A/N: Hey, so I know it's been a while. Time is so sparse right now, and it's going to be very hard to get chapters out. I'm still writing so stick with me please! One, maybe two chapters can be expected in November, although their post dates may be far apart. Please review with what you like/ don't like about the plot, characters, writing style, etc. Thanks for reading!
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Ch 9
Sometime during the night, Claire had managed to wiggle out of the pants that were sticking to her sweat-soaked legs and toss them to the ground while still remaining dead asleep. So when her mother barged in her room an hour earlier than usual, it's safe to say Claire was both annoyed and embarrassed, not a good combination of emotion for any time of day, let alone the early morning. Her mother seemed to be barging in at the worst of times lately, and Claire didn't like it.
Ms. Winfield looked from the brown apple core rotting on the carpet next to the trashcan, to the wrinkled heap resembling a pair of pants on the floor.
"How many times do I have to tell you to keep your room clean?" She said loudly, knowing right well that Claire was sleeping, or at least trying to.
Her eyes made her way to Claire who was face down groaning in her pillow. Ms. Winfield wasn't embarrassed to see her daughter in her underwear; she gave birth to her after all and had seen her naked plenty of times. What she did feel though, was remorse when her eyes found the gruesome artwork of scars that crawled up her thighs and covered her back. Bubbly pieces of skin wound around and under angry, criss-crossing red scars, reminding Ms. Winfield of open muscle. White marks ran like vines down her back and thighs, a souvenir of several cosmetic surgeries to remove the worst of the red lumps.
Ms. Winfield's eyes began to water, but she turned her head away, blinking the tears back. Claire mumbled something incoherent into her pillow before flipping herself over.
"What, baby?"
"I said," grumbled Claire, rubbing her eyes to get the sleep out of them, "That I'm not wearing pants."
"Well obviously," said Ms. Winfield, gesturing to Claire's purple striped underwear. "Now hurry up and get ready, we need to be at the cemetery in an hour. And don't go back to sleep!"
With that, Ms. Winfield exited, unintentionally slamming the door behind her due to the open window. Claire already knew that today was going to be an awful day, and the slamming door just seemed to embody her mood.
Why do people even have funerals? Don't they know what they are putting their family and friends through by going to cry over their dead body? Are all dead people this sadistic?
Lifting herself out of bed, Claire groggily walked the short distance across the hall to the bathroom so she could properly wake herself with a shower.
Forty-eight minutes later the Winfield's were sitting in a small gray sedan, a very dolled up Anne Winfield cruising down the road. Neither of them spoke, not sure what to say.
Claire tapped anxiously on her leg, already wanting for the funeral to be over with and for her to go back home. The skirt she wore had turned out to be incredibly itchy, and the several mosquito bites that dotted her legs didn't help. It was just another little aggravation to add to her already poor mood. She had also decided to leave her sunglasses and cane home, something she was doing with unnerving frequency. She felt somewhat naked without them, as if she had forgotten something very important, like shoes or dentures. Her mother didn't comment on it; she felt that it was Claire's decision, whether the decision was a good one or a bad one.
At the cemetery, Ms. Winfield led Claire over to two open chairs in the third row back. She made to sit down with Claire, but the gesticulating Maxine Fortenberry forced her to leave.
"It is so nice to see you here Anne," she said, smiling with those crooked yellow teeth of hers.
"As it is to see you Maxine," replied Ms. Winfield with fake friendship. Maxine was a well-known gossip; something Ms. Winfield wasn't fond of, especially when said gossip has spread rumours about you.
"Such a tragedy, Adele passing. She was an angel sent from heaven above."
Ms. Winfield nodded her head in response.
"You know they haven't found the murderer yet," started Maxine.
"The police don't still think that it's Jason, do they? He wouldn't kill his own grandmother."
Maxine squashed her wrinkled mouth together and looked down to the ground most unattractively.
"You can't possibly think it was him?"
"Well he did kill Maudette and Dawn, and I hear that he was… Close to them as well."
"Maxine!"
"Well it was either him or a vampire!" She said in a hushed voice.
"Now how did you get that idea?"
"Have you not heard? That Stackhouse girl has been seeing a vampire."
Ms. Winfield pulled her head back in shock.
"If it wasn't for that girl," continued Maxine, "Adele would still be alive and with us today."
"My lord," said Ms. Winfield, clutching her chest.
Back in her seat, Claire was roasting in the hot sun. It wasn't even ten in the morning and she already felt like she was in an oven. Sweat trickled most uncomfortably down her scalp, catching on the back of her shirt. She squeezed her shoulder blades together, rolling her head back, feeling utterly disgusting.
Claire listened to the conversations around her. It was her way of people watching, to eavesdrop on people. Most of the conversations she heard were about Adele, respectfully remembering her life, praising her name as if she was a saint, typical funeral behaviour. Nobody came and talked to her, even to just say hello. Eventually, Ms. Winfield came back and sat next to Claire, asking her how she was, to which she replied "fine", perhaps a bit too quickly. She was in a foul mood after all. Ms. Winfield didn't ask any more questions after that, and went on to do her own people watching.
