuck into the frame of the board. She plucked it from its place and was surprised to see it was a picture taken after Glee Club won Nationals her senior year of high school.
She had forgotten all about this photo. It was taken in the lobby after they had been awarded the first place trophy. She remembered Mike Chang's mother had a really nice camera and wanted to take a good shot of them. They had clumped together and put on the brightest smiles, still giddy from the win. She looked at the smiling faces of her former teammates and found her younger self, smiling on the right side of the picture, tucked safely in between Santana and Brittany.
She wondered what happened to these people who had once been some of her closest friends. The only ones she kept in touch with were Santana and Brittany, and even then it was only a periodic checking in and catching up. She looked at Tina and Kurt and Puck and Mercedes and Blaine and Rachel and Finn and Sam and she wondered what happened to them. She hoped they were all happier than her.
She turned her attention back to her smiling face, scrunched up in delight as Santana and Brittany hugged her from both sides.
"You look so happy," she said in disbelief to her younger self. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked shaking her head.
She put the photo down in the center of her empty desk. She stared at it as she centered it on the flat surface. Leaning over the desk she scrutinized it until the regret and bitterness she felt overwhelmed her. The room was stifling and the walls were too close. Turning around she moved toward her shoes and quickly put them on.
Throwing open her closet door she found an old Cheerios hoodie on the shelf. She quickly tugged it on and then quietly made her way downstairs. The lights in her sister and mother's rooms were turned off so she figured they were asleep and wouldn't miss her.
She sneaked out the front door and started walking down the street. The night air was cold and quiet and in the coolness of the night her footsteps seemed to echo like a friend following along behind her. Quinn imagined she was the only one still awake on this still night. She walked to the first pool of light cast by a lone streetlight. She stepped into it.
Nothing. No warmth. No relief. No comfort.
So she moved on to the next one. And the next one after that. She did this for 30 minutes with no success in finding the warmth. She had succeeded in walking to the local elementary school though.
Walking to the back of the school she made her way to the slide on the playground. As a little girl she always imagined slides as giant tongues protruding from the head of a giant, trying to grab the children and gobble them up. She lay down on the slide staring up at the night sky. She put up her hood and snuggled into her sweatshirt against the cold.
She imagined she was in a cocoon. She remembered studying the life cycle of a butterfly in second grade. She remembered watching the caterpillar become a cocoon. She remembered waiting for the butterfly. Her 8-year-old self had imagined it was like a magician's reveal. There was nothing in his hand and then suddenly he produced a bouquet of flowers. It would be magic and nothing would ever be the same.
She had wanted so badly to be the butterfly. And she had become the butterfly. She had watched herself become the butterfly. Lucy became Quinn, but now she was the cocoon again.
The problem was she had forgotten the let down of the butterfly. In elementary school she had arrived at school one morning and the caterpillar's cocoon had been shed and where the caterpillar had once been there was now a bright yellow butterfly. She couldn't contain her excitement for the butterfly. Things would be different now. She was sure of it.
Later her teacher, Mrs. Lyons, had explained to her class that they had to let the butterfly go free. She was positive that this was the moment she had waited for. This was going to be the big reveal. The class assembled outside as Mrs. Lyons carefully opened the butterfly's enclosure. She held her breath and waited, standing on tippy toes to see over her classmates' heads. She watched as the butterfly flapped her wings and took flight. She couldn't contain her tears as she watched the butterfly float off across the school lawn. That was it. Just this bright yellow spot drifting through the air.
Upon seeing her tears Mrs. Lyons pulled her aside and told her not to cry. "Butterflies are meant to fly and be free," Mrs. Lyons had cooed as she hugged her close.
"But nothing happened. She's just gone now," she blurted out through a mess of sobs.
She remembers Mrs. Lyons' confused expression. "Of course something happened Lucy. The caterpillar turned into a butterfly," she tried to explain.
"No, nothing happened," she insisted.
Mrs. Lyons didn't understand. She tried and Quinn had been grateful for that. But she didn't understand that there was no great reveal. The caterpillar had become the butterfly, but the butterfly hadn't changed a Goddamned thing. Her class still went to lunch and then recess and then they had music with Mr. Monaco, but the butterfly hadn't changed any of it.
She had forgotten about that when she was a little older and had transformed from mousy Lucy to swan-like Quinn. She had forgotten that nothing would happen. And she was paying the price now at 26-years-old.
She sighed and watched as her breath disappeared into the night. She took a deep breath for what seemed like the hundredth time since she'd been back in Lima. She could smell the cold and the night and she could feel it seeping into her lungs, filling her up and weighing her down.
She thought about the picture from Glee Club that she found. She mentally went through each and every face. Her mind's eye lingered on her own. She could only describe the look she remembered as unbridled mirth.
"Mirth," she let the word roll off her tongue and into the air. She pushed up to a sitting position on the slide and proceeded to jump to her feet.
"Mirth!" she shouted to the heavens with cold hands raised over her head and her feet lifting her off the ground.
Quinn's echo responded in kind with a distorted "Merrffth." She understood the feeling of being muffled like that echo. She felt it every day for 26 years.
With tears escaping the corners of her eyes she let out a gut-wrenching wail to the moon. She thought of herself as a wolf. She imagined waking the man in the moon with that one. She imagined waking Russell wherever he was. Hell, she hoped. Most likely the Chamberlain Funeral Home, she admitted.
She wiped her eyes. Russell would not get the benefit of her tears.
With that thought she ran off into the night. She raced all the way back to the house until her lungs burned and her breaths came in spurts and her limbs felt light with the exertion.
She tip-toed through the darkened house and back to her bedroom. She closed the door, kicked off her shoes and put her sweatshirt back in the closet. It smelled like the fall. She paused at her desk as she made her way back to bed. Not giving herself time to question it she grabbed the Glee picture and climbed into bed wrapping the blankets around her to get some warmth back into her bones. She propped the photo up on the nightstand. She took one more look at the people in the picture.
"You look so happy," she said before turning off the lamp and drifting off to sleep.
Only this time the comment wasn't directed at an 18-year-old Quinn Fabray. This time it was directed at a smiling Rachel Berry wrapped in the arms of Finn Hudson. And it wasn't bitter or resentful. Just sad. And maybe a little bit regretful.