A/N: Just to let you know, this chapter involves Claire seeing her mother's body just before the viewing. I don't think it's a particularly disturbing scene, but there is an inherent creepiness factor involved, so if you don't want to read it, then feel free to skip over it. Also, I don't know exactly how viewings work in other countries or with other religions, but most Protestant American viewings take place the day before a funeral (similar to the Catholic wake, I believe). People come to the funeral home to view the body and pay respects, but mainly they come to comfort the family. A lot of people come to the viewing to see the family if they know they won't be able to make it to the funeral itself. On the surface, it looks a lot like a social event actually, with people mingling around and talking. Except that there's a body in the room. Right. Anyway, some people choose to keep the casket open, and some choose to keep it closed. In Claire's mother's case, they have chosen to keep it closed for the viewing and for the funeral itself. If you have any other questions about how this works, let me know. I don't want to confuse anyone, but I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible, based on my own experiences with funerals and such.

And, yay, there's a section for everyone in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Seventeen: Is That What You're Wearing?

By three thirty, Andy was dressed and ready to leave for the viewing. Claire had asked them to be ready by four o'clock so that they could make it to the funeral home in time to finish setting up before everyone else arrived. That gave Andy thirty minutes to make a few phone calls before he had to meet the others downstairs.

David, his co-worker at the Giant Eagle, was the first on his list. He confirmed that he had gotten all of Andy's shifts covered through Thursday and that Andy wouldn't have to report in for work again until Friday afternoon. After hanging up with David, Andy dialed his own number back in Columbus.

Paul answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Andy."

"Oh, hey, what's up, man? You get there okay?"

"Yeah, I made it. Long drive, though."

"I can imagine. How's everything goin'?"

Andy looked around him, at the messy bed and the unpacked duffel bag next to the wall. "It's fine," he said tiredly.

"Yeah? How's your friend doin'? She holdin' up alright?"

For a moment, Andy thought that Paul was talking about Allison, and he wrinkled his brow in confusion. Then he straightened up and sighed, realizing that Paul was asking about Claire. "Fine, I guess."

"I'm sure she's glad you guys are there."

Andy hesitated. "Yeah, probably," he said flatly. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized that the words probably weren't true, and his fingers curled even tighter around the phone. "Have my parents called?" he asked.

"Yours? No, why?"

Andy sighed. "Nothing, I just…I have to call them."

"They don't know you're there?"

"No." Before Paul could say anything else, Andy hurried on. "I just haven't had time to call them, but I'm about to."

"Oh."

"Hey, I've got to go. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, sure. Hope your friend is okay."

"Yeah, thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

Andy hung up the phone and released a shallow breath. He stared at the phone for a long time, drawing up the energy he knew he'd need to make his next call.

He talked to his parents a couple of times a week. His mother was usually the one to initiate the calls, his father only doing so if he had something specific that he needed to say or ask. Andy didn't speak with either of them for very long, just fifteen or twenty minutes a call, long enough fill them in on how his classes and practices were going and get tidbits of information on how his relatives were doing in other parts of the country. The last time he'd talked to his mother about four days previous, she'd called to tell him that his cousin Samantha was pregnant again.

Andy sighed and lifted the phone off of the cradle. He dialed his mother's work number and leaned back against the bedpost as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom." He took a deep breath. "It's Andy."

Allison peeled the headphones away from her ears and rolled over so that she could see the clock on the far wall. 3:30. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then reached over and turned the volume on the CD player all the way up so that she could hear Janis Joplin's rugged voice, however faintly, from the other side of the room.

The first thing she did was take inventory of her clothing. She hadn't packed very much in the small duffel bag that she'd grabbed out of the bottom of her closet just thirty minutes before she left for the train station in New York. But she didn't need much either. Allison had always prided herself on the fact that she could get by on very little, partially because she felt that it gave her an advantage over the people around her, and partially because she felt that the less stuff she had, the easier it would be to leave. The second bit was a carry-over from her high school days, when she felt so stifled by her cold, silent house that running away seemed less like a fantasy and more like an inevitability.

Not for the first time that afternoon, Allison looked over at the phone on her nightstand. It was one of those old-fashioned phones with the long, thin handle and the rotary dial. She imagined her mother standing at the sink in the kitchen, gazing out the window over the manicured lawn and precisely-shaped hedges. She imagined her turning to pick up the phone, her lips pursing together when she heard the voice on the other line. "It's me…I'm back."

