A/N: Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing this story.
No Such Thing as a Perfect Family (17)
Cars had begun pulling up near the cemetery gates toward the end of the service, lining silently along the curb as the old priest intoned the final words. The crowd started to shift slowly when he fell silent, many of them making their way over to the widow with expressions of sympathy and words of comfort. Others addressed the same quiet condolences to the rest of the family, or waited silently on the side lines.
A few more minutes passed, and the rain, which had so far been only a light mist, was picking up. Finally, with a few brief looks and small hand gestures, the family pulled together again one last time before the moment came to leave. They retreated closer to the grave site, away from the crowd, children and siblings and spouses, cousins and uncles, all in one tight group, seeking comfort in their closeness.
Sharon looked up at the sky with a grim expression, as large raindrops began to fall on her skin. She didn't feel ready to go, but they couldn't keep everyone else waiting and there was still the after-burial gathering at the house to get through…
"Okay, Mom, we won't leave yet…" Stephanie's voice was tired, too. They'd all been trying to slowly make Sharon's mother start to leave, but the older woman refused to step away from her husband's grave, her eyes staring at his name carved on the headstone.
Sharon shifted slightly, one hand squeezing her mother's shoulder reassuringly, and she waved off Ricky's umbrella before turning to her brother.
"If you take Mom and Stephanie back in your car, with Julie," she suggested quietly, "we'll go with Mary-Anne." She sighed, making an effort to think about logistics. "Did Jamie bring his car…?"
Paul nodded, glancing at his younger son. "He can take Uncle Peter and Uncle Marcus back."
She looked tiredly at the crowd of funeral-goers, who were waiting respectfully a small distance away. "That still leaves us with a few seats, I'll see who else needs a ride…"
"I'll check," Ricky and Katie said simultaneously, earning themselves a brief nod from Paul and the ghost of a smile from Sharon. "Here, Mom," Ricky once again tried to open the umbrella for her, but she pushed it down with one hand, to stop him.
"There's no point, honey, we're going to the car…"
Without listening to his protest, she walked back over to her mother; Stephanie had still been trying to coax the older woman away from the fresh grave, but it was difficult.
"We can wait," said her sister, but Sharon just shook her head. There was no point in waiting any longer, and no amount of time was going to be enough. She bent slightly and quietly whispered her own entreaties to her mother, and slowly, finally, they all began to make their way toward the gates, even though each step was heavier than the last.
About a dozen or so steps in, Sharon paused to look back at the grave one more time, and she found herself unable to turn back and resume walking away. A second later Ricky walked up to her, one arm sliding around her shoulders as he came close enough, and with the other he opened the umbrella and raised it over both their heads, and they followed the rest of the family away.
Having witnessed the caterers set up, Rusty had known there would be some sort of reception after the funeral, but he hadn't anticipated that most of the people from this morning would come back. Again a dizzying sea of dark suits had spilled over into the house, and he'd have liked nothing better than to stay out of it, but Lieutenant Flynn had told him to at least make sure Sharon could see him so she wouldn't start to worry about where he was. So Rusty had now willingly placed himself in the midst of the crowd of strangers, standing around a little awkwardly and sticking as close as he could to Lieutenant Flynn while trying not to be too obvious about it.
The Lieutenant himself was being very accommodating in that regard, and didn't seem to mind too much to be followed around. Unfortunately, with that large a gathering, it was only too easy to get waylaid or separated, and people kept getting in the way. On two such occasions Rusty had been made fairly uncomfortable when guests had walked up to him with soft-spoken greetings, because making small talk with strangers out of the blue was definitely not his thing…
Still, he did his best, staying in the room even when he wanted to run and returning awkward greetings when he had to, and trying in all ways not to stand out or break any sort of rules that he wasn't aware of; and in the midst of it all, he constantly tried to spot Sharon and keep an eye on her, because what else could he do…?
Sharon picked up an empty glass and scooped a couple of ice cubes into it before pouring some sparkling water in from one of the bottles on the side table. A slight tremor went through her as her fingers made contact with the cold glass; she'd rather have had a hot drink, but there was no hot tea out and it was too early to retreat to the kitchen and make some… Most people had only just arrived, and they were seeking out everyone in the family to offer their condolences, and she couldn't just leave, even though she did feel an entirely out-of-proportion longing at the thought of a steaming mug of tea to warm her hands…
She grabbed a napkin and slid it under her glass, the flimsy paper a poor barrier from the cold of the ice cubes. But with her decision to forego caffeine, the icy water would at least help keep her more awake, and able to handle the after-burial reception despite the fact that the funeral had left her feeling absolutely drained.
