The last time that Cooper had seen his wife in a church was at her father's funeral, but she recites the hymns like she sings them every Sunday. Cooper supposes that the things you learn as a child become second nature. Cooper goes to synagogue every year for the High Holidays, and the Hebrew flows from his lips like it's his native tongue no matter how many years have passed since his bar mitzvah. He was shaped by the years of Hebrew school, by the horrible embarrassment of standing on the bimah, trying to chant with a voice that wouldn't stop cracking. Being in this church, being in Monroeville, is like getting a little peak at all the things that made his wife the woman she is.
Charlotte's eyes are dry now as she listens to the pastor's sermon. She looks at Cooper apologetically when the pastor starts talking about how those who do not accept Jesus are going to hell. Cooper reaches over and takes Charlotte's hand and places their joined hands on his lap. The last thing Cooper wants Charlotte to worry about right now is if he feels uncomfortable.
A couple years ago, Charlotte had advised Addison to say whatever the hell she wanted in her mother's eulogy. But when Charlotte had sat down to write a eulogy for her own mother, Charlotte's problem had been that she didn't know what she wanted to say. She doesn't want to hang onto the bad memories and the hurt; she doesn't want to remember her mother for being an addict.
The eulogy that Charlotte delivers isn't dishonest. She focuses on the good; ignores the bad. Charlotte talks about happy memories – about a mother who was a spitfire, who loved horseback riding and was known for always giving her honest opinion –and casually ignores the days Augusta would spend locked away in her room with a prescription bottle.
Charlotte had also reminded Addison that funerals are for the living, not the dead. And Charlotte's eulogy is very much for herself. She wants to forgive her mother. Charlotte may have stopped going to church, but she still reads the Bible, still believes. And she looks to scripture to help her be a more forgiving woman.
Forgiveness is a thread that has woven itself into the fabric of Charlotte's life. Nearly a decade ago Charlotte had been responsible for a woman's death, and there isn't a day that goes by that Charlotte doesn't pray for forgiveness, doesn't actively have to try to forgive herself. And then two years ago Charlotte had learned more about the power of forgiveness. Naomi had been right when she's told Charlotte that forgiveness could help her find peace. Charlotte had gone to Lee McHenry's bedside and told him that she forgave him. And though there's still anger, Charlotte has worked to make those words real in her soul. But somehow forgiving the man who raped her had come more easily to Charlotte than forgiving her mother.
Charlotte doesn't shed a tear during the service. Cooper knows – he's watching his wife intently, trying to gauge what she needs from him. Charlotte's eyes tear as she watches her mother's casket being lowered into the ground, but she doesn't cry. What she does is unclasp her hand from Cooper's so that she can wrap her arm around his back and lean against his side. Cooper gives Charlotte a squeeze on her waist, a gentle reminder that he's there for her. Charlotte looks up at her husband with a small smile and nods.
When they get home from the funeral, Charlotte and Cooper find Mason in the kitchen with Bernie. Mason spots his parents and hops of the stool where he had been sitting to give Charlotte a hug. He's worried about her, knows what it's like to have to bury your mother. For a minute, Charlotte can't get the image of an inconsolable Mason at Erica's funeral out of her head. The image of Mason face staring into Erica's grave as dirt was being thrown on her coffin will never leave Charlotte. She prays she'll never have to see her son in that kind of pain again.
Charlotte kisses Mason's head before guiding Mason to sit at the table with her and Cooper. "Are you ok, Momma?" Mason asks.
"I'm sad, but I'll be ok," Charlotte says, smoothing Mason's hair. "What did you and Bernie do today?"
Mason has a smirk on his face as he tells his momma, "I heard lots of stories about you getting into trouble when you were my age."
"You did, did you?"
"Mmhmm," Mason says, still smiling.
Cooper chimes in, "And he's going to tell his dad each and every one of those stories, right?"
God help her, Charlotte thinks. She better get these two out of here before they have a lifetime of embarrassing information about her.
Duke, Landry, and Landry's wife Jenny walk into the kitchen a minute later. Bernie quickly asks the group what they want to drink. Cooper politely declines, figuring that Charlotte would probably appreciate not being the only sober person in the house.
"Didn't you used to be a martini girl, Charlotte?" Jenny asks after Charlotte asks Bernie for a glass of sweet tea.
"I did, but I decided to give up alcohol a couple years back," Charlotte tells Jenny.
Duke and Landry have never asked Charlotte much about her addiction or recovery, but Duke's inhibitions must be particularly low at the moment, because now he says, "Never could figure out why you did that, Charlie."
Charlotte is a little surprised by the question, but she recovers quickly. "I'm an addict, Duke. Alcohol's just another drug. I was going through a rough patch then, and I wasn't sure I could drink and keep it from getting out of hand." Cooper looks at Charlotte, gives her a little smile. He knew Charlotte had struggled with wanting to use again after she was raped, but they really hadn't talked much about it. He honestly hadn't been sure whether that was the reason she had given up alcohol or whether it had been because of Amelia.
"But you seem ok now," Duke says, a hint of a question in his voice.
"I'm just fine. But better safe than sorry, right?" Charlotte says. She doesn't mention just how much watching Amelia's drinking spiral out of control had scared her. Seeing that had made Charlotte stop and think about how much she had in her life, and how unwilling she was to give that up for the taste of a martini.
Landry and Jenny go home to see their kids an hour later. After saying goodbye to her brother and sister-in-law, Charlotte goes out to the deck to find Duke sitting in a wicker chair, staring into the distance, with a bourbon in his hand.
"How drunk are you?" Charlotte asks.
"We just put our mother in the ground. Think you could save me the lecture?" Duke asks.
"I'm only asking because I was going to see if you wanted to go shooting with me, and I do not want this to turn into some Dick Cheney thing."
"Very funny, Charlie," Duke tells her sarcastically, but he can't keep the genuine smile off his face.
"It was, wasn't it," Charlotte tells Duke, as he stands up, leaving the remainder of his drink on the table.
"Just as modest as ever."
"Come on," Charlotte says, setting off for the shooting range Big Daddy had set up Charlotte was still small.
Big Daddy has insisted that all his children know how to handle a rifle properly, so he had set up targets so that he could get a young Charlotte ready to go hunting. At first Charlotte had enjoyed shooting because it was something special that she did with her daddy, but as she got older, she came to appreciate shooting for its own merits. She loved the calm and focus, the way everything else fell away.
Charlotte had kept shooting after she left Monroeville. She would go to the range to get her frustration out after a long day, but it was never quite the same as being here, on the land where she had grown up.
"Damn Charlie!" Duke says, after Charlotte has fired off a round with perfect precision. "Guess you're still a country girl at heart."
"Told you I could whoop your ass out here," Charlotte says teasingly. Duke smiles at her and then pick up his gun and goes back to shooting.
Charlotte's learned to appreciate the value of talking, but there's something to be said for this too, she thinks. She's here on the vast expanse of her family's land with her baby brother. And for right now it's enough to console both of them.