Allison scowled and turned back to the duffel bag at her feet. She'd packed three shirts, and only one of them was nice enough to wear to a funeral. She hadn't even considered the possibility of a viewing. Not that it really mattered; she could just wear the same shirt to both events.

As she reached into her bag to pull out the shirt, her fingers brushed against a small paper sack that had been stuffed into the bottom of the bag. Allison pulled it out and peeked inside. Inside was a lacy black top, a small bottle of perfume and a folded up piece of paper. Allison pulled out the note, which read, "Good luck! Love, Cecilia". She'd dotted her I's with tiny hearts and included a drawing of a tiny pair of lips just below her name.

Allison sighed angrily and pulled the perfume out of the bag. The bottle was half-empty, probably because it was Cecilia's favorite. Allison yanked up the lid and brought the bottle up to her nose. Immediately, she yanked it away again. It smelled spicy, like cinnamon and…other spices.

The shirt was even worse. It was solid black, with lace trim and a plunging neckline. It was also sleeveless, which was completely impractical for spring in Chicago. It was also completely impractical for spring in New York, but Allison had seen Cecilia wearing it all year round, despite the weather. Beauty before comfort, she always said.

Screw beauty, thought Allison, stuffing the shirt back into the sack. I'm not going to freeze to death, Cecilia. Not even for him.

Allison paused, then let out a angry puff of breath. She was lying again. Because the truth was, where Andy Clark was concerned, Allison would be willing to sacrifice just about anything.

Brian checked his watch for about the eight hundredth time since he arrived downstairs. 4:02. He glanced over at the doorway leading into the kitchen, but didn't see Claire. She'd gotten hung up making last minute adjustments to the menu for Wednesday's reception, and Brian wondered if she realized what time it was. Or if Allison and Andy realized what time it was. He glanced into the kitchen once more, then stood from the couch and started upstairs.

Allison was already halfway down the staircase when he started climbing the steps. He stopped to let her pass, and she nodded in his direction, but didn't say hello.

"Have you seen Andy?" he asked.

She glanced up at him, startled. "No," she said quietly, shaking her head. Then she slipped past him and walked into the sitting room.

Brian sighed and continued his trek up to the second floor. When he reached Andy's door, he hesitated for a moment, remembering the reception he received from Andy earlier that morning, then knocked tentatively on the door.

Immediately, the door flew open. "I'm coming," Andy said shortly.

"Oh." Brian nodded. "Sure, I didn't mean…I mean, Claire's busy anyway, so it's not like…"

But Andy wasn't paying attention. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked.

Brian glanced down at his button-down shirt and slacks, then up at Andy again. "Um, yeah."

"Shit," Andy muttered. He shook his head and tried to smooth out a wrinkle in his dark blue polo shirt. "I know I should have brought something else."

"I'm sure it's fine," Brian assured him. "I don't think it's going to be that fancy."

Andy shot him a look that said, yeah, right, and Brian blushed, realizing his mistake. Of course it would be fancy. It was Claire they were talking about.

Andy brushed a hand over his shirt again and sighed. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

Brian nodded, and the two of them started down the hall. When they reached the sitting room, they found Allison sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest as if to keep herself warm. She glanced up when they walked in, but didn't speak, just stared at them.

Before Brian could say anything, Claire walked in from the kitchen. "Sorry," she said, grabbing her purse from the coffee table. "Everyone ready?"

Brian hesitated. "What about your dad and--"

"They've already left. There wouldn't be room for all of us in my dad's car," she explained.

"Oh."

"But we'll fit in mine."

Brian nodded and followed her into the foyer. "Right."

"Actually, I need to drive separate," said Andy.

Claire stopped at the front door and turned to face him. "Oh, okay."

Andy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have something to do after the viewing."

Claire nodded. "Okay. You can just follow me then."

Andy nodded, and everyone walked outside, where Andy's Bronco was parked next to Claire's Buick. When they reached the vehicles, Brian hesitated. He glanced over at Andy, who was unlocking the driver's side door. "Can I ride with you?"

Andy looked up, frowning. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Sure."

Brian waved at Claire, who nodded in his direction and unlocked the passenger side of her car for Allison. Andy popped open the locks on his truck, and Brian climbed in.