Jason Stackhouse had just arrived, looking dishevelled and overly sweaty in his suit. He kept blinking his eyes, like he had an eyelash stuck in them, and rubbing his face. He walked with noticeable discomfort and pain to a front row chair.
Looking over, she saw two black people, one with long hair that was braided at the top. She could recognize this hair anywhere as the hair of Tara Thornton, a new barmaid at Merlotte's. Next to her was an unfamiliar bald black man, dressed in a sharp suit. She continued watching him until he turned around just enough for her to see his face. She was shocked to see that it was Lafayette, a flashy gay man who worked for both the road crew and as a cook for Merlotte's. He looked uncharacteristically formal, with no makeup, loud colors, or hair scarfs. She looked around then for their mothers, Ruby Jean and Lettie Mae, but couldn't spot them.
While still looking around, she spotted the infamous Sookie Stackhouse standing by herself near the coffin. There was a depressingly empty look in her blue eyes. They were dull, lacking the usual spark that they had. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, not bouncy and happy in loose curls like it usually was. In fact, nothing about her looked as it usually did. It was so miserable to look at that Ms. Winfield looked away to see that people were beginning to take their seats.
Her eyes caught a scruffy looking man dressed in jeans, a white button down shirt, and a tan jacket. She smiled and closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly.
Oh Sam, what are we going to do with you? Didn't your parent's tell you how to dress at a funeral? That man thinks jeans are appropriate for everything.
The Priest came from behind the set of chairs to the podium, and solemn expression on his face. He gently gripped the sides of the podium, taking a deep breath before speaking.
"Let us commend Adele Stackhouse to the mercy of God…"
The priest began speaking, and for some reason Ms. Winfield began tearing up. He had only spoken a few lines in, but those words were all it took to change the relaxed atmosphere to one of death and sadness, as quickly as a light switch. By the time the priest got to the first reading, a few people were crying, trying desperately to hide that they were.
Claire sat in her chair; sweat collecting in between her breasts, on the undersides of her knees, on her underarms, her toes, down her butt. She wanted to wipe at it, but didn't want to draw attention to herself. The priest droned on, casting a spell on the audience to make them feel bad about how little they saw the person, and then cry about it. She listened as her mother by her side, her laboured breathing making her body shake, occasionally brushing Claire's sweaty arm, a disgusting feeling of hot and wet that reminded her of little league soccer huddles.
After the readings were over, a woman Ms. Winfield didn't know took the place of the priest on the podium, and began singing the hymn "Softly and Tenderly" in a voice that was oddly beautiful, warbling, and slightly gravelly. The woman started out just singing, but as the song progressed, she got more in to it, eventually closing her eyes as the emotion came out with her song. Behind her, Ms. Winfield heard the distinct sobbing of Terry Bellefleur. He had become much more emotional since he came back from Fallujah.
When the song ended, the woman silently closed her hymnal and walked back to her seat. No one clapped; they were too lost in their own thoughts to do so. The priest came back up to podium and looked up to the sky as he addressed God.
"Lord, we gather here today to remember the life of Adele Stackhouse. To celebrate the time that she enjoyed here on earth, to thank you for each precious moment and…"
Ms. Winfield didn't catch the rest of the priest's words, as she was too preoccupied with staring at an old man who was being pushed up the dirt and gravel path to the gravesite. Up in the front row, she heard someone whisper, but it was too quiet for her to hear. As the man was pushed into the audience, Sookie and Jason turned around in their seats to see the man. Sookie looked angrily at the man as Jason reached back to pat the man's knee as a type of silent greeting. Jason turned back around, still looking dishevelled, as Sookie continued glaring at the man.
"And there shall be not more death," continued the priest, sombre.
"Uncle Bartlett what are you doing here?" Whispered Sookie.
What the man said in reply was lost to Ms. Winfield, as his voice was directed away from her. She could guess though that because he was Sookie's uncle, he was probably Adele's brother, or at least a brother-in-law.
"You haven't been part of this family in a long time," she continued, at which point Jason leaned his head back and said something to her, which made her turn back around.
"…Sookie Stackhouse has a few words. Honey, you wanted to say something?" Asked the priest, looking to Sookie.
Sookie quickly gathered herself and stood up. Tara, who was sitting next to Sookie, reached up to touch her arm.
"S-Sookie, you ok?"
She continued walking, opening her small black purse as she did. When she got to the podium she took out and unfolded a piece of paper, smoothing it out on the podium. When she read, it was slightly like a student giving an oral report, nervous, void of mostly all emotion (excluding the nerves), and shaky.
"A-Adele Stackhouse was everything to me. She wasn't just my grandmother, she was my parent, my teacher, and my best friend…"
Sookie paused. Claire was trying to control herself from making rude facial expressions at the girl's horrible public speaking skills. If she had known Adele, and therefore actually cared, then she wouldn't have been so judgmental, but she had been a horrible mood since she had woken up and was very uncomfortable sitting in her itchy skirt and sweating buckets.
"To say she'll be missed… just doesn't cut it 'cus…I can't even imagine a world without her in it." A third pause, shorter this time.