It had also not delivered the promised peace and acceptance, and Sharon was wondering when those would start to set in because she could have really used both. It was hard to decipher how she was feeling, but it definitely wasn't peaceful, or resigned, or comforted. There was still a vague sense of disconnection, and the memory of the funeral felt unreal somehow, even though she'd been there and lived it, and the sight of the headstone, the creaking of the coffin as it was lowered into the ground, the soft ground sinking under her feet and the cold rain that stuck to her skin, all those were real enough. But the sum of them just didn't register properly. Something inside of her still felt locked up.
Two of her parents' old neighbors walked up to her, and Sharon smiled as much as she could and nodded automatically, thanking them for their kind words… and in a way, that did help, because it reminded her of how much everyone loved her father. There were so many people there, and some had come a long way, just to be there one last time for him, and seeing that filled her with an odd sense of gratitude, even as it made it even worse that someone so loved could simply be gone…
There was movement by her left shoulder, and she turned slightly. "Andy." A fleeting smile passed on her lips.
"Sharon." He wore a serious expression, his usual air of wit or sarcasm entirely absent, and there was a softness to his brown eyes as he looked at her. "I'm sorry again about your father."
She dipped her head in a minute nod, then looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank you again for being here. It's…" she hesitated for a moment, then sighed: "I'm very grateful."
Andy nodded, and smiled, and thought that she didn't have any reason to thank him, because she'd have done the same for him. It filled him with sadness, that, only a couple of months before, she had accompanied him to his daughter's wedding, and now here he was with her at her father's funeral. There was a heartbreaking sort of symmetry to it.
A brief silence settled between them, serene rather than uncomfortable; after a few seconds he met her gaze again and asked quietly: "How are you holding up?"
Sharon's eyes flickered away as she considered the question. "Alright, I think," she replied finally, taking a sip from her water glass, and Andy tried to gauge the truthfulness of it, but the most he could tell was that at least she seemed to believe it.
If he'd thought he'd get a chance to talk to Sharon after the funeral – or just spend some time with her, talking wasn't really a requirement between them – Rusty had been wrong. There were constantly at least a dozen people between him and her, and there were just too many people in general. The throng rippled fluidly from the living room, to the foyer, to the dining room, all of them milling about, speaking in soft tones and smiling sad smiles.
Sharon talked to some of them briefly, but only when they approached her, Rusty noticed. The only times she approached anyone, it was her old uncle or her son; other than that she kept to herself, somehow managing a little island in the sea of people, her fingers laced around a water glass, her eyes scanning the crowd constantly for her mother, her brother, her sister…
But they didn't look like they needed her at the moment: her mom – Elizabeth, Rusty remembered from the photo albums – was surrounded by a group of older ladies, and Stephanie and Julie were nearby. Paul was talking to his wife and someone else whom Rusty didn't know, and Ricky and Katie were doing just fine speaking to a couple of people their own age by the far wall. But Sharon looked a little fidgety, as though not being able to do anything for any of them made her feel restless or out of place. More than once as she stood her silent watch he saw a flash of pained discomfort cross her face, subtle and fleeting, as though she didn't want to be in the crowd, either.
Her eyes had wandered over him repeatedly, as well, and he was glad he'd taken Lt. Flynn's advice to stay in a place where she could see him, even though each time he felt her gaze on him his cheeks warmed. He was wearing the suit she'd bought him, and he'd had to spend about a million years using Ricky's iron because it turned out suits weren't meant to be rolled up and stuffed in schoolbags… But he hadn't known what else to do when he was getting ready to leave home, and he'd wanted to be prepared! Now, he was glad he'd brought the suit, wrinkles and everything, because there was no way any of this normal clothes would've been remotely appropriate for this, and the last thing he'd have wanted was to embarrass Sharon, or worse, make her think he was being disrespectful at her father's wake, or something.
She looked so tired, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin even paler in contrast with the dark clothes she wore. But she kept up a calm expression, her manner composed and restrained, even though it was obvious, obvious that she didn't want a hundred people around. And Rusty couldn't blame her. In her position, he'd have retreated upstairs a long time ago, but of course Sharon stayed, accepting condolences with perfunctory smiles and making small talk and nodding to the strangers who came up to her, while her eyes discreetly wandered across the room every few moments, searching whether there was someone who needed anything, or something to be done.