He waited until they were safely on the road before he spoke. "So, uh…why did you have to drive separately?"

Andy glanced over at him, then back at the road. "I have to have dinner with my parents tonight."

Brian nodded. "Oh, right."

Andy didn't offer any more information, and Brian thought it best not to press the issue by asking questions. He settled back into his seat, and the two of them finished their ride in silence.

When they pulled up to the funeral home, Brian could see Claire's car parked in one of the spaces up front. He climbed out of the truck and waited for Andy to lock the doors. When he'd finished, he jammed his keys into his pocket and looked up at Brian.

"You're going to your parents' house tonight, too, aren't you?"

Brian nodded quickly. "Yeah, right after the viewing."

Andy nodded. "Well, I can take you if you need a ride," he said gruffly.

Brian paused. "Yeah, okay," he said uncertainly. "That would be good."

Andy nodded shortly and started walking towards the entrance of the funeral home. Brian watched him for a minute, then ran to catch up.

When Claire stepped into the lobby of the funeral parlor, the first person she saw was her father, who was talking with Mr. Peterson, the funeral director. He waved briefly at his daughter and started following Mr. Peterson down the hallway leading to the director's office.

"He has to finish signing some paperwork."

Claire looked up to see her brother Daniel walking towards her carrying a large vase of flowers in one hand. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Taking these into the room where the viewing is going to be held. There's more in the back." Daniel nodded at the card sticking out from the bouquet of roses. "These are from Greg and Marsha Jamison. You know them?"

Claire nodded. "That's dad's boss from work, and his wife." She craned her neck to see behind him. "There are more?"

Daniel nodded. "Dozens. Who knew we had so many friends?"

Claire resisted the urge to scoff or roll her eyes. "Where are you putting these?" she asked.

"In the room where they're having the viewing." He paused, watching her carefully. "They've got the casket set up in there," he said quietly.

Claire nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "Where is that?"

"Here, I'll show you," he said.

Claire nodded and started to follow him, then remembered that she wasn't alone. She turned around to see Allison standing a few feet behind her, watching her closely. "Go ahead," she said quickly before Claire could say anything. "I have to go to the bathroom anyway."

Claire nodded gratefully and turned back to follow her brother down the hallway.

When they arrived at the room in question, Claire found that her brother was right about the flowers. There were dozens and dozens of flower arrangements fighting for space in the luxurious room. Baskets, bouquets, potted plants, wreaths, and easel sprays. Claire reached out and brushed her fingertips along the top of a vase full of white carnations, breathing in the scent of sympathy.

And then she saw the casket. She recognized it immediately as the one she'd picked out two days previous. The one with the antiqued handles and the walnut finish. Claire took a few steps forward until she was standing a few feet away, deliberately keeping her eyes on the spray of red roses at the foot of the casket. She stared at them for a long time until she couldn't stand it anymore and let her eyes travel up to her mother's face.

Claire hadn't seen her mother in almost three months, when she'd come back to Shermer for Christmas. She hadn't even seen her when she'd arrived at the hospital in Shermer just three short hours after her father's phone call. Still, she didn't think that it would be such a shock to see her mother that way, so stiff and heavily made-up. After a few seconds, Claire glanced away, unable to endure any more of it.

Behind her, Daniel cleared his throat. "I remember that dress," he said. "Dad said it was her favorite. I didn't remember that, but I remember her wearing it."

Claire nodded, but didn't turn back around for another look. "Yeah," she whispered. "She looked really--" Her voice broke then, and she looked down at the floor, trying to keep the dam from breaking.

Daniel came up beside her so that he could get a better look at the casket. The two of them stood in silence for a moment, with Daniel looking down at his mother's body and Claire staring down at the carpet, wiping away the tears. Finally, Claire took a deep breath and looked up again. Daniel glanced over at her, his eyes rimmed in red.

"Her lipstick looks horrible," said Claire, wiping her cheek. "Mom would never wear that shade."

Daniel released a tiny laugh, and Claire smiled, releasing a fresh wave of tears. Daniel took another step towards her and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, letting him support her weight. They stood like that for a long time, not saying anything, until the flower delivery guy arrived with another bouquet of white roses.

