Stardate 48741.61
(Tuesday, 28 September 2371, 4:30 PM local time)
Chateau Picard, LaBarre, France
The damp, gray morning has melted into a blustery afternoon, which is threatening to become a truly stormy night. Data and I, my mother and stepfather and his sons, and the Crushers, are the last remaining guests to linger in the Picard home.
The last of the others to leave was Alynna Nechayev, who paused to corner me for a hug and the teasing query, "When exactly are you and Data getting married? Haven't you been engaged for about a decade now?"
In truth, it's been a little under two years, and the term of our engagement is intentionally long. Having the question settled gave both of us a new security, but our original date had to be rescheduled because of a mission I'm still hazy about, and we subsequently decided to wait until I was finished with another school year, thus giving us more flexibility. The admiral knows all this, of course, because we've kept in touch, our personal friendship deepening in the process.
"May twenty-seventh," I tell her. "Could you arrange for the Federation to be in a state of relative peace?"
"I'll do my best," she promises, and from this formidable woman, I almost believe it's possible. "Take care, Zoe. Come to brunch the next time you're in San Francisco visiting your mother."
"I'll do that."
She goes to say goodbye to Captain Picard, and I wander into the kitchen.
(=A=)
The caterers who set up the reception after the funeral and interment have gone, though there are enough leftover finger sandwiches, salads, and little cakes to keep us all well-fed for a week. The room is dim - only the lights above the counter are on. I consider snagging one of the miniature cream puffs, but I hear a noise, and in searching for its source, I notice Remy sitting on the tile floor with his back against the commercial-sized refrigerator.
"This seat taken?" I ask him, sliding down to join him before he can answer. My skirt will be completely ruined, but I don't mind. "Is this the first funeral you've been to?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah." His voice breaks on the word, and I'm not certain if it's grief or his voice changing – probably a bit of both.
"It's kind of intense, huh?"
"Kind of a lot," he says. "Dad says we can stay out of school for the rest of the week, but I'm not sure if I want to. But… Rene was my lab partner in biology. And we always had lunch together."
"You could always go if you feel up to it and come home if it's too much. If your mom, or my mom, or Ed can't come get you, you can call me, and I'll come, or Data will." I think a moment, and then offer: "You have an open campus, right? Would you like Data and me to come take you to lunch?"
"You'd do that?"
"What are sisters for?" I ask him. "We'd love to."
"Does Michel have to come?"
"No. Tomorrow is just for you, and Data and I will do something else with Michel while we're here."
He seems okay with that arrangement, but I can tell there's something else bothering him. I stay quiet, letting the hum of the refrigerator fill the silence between us until he's ready to speak.
"Zoe?" his voice is tentative, more child than young man.
"Remy?"
"What if I cry?"
I look at him, and realize his eyes are red, but his young face is free of tear stains. "Have you cried?" I ask.
"When… when we first found out, I did. But not today… and not…"
"Not at school?"
"Yeah."
"It's totally okay if you cry, Remy. Your friend died, and that's sad, and when you cry you're acknowledging that he was important to you, and that you miss him. Did you see his uncle today? Captain Picard's face was covered in tear streaks, and he wasn't ashamed."
"Kids can be mean."
"Yeah, they can. But they lost a friend, too. I saw lots of kids in your school uniform in the church today. And a lot of them were crying." I am trying to find the right words, the kinds of words Deanna would say – has said – in similar situations. "It doesn't make you weak if you cry, Remy. And it doesn't make you stronger or tougher if you don't. There's no right or wrong way to grieve."
"Promise?" he asks.
"Promise," I assure him.
"Wise words." The voice belongs to the captain. "Forgive me for interrupting."
Remy scrambles to his feet, and then pauses, and extends a hand toward me. I don't need help, but I accept the gesture, and put my hand in his. (His palm is clammy, I notice, but I refrain from wiping my hands on my skirt.) "Thank you," I tell him. To the captain, I say, "You didn't interrupt, sir. It's your kitchen."
"Fair point." His voice is scratchy, but a trace of his usual humor is evident. "I came in search of tea and chocolate," he confesses. "I expect you did the same?"
"Cream puffs," I confess.
"Why don't you fill a tray with sandwiches, Remy, and let Zoe take a tray of dessert back out to the living room. I suspect we're all ready for a second round. I'll start tea and coffee and join you."
Wordlessly, we accede to his request, but before we pick up our trays to leave, he calls my stepbrother's name. The boy turns toward the man, and they, too share a moment of recognition. Picard extends his hand, and Remy meets it. Their handshake is brief, but the moment isn't over.
"I'm so grateful for your participation today, Remy," the captain says. "Losing a friend is never easy and learning to handle grief is something you shouldn't have to do so young. I'm glad my nephew counted you among his friends."
I can tell Remy isn't sure how to answer when he looks at me. I mouth the words 'thank you,' and he flashes me a quick smile. "Thank you, sir," he says. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Together, we leave the kitchen, but after I set my tray down, I cross the room to Beverly and touch her shoulder. She understands what I mean without my having to voice it, excuses herself from her chat with Wesley and Michel, and makes her way to the kitchen.
(=A=)
Coffee, tea, and snacks seem to be what we all need. The boys (including Wesley) make the biggest dent in the food – always a sign that they're sad but not in dire straits – and the rest of us nibble at the desserts. Data even tastes one of my treasured cream puffs.
Marie is the next to leave, which feels weird, because it's her house – the house where she spent her married life and raised her son – even if it's the Picard family that holds the deed. "Are you sure you have to go?" I ask her, concerned that we're driving her out.
"I'm too sad to be here, right now. The damage from the fire has been repaired, but the damage to my soul… it's still fresh. I'm going to my sister in Paris for a while." She pauses, "Rene talked a lot about you. I think he wanted you to be his sister, too."
"He was a very special person," I tell her. "I always enjoyed it when he visited with Remy, especially when the two of them came to hang out with me at Yale." My sophomore year, the boys had come for the weekend of the traditional Harvard vs. Yale football game.
"His first tailgate party," Marie said, smiling through her tears. "He confessed that he and Remy ate too many hot dogs."
"They paid for it the next day," I reveal. "All part of the experience. But they were in good hands. My roommate was pre-med."
She pulls me into a perfume-scented embrace and pats me on the back. "Thank you for being here. I'm glad Jean-Luc has his adopted family with him."
I make a mental note to send her a letter in a few days.
NOTES: I began this story on my phone right before bed last night, during a conversation with Selena.t, thinking it would be a quick one-shot. Instead it's three parts. And an epilogue. Well, I never was good at brevity. I'll explain the timeline in more detail in the notes for the final chapter, but this story references characters introduced in chapter 4 of UNACCOMPANIED: A Suite for Actress & Android. As for how a funeral can be a month after the actual death? Stasis, baby. Stasis.