Their eyes met one of those times, and Rusty had thought he might feel embarrassed at being caught staring at her, but instead when their gazes crossed, he only felt a surge of – well, sympathy, as Lt. Flynn called it. His legs carried him over to her almost before he could fully realize it, and he found himself standing right by her. From up close he could see even better the tension at the corners of her eyes, and the way even her breaths looked effortful, but of course she welcomed him with a warm look.
"Sharon… are – ah…" He trailed off, because 'are you okay' seemed so ridiculous, when obviously she wasn't… "I'm…sorry," he said finally, even though he couldn't even say for what, even though it seemed so little…
Sharon managed the smallest smile, but didn't say anything for a long moment; when she opened her mouth she didn't seem to know what to say… "Did…" She trailed off, gave another false start, and the most fleeting grimace of discomfort crossed her face again…"How are you, honey?" she settled finally, with a sigh and a tired tilt of her head. "I'm sorry for not checking on you sooner…I… haven't been…"
"It's fine!" He didn't think he could handle hearing her apologize. "I'm fine. I…really, don't worry about me." Her taut expression was making his stomach churn. For some reason his reassurances didn't seem to be enough, because she was still looking a little contrite:
"Rusty," she said softly, "you know I'm … you know you can still come to me for anything you need, right?" And Rusty winced involuntarily, and Sharon must've seen it because dismay flashed over her face…
"I know," he said quickly, "Sharon, I know, okay? I know I can. It's just – this isn't… I don't need anything, alright?" He fidgeted, uncomfortable, but met her eyes anyway with an almost desperate look. "Please… just… what do you need?"
But she only gave him a sad smile and that affectionate look of hers, her expression closing up imperceptibly again, and Rusty felt a pang of unexpected frustration.
However intimidating, the after-burial gathering at least gave Rusty the first real chance to see all of Sharon's family collected in one place. His eyes followed them curiously around the room, and he began to see how Ricky looked a little like his uncle, and Paul's son looked a little like Sharon's father, and of course Stephanie looked a lot like her mother, with the same frame and the same features and the same blue eyes, their resemblance even more obvious whenever they stood next to each other.
Sharon still looked different from the two of them, to the point where he really could see no family resemblance at all, and Rusty couldn't help but wonder if that was why her mother treated her with less affection than she showed Stephanie…it seemed like such a stupid reason, it wasn't as though Sharon could help which side of the family she took after…! Besides, Katie looked almost nothing like Sharon, and Sharon still loved her! He just didn't understand, what was it with Sharon and her mother, and how could they be so different, and –
Then a hoot of strident laughter echoed in a corner of the room, and Rusty noticed a strange occurrence.
He'd have missed it, if not for the fact that he was watching them all so intently.
The discordant cackle had lasted only a few seconds, and even though it was loud and jarring and inappropriate, most of the people hadn't paid much attention or shown any reaction.
But Sharon's eyes glided swiftly to the source of the laughter, her expression one of polite reserve. Some distance away, Katie fully turned around, an indignant scowl on her face. Across the room, Elizabeth craned her neck a little to see around her friends, with a searching look.
And then all three of them zeroed in on the source, Sharon with her deceptively dispassionate gaze and Katie with her disapproving scowl and Elizabeth with a sort of distant interest, and they stared in silence at the woman who was laughing… until, even though she was obviously tipsy and didn't give a damn, she began to squirm uncomfortably, and finally under their silent scrutiny she had to make her way out of the room, her posture considerably cowed.
Sharon, her mother and her daughter kept staring for a moment in the direction of the obnoxious woman, then to Rusty's surprise they automatically glanced at each other, even though they were standing in opposite corners of the room and he had no idea how or why they'd known to do that.
He didn't think anyone else had noticed the strange episode. Yet somehow, he doubted there would be another unwise guest to repeat the faux-pas. The atmosphere had shifted imperceptibly, as if the crowd that had for a moment threatened to swell out of control was now suddenly subdued again, a hundred guests brought back in check so swiftly and unobtrusively that none of them were even aware that it had happened.
A couple of hours into the reception, Rusty had reached his limit for social interaction. True, no one had tried to force any more unwanted conversation on him after the obnoxious younger priest who'd started asking uncomfortable questions(Rusty had steered clear of the man – Father Jameson – since), but even the occasional kindly greeting from some elderly neighbor, or the inescapable snippets of small talk were starting to wear on him. Besides, he'd lost sight of Sharon, and Lt. Flynn had gone out to take a phone call, and Rusty thought maybe this was a good time to take a break from all the agitation…
He was proud of himself when he managed to make his way over to the kitchenette at the other end of the house, but after a couple of minutes and a soda, he decided even that wasn't private enough. The back door was right by the kitchenette, as Katie had shown him, and though he hesitated a little at the memory of just how cold it was outside (what was up with Minnesota weather, anyway?), the need for a little peace and quiet won out.