Bender spent the entire afternoon sprawled out on C.J.'s couch watching reruns of Miami Vice and Hill Street Blues. During commercials, C.J. wander into the kitchen for a bag of chips or another beer, but Bender got up only once, and that was just to use the bathroom.

At about four thirty, Bender hauled himself up off of the couch and started rifling through the duffel bag he'd stuffed under the coffee table, which was strewn with empty beer bottles and a half-full bag of stale potato chips. He pulled out a couple of t-shirts, glanced at them briefly, and stuffed them back into the bag.

C.J. glanced up from the television. "What are you doing?"

Bender let out an angry sigh. "Trying to find something to wear."

"To what?"

"The viewing."

"Viewing?"

Bender nodded briefly. "Yeah, it starts at five."

C.J. frowned. "What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

Bender glanced down at the front of his black t-shirt, which had the words "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" written out in in red letters that looked like blood. "Yeah, I can see this going over real well with the rich old ladies," Bender said dryly.

C.J. smiled. "I don't know. That could be pretty funny."

"Yeah," said Bender. "Fucking hilarious."

"Since when do you care what they think anyway?"

Bender's eyes flickered in C.J.'s direction, then back towards the duffel bag.

"Oh, right," said C.J. "The 'ex-girlfriend, sort of'."

Bender released an angry breath. "Never mind," he said irritably.

"So, she's rich, huh? You never told me about that part."

"I didn't tell you anything," Bender retorted.

"Yeah, so what else is new?" C.J. stood from the ratty recliner and motioned towards Bender's bag. "What else do you got in there?"

Bender picked up the two shirts he'd discarded a moment before. "Just these." He sighed. "What the fuck are you supposed to wear to these kinds of things anyway?"

C.J. shrugged. "I don't know. Tuxedo?"

Bender glared at him. "It's not the prom, asshole. It's a viewing."

C.J. laughed. "You're so nice when you need someone's help." He took a step to the side so that he could get a better look at Bender's clothing. "Maybe you could just keep your jacket zipped up and no one will notice."

"And if I get hot?"

C.J. shrugged. "Tough it out." He paused. "I'd let you borrow something, dude, but you're bigger than me. It wouldn't fit."

Bender sighed and looked down at the pair of shirts in his hand. "No, I'll just wear one of these." He brought one of the shirts up to his nose and inhaled. "Smells like shit," he noted bitterly.

C.J.'s face lit up. "Hey, I've got some cologne."

Bender's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I don't wear cologne."

"I know, but it'll get rid of the smell," C.J. said as he disappeared into the bathroom.

"I don't wear cologne," Bender said again as he peeled off the two shirts he was wearing. He tossed the Black Sabbath number into his duffel bag and put the other one back on, then pulled a solid black t-shirt on over it. It was faded and thread worn, but at least it was free of Satanic imagery.

"Found it," C.J. called out from the bathroom. "It's supposed to smell like 'Obsession' by Calvin Klein."

"Supposed to?"

C.J. reappeared from the bathroom holding a thin aluminum tube. "Yeah, it's one of those fake colognes. They're a lot cheaper, and the ladies don't seem to know the difference," he said, grinning widely.

Bender rolled his eyes. "That's because you go for the dumb ones."

C.J. didn't say anything, just stepped forward and sprayed Bender's shirt with the tube of cologne.

"What the fuck?" Bender shouted, nearly stumbling over his duffel bag. "Stop!"

C.J. grinned. "There, that's better."

Bender just shook his head and bent over to toss his duffel bag back under the coffee table. "Fucking prick," he muttered.

C.J. tossed the can of fake cologne onto the coffee table, where it landed onto the wooden surface with a loud clank and rolled onto the floor below. "Don't be such a baby," he said to Bender. "You smell better already."

"Fuck you."

C.J. ignored the comment. "I saw Isaac today," he said.

Bender glanced over at him. "Oh, yeah?" He paused uncertainly. "So did I."

C.J. nodded. "That's what he said. When you get back tonight maybe we could go over to his place. I'm sure there will be a bunch of people over there."

Bender hesitated. "Yeah, maybe." He grabbed his leather jacket from the sofa and pulled it on over his t-shirts.

C.J. nodded and settled back into his recliner, digging around between the cushions in search of the remote. "Well, have fun at the viewing."

Bender rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks. I'm sure it'll be a blast."

A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews. I really appreciate them.