comin’ back here to stay all alone the mornin’ after she was killed.”
My rebellion and fear twisted together into a smoldering rage. “What are you sayin’, Joe McAllister? Either you think I killed my mother, or you don’t. Which is it?”
His eyes locked with mine. “Well, it’s not for me to decide, is it? It’s for the great state of Arkansas and possibly a jury of your peers to decide that one.”
I glared at him. I had never been so angry at anyone in all my life, not even Momma. I started to say something then stopped, not trusting the words that might come out of my mouth. Pinching my lips tight, I whirled around and left Joe standing in my yard as I stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. The door bounced off the frame and popped wide open. Joe was frozen in his spot, watching me with his expressionless face, his thumbs hanging in his belt loops. I shoved the door closed and leaned my back against it.
You shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s no different than everyone else . I was disappointed with myself for thinking he could be.
It wasn’t until later, while I stood in the shower, thankful for gas water heaters, that I realized how miraculous our encounter had been. My entire life I had avoided conflict at all costs. When kids at school made fun of me, I ignored and avoided them. And when Momma berated me, I let her beat me down, sucking in all the pain and anger and hiding in my shell. So for me to stand up to Joe was inconceivable, yet I did it without even giving it a second thought. How on earth did that happen?
After I got dressed, I stood at the sink and started to wash the dishes. Watching Joe’s house, I frowned as I tried to figure him out then shook my head. There was nothing to figure out. Chances were I’d never see him again. We’d never talked before Momma’s murder. No reason to think we’d converse after.
I finished just in time to leave for the funeral home. I shut the side door and stood outside staring at it, wishing I could cast a magic spell to keep bad people out. I laughed. Momma would have a conniption if she knew I thought such a thing. Right then, I’d settle for a lock.
Thirty minutes later, I sat at a table with Violet and Mike in the funeral home discussing all the details of Momma’s funeral, surprised that there were so many. Truth was, I didn’t care about any of it. Most of the town couldn't stand Momma, yet would show up because it was the proper thing to do then proceed to judge us on the pageantry of her burial. No one would admit such a thing happened, but all one had to do was stand in the back of the funeral home to hear it. Violet felt a need to save appearances, considering the circumstances that got us here. She also felt a need to try to redeem the Gardner family name. I thought it was too late for that, given my newfound status as Henryetta’s most dangerous criminal. But I let Violet entertain her delusions.
We toured the casket room, assigned the macabre task of picking out the box Momma would be buried in. Wood or metal. Themed or not. Extra cushioning inside. Did Momma really need extra cushioning? She was dead . I wanted to point this fact out, but everyone acted so serious.
I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about Momma buried in the ground.
“What do you think, Rose?” Violet asked.
I realized I hadn’t been paying attention but didn’t want to admit it. “Whatever you think, Violet.”
She gave me a look that said I need more help from you . I vowed to be more supportive with future decisions. And I quickly regretted that pledge when it came time to pick out the vault.
“I had no idea people were buried in a vault,” I whispered in Violet’s ear as we stared at the models hanging on the wall.
Violet sighed. “That’s because you weren’t involved in this part when we planned Daddy’s funeral.”
I realized she was right. I stayed home when she and Momma came. It never occurred to me she had to do so
My rebellion and fear twisted together into a smoldering rage. “What are you sayin’, Joe McAllister? Either you think I killed my mother, or you don’t. Which is it?”
His eyes locked with mine. “Well, it’s not for me to decide, is it? It’s for the great state of Arkansas and possibly a jury of your peers to decide that one.”
I glared at him. I had never been so angry at anyone in all my life, not even Momma. I started to say something then stopped, not trusting the words that might come out of my mouth. Pinching my lips tight, I whirled around and left Joe standing in my yard as I stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. The door bounced off the frame and popped wide open. Joe was frozen in his spot, watching me with his expressionless face, his thumbs hanging in his belt loops. I shoved the door closed and leaned my back against it.
You shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s no different than everyone else . I was disappointed with myself for thinking he could be.
It wasn’t until later, while I stood in the shower, thankful for gas water heaters, that I realized how miraculous our encounter had been. My entire life I had avoided conflict at all costs. When kids at school made fun of me, I ignored and avoided them. And when Momma berated me, I let her beat me down, sucking in all the pain and anger and hiding in my shell. So for me to stand up to Joe was inconceivable, yet I did it without even giving it a second thought. How on earth did that happen?
After I got dressed, I stood at the sink and started to wash the dishes. Watching Joe’s house, I frowned as I tried to figure him out then shook my head. There was nothing to figure out. Chances were I’d never see him again. We’d never talked before Momma’s murder. No reason to think we’d converse after.
I finished just in time to leave for the funeral home. I shut the side door and stood outside staring at it, wishing I could cast a magic spell to keep bad people out. I laughed. Momma would have a conniption if she knew I thought such a thing. Right then, I’d settle for a lock.
Thirty minutes later, I sat at a table with Violet and Mike in the funeral home discussing all the details of Momma’s funeral, surprised that there were so many. Truth was, I didn’t care about any of it. Most of the town couldn't stand Momma, yet would show up because it was the proper thing to do then proceed to judge us on the pageantry of her burial. No one would admit such a thing happened, but all one had to do was stand in the back of the funeral home to hear it. Violet felt a need to save appearances, considering the circumstances that got us here. She also felt a need to try to redeem the Gardner family name. I thought it was too late for that, given my newfound status as Henryetta’s most dangerous criminal. But I let Violet entertain her delusions.
We toured the casket room, assigned the macabre task of picking out the box Momma would be buried in. Wood or metal. Themed or not. Extra cushioning inside. Did Momma really need extra cushioning? She was dead . I wanted to point this fact out, but everyone acted so serious.
I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about Momma buried in the ground.
“What do you think, Rose?” Violet asked.
I realized I hadn’t been paying attention but didn’t want to admit it. “Whatever you think, Violet.”
She gave me a look that said I need more help from you . I vowed to be more supportive with future decisions. And I quickly regretted that pledge when it came time to pick out the vault.
“I had no idea people were buried in a vault,” I whispered in Violet’s ear as we stared at the models hanging on the wall.
Violet sighed. “That’s because you weren’t involved in this part when we planned Daddy’s funeral.”
I realized she was right. I stayed home when she and Momma came. It never occurred to me she had to do so
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