So he slipped out the back door, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of the forest, glad to have at least a few minutes away from the constant murmur and unsettling stares of a hundred somber strangers. He didn't dare venture away from the house, so he just sat on the back steps, right under the window, grateful that his suit jacket was just warm enough in the scarily chilly September afternoon.
The back of the house looked over a wide yard, with soft mounds of grassy earth here and there, and fifty or so yards away it transitioned smoothly into a small wooded area, which Rusty knew was just a thin strip that separated Sharon's parents' property from the neighbors'.
The yard itself looked almost like a meadow, only more neatly kept and with a few more signs of a human presence, like a small flower garden right behind the house, and a wooden shed of sorts somewhere to the left. There were also a couple of cars parked on the far side, although he thought they wouldn't normally have been there, but today the household had needed the room in the driveway…
There were a few small trees around the edges of the property, trees that Rusty couldn't recognize although maybe their fruit looked like smaller, greener apples (so maybe they were some sort of wild apple tree variety?), and there were leafy, flowery shrubs here and there. But what drew his attention most was a majestic tree, a couple of dozen yards away from the house, and Rusty had no idea what kind of tree it was or how old, but it would've taken three of him to encircle its trunk, so he imagined it must've been pretty old… After some study, he noticed a few strings on one of the lower branches, clear signs that one day, a swing had hung there, and his mind went back to the pictures in the photo album and he wondered if a young Sharon had ever asked her brother to push her on the swing…
Hesitantly, he started to walk across the soft grass, until he reached the base of the tree. It looked ever older from up close, its bark hard and rough and wrinkled. Rusty had to smile at the etchings in the bark, clumsy and deep and determined, especially at the one that looked like an inverted 'S' – he wondered if it had been Sharon or her sister trying to leave her mark that way.
Stepping on the other side of the tree he was surprised to notice a few dry flowers on a spot at the bottom. It looked like someone had laid them there, some time previous, and there was even a small jar of water with a couple of more flowers in it, and a miniature glass-painted icon, it's colors vivid against the ground. It looked almost as a homage of sorts, though to whom, Rusty couldn't imagine – it can't have been to Sharon's father because the flowers looked older than a few days, and everything looked as though it had been there for a while. Maybe it was a family tradition or something. Maybe he could ask Sharon…
The air was getting a little chilly, even through his suit, but it wasn't too bad yet. He took a few more steps, walking almost to the edge of the patch of woods, and it smelled like grass and damp earth and it was so eerily quiet… but he liked it. He'd never really imagined himself living anywhere but California, but maybe one day… that is, if his messed-up life as a witness was ever over, which was looking increasingly unlikely, but if… then, maybe one day…
There was sudden movement in the corner of his eye, and he jumped, only to notice a small, brown rabbit a few yards away, right between the woody area and the yard. The rabbit startled when Rusty did, and it took off running, and Rusty couldn't help a grin because it was a little ridiculous that they'd scared each other. At least he hadn't run… a while ago, he'd been just like that rabbit, taking off in a panic at the slightest provocation, but now… Rusty thought that maybe now he'd stopped running. Or at least, he'd stopped running away.
Maybe now he had something to run to, for a change.
A sharp voice drifted to him, and his head automatically turned toward the house. The wind rustled through the leaves of the majestic tree, but even above that he could hear voices coming from the kitchenette window, and they were tense, agitated. His heart picked up when he thought he recognized Sharon, and she sounded annoyed, distressed – he turned on his heels and hurried back toward the house, because what was making her sound like this? There was another voice too, unhappy and angry, and he could start to make out the words and he picked up the pace even more…
" – tell mom to plan better next time!"
The voice was like the crack of a whip, even though it broke slightly at the end, and Rusty instinctively slowed down a little… and then the worst sound he'd ever, ever heard shattered the silence, a long, heartbroken sob that sucked the air out of his lungs and left him frozen, and it seemed to draw out forever, growing anguished, convulsive, and he'd have given anything, anything in the world to make it stop.
A/N: Don't kill me for leaving it there!
Thank you for reading :) you know I love reviews more than Sharon loves the 'Nutcracker' (which I think we can assume is now climbing in the ranks of her preferences, right?)