"She was always there with a kind word, and a hot meal… and shoulder to cry on…Not just for me, but," he voice became strained, like she was concentrating very hard, "for everyone that knew her." Sookie paused again, watching the crowed with a hurt look on her face.
"SHUT UP!" Claire jumped. "ALL OF YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Did I really just hear that? Were pretty much the thoughts of everybody there for the first few seconds, including Claire. Everyone moved around in their chairs as if Sookie's words were more of a strong wind.
That girl is so guilty from what she's done to her grandmother that she's hearing things. Maybe the family can get a deal at the hospital for both drug rehab and the psyche ward, thought Ms. Winfield.
Sookie looked at the audience, angry, while crumpling up her paper and throwing it to the ground. She grabbed her purse and took off into the cemetery, far from the critical eyes of her neighbours. Jason, who had been watching her as she ran off, quickly got up and took off after her. The startled looking priest came back up to the podium, watching Jason as he ran past him.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "Is there anyone else who'd care to share a few words?"
A moment passed before a voice in the back spoke up.
"I got somthin' to say."
Everyone turned around to see the voice, except Claire, who remained facing forward, frowning uncomfortably.
"What is she doin'?" said a deep man's voice.
As the owner of the voice made her way to the front, she showed herself as Lettie Mae Thornton, Tara's alcoholic mother. She looked better than usual today, if you didn't notice her slightly wobbly walk. Tara grabbed her mother's arm, trying to get her to sit back down.
"No, mama." Lettie Mae continued walking, shaking her arm to get Tara to let her go.
"Oh my fuckin' god girl, dis is about to get ugly."
Lettie Mae walked up to the podium, and placed her hands on it, looking out to the audience. Claire listened to the woman as she began speaking. Her voice was interesting to listen to, as it sounded like she had peanut butter on the roof of her mouth.
"I didn't know Ms. Stackhouse like a lot of you did," she started. "But the few times I did meet her," she paused, thinking back to all her memories of Adele. "She was nuttun but kind to me. She was good, god fearin woman. And when I was going through some bad things, my daughter would go stay with her, and I always knew she'd be just fine. Adele Stackhouse took care of my baby when I couldn't. And I'll always be grateful for that."
Lettie Mae immediately wobbled back to her seat, not passing by Tara again.
The priest finished the funeral, ending with the words, "We therefore commit her body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."
People began to file out, some still milling around. While Ms. Winfield was busy wiping her tears and trying to get rid of the mascara streaks her tears had made on her face, Claire was fidgeting. She knew that the funeral was over, but she felt like her mother was making it go on forever. From behind her she could her two women talking to each other.
"I was moved, very moved," Started one of the ladies. "You know, you should come to our next decedents of the glorious dead meetin'."
"That some kind of support group thang?" asked the next, whose voice she recognized as the speaker from earlier. "I went to one of those AA meetin's once. It was nuttin but a cult." The woman's voice changed in tone when she spoke her next words.
"Hi baby! This is my precious daughter, Tara."
"We've met, like a hundred times too many. Excuse us," said a third woman, rudely. There was a small clatter as someone was pulled from a metal chair.
Ms. Winfield tapped Claire's arm.
"Come on baby, let's go."
Claire stood up and placed a hand on the back of the chair in front of her, using the backs as guides to get out of the row of chairs. Ms. Winfield whispered, "stop" once when a person was standing in front of Claire, alerting her. When the person walked out of the isle, she told Claire "go ahead" to set her off again. When they came to the end, Claire walked an extra step forward to let her mother out, and then waited until she was offered her mother's arm. Her palm felt like it had been sprayed with cooking spray, it was so greasy. She didn't enjoy putting her hand on her mother, as now she had her mother's sweat to deal with as well. Following her lead, Claire walked out of the cemetery, grateful for the slight breeze that brisk walking brought.
Ms. Winfield followed the line of people who were slowly progressing out of the cemetery. At the exit, leaning up against the vine wrapped sign pole was Jason Stackhouse. He had taken off the jacket to his suit, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He blinked and squinted his eyes often, as if the sun was too bright. He was breathing heavily too, as if in great pain. As they walked by him, muttering their condolences, Ms. Winfield noticed that he was making little grunting noises, in pain.
The boy is already addicted to whatever he's taking, the withdrawal is written all over his face. He's almost lucky that Adele died; now he has an excuse for his actions. Not to mention that fact that he doesn't have to tell Adele, the one parental figure he had left, what he's been up too.
Ms. Winfield brought Claire to their car, opening her door for her and ushering her in so she wouldn't hit her head on the low roof. Claire sat spread eagle in her seat, determined to not let any joints bend of have any skin touch. She gritted her teeth and started counting, trying to get her mind off the mugginess of the car, which was amazingly hotter than it was outside. She left her door open, trying in vain to get a draft flowing. Ms. Winfield entered the car, immediately starting it to get the air conditioning running. She closed her door and put on her seat belt before cranking down the windows, still thinking about Jason's drug addiction.
Maybe I should try to help him. The boy could use a motherly figure now that Adele has passed on.
