Winter Wakes

“I can’t believe you,” I muttered without looking up from my page in Dorian Gray. There was an undeniable fury boiling inside of me; but I was unwilling let it have its way.

“I am sorry, Mags, but you know, I’m doing this for you,” My middle aged father stood looking sincerely apologetic in the archway of our living room as I glanced up briefly. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think it would be beneficial to you in the future.”

I sighed. A sinking feeling of guilt hit me despite my lack of snide comments or even without having thrown a fit over the situation. Just the thought I had been considering complaining about the set up was enough to push me towards that pinnacle of emotion. I should be grateful someone was looking out for my future; not pissed I had to put a little effort into it. I was undeniably selfish.

“I know. I’ll be there.”

It was a smile of relief that met me then. The crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes scrunched together as a slight twinkle briefly appeared in his muddled blue/gray eyes. It was easy to make him happy. Just help him out when he asked and make sure he continued to take his medication. I still wasn’t fully used to seeing this as opposed to the man whose face was always red and whose blood pressure was abnormally high. It was welcome though, I won’t deny that.

“6:30, right?”

“Don’t be late,” He nodded, walking out. I heard the front door shut a few moments later.

I dug through my purse which was thrown on the floor in front of me, first things first; I had to cancel the plans I’d already made for that night. Luckily it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and my friend understood; or at least pretended to. The easiest thing to do was send out a text to everyone at once, which I did. Barely thirty seconds later I got my first response. No surprise it was Chassie.

Called it. Sucks you can’t go though. Oh well, Darren owes me twenty bucks now. Thanksss.

In reality this didn’t piss me off near as much as it used to. Because before I could drive, I had absolutely no choice but to go with my father. You know what it feels like to a young teenager to be forced to do something against their will while leaving them no option but to miss hanging out with their friends and that really cute guy who was in their second block class; they’re moody as hell in the first place. It’s practically suicide for the parent. Now; imagine experiencing that sensation EVERY Friday night; or there about. At one point I even attempted to burn the funeral home down; I’d set the curtains in the parlor on fire. That was then my father took the candles out of the building.

Even now, I hate the smell of my father’s funeral home. No matter what it smells like old people. It reeks of their weird colognes, strong perfumes, and moth balls. All in all, I don’t really mind the scent of moth balls. I just hate walking into a haze of perfume left behind by an eighty year old woman with a walker. It meant instant headache. I’d even started hiding Tylenol in my pockets for such situations. Unfortunately that meant I had to start using the generic brands; unless I wanted all of my money to go to that kind of thing.

I picked up a crumpled pair of black pants lying on my floor, feeling out the pockets to make sure I hadn’t left any pills in them before tossing them on the ironing board. My black skirt was in the wash; I didn’t have time to take a shower and get it cleaned. But it was a rather cold day so I wasn’t going to complain about the pants. I turned on the iron to heat up before pulling a navy sweater out of my closet, and commencing my quick shower.

Six o’clock rolled around to find me nearly ready. I was just having difficulty digging my black heels out of the pile of clothing in the floor of my closet. Five minutes later I realized my missing shoe was actually sitting under my vanity. I always hated how those things hid in the most painfully obvious spots.

My mini cooper was to my dismay cold as I climbed into it and started the engine. Luckily it didn’t take long to heat up. Unluckily; by the time it did, I was nearly there. I pulled into Walton’s Funeral Home, parking next to my father’s black expedition at the side of the building. I did respect the amount of money my father brought in with this job; and I also respected the reason why he wanted me here.

He had every intention of leaving the place in my name after he passed on. Not that it was going to happen any time soon. I for one didn’t want it to; and he was only 52. I figured he still had a few more years in him. And for that purpose, he would on a regular basis insist I attend the wakes and funerals of certain clients. It was all for future business. Not that there was anything to worry about; that was one thing you could be certain of. People were going to die. It was one of the few things you couldn’t avoid in life.

There was the undeniable scent of mothballs to greet me as I entered through the back door, in search of my father and the guests. The family for that day was sitting one room over from the actual body and casket. My father of course was with them. I walked in quietly, as not to disturb the conversation taking place. That didn’t work though.

Dad immediately looked up. I wasn’t too surprised to see a fairly young looking couple sitting there. Alright, young for what we usually got in. At most she was in her late thirties, he his mid-forties.

“Maggie, these are the Dreytons,” My father said in a somber tone.

I gave a small smile. It was a wake; there was no bubbly feeling here. No need to be overly warm or friendly.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I said softly. The two sitting on the couch looked up at me simultaneously. The woman’s large green eyes stood out even more under her well-styled blonde bangs due to the apparent redness from hours, or possibly days of crying. Her face was soft, yet firm. Each angle of it was perfect. Even in obvious misery the woman’s beauty was undeniable. Her frame, even slumped over, was obviously slender, the clingy dress showing no obvious pockets of fat hidden anywhere. What a gorgeous woman she was.

No less could be said of her salt-and- pepper husband; he had a deep tan, strong jaw-line, and pale blue irises which gave him a haughty, almost cruel look. He sat straight, a lean figure obvious under his pressed suit. There was something unforgiving and distant in the look he gave me. I felt a chill run down my spine as I stood in the doorway.

Thankfully his attention shifted back to my father as they began to discuss arrangements for the funeral the day after. I managed to look away from the couple long enough to glance around the room, and have my attention grabbed by a third figure which had distanced itself in the far corner of the room. I didn’t understand how I hadn’t noticed it before.

A boy stood noticeable in a white shirt against the backdrop of the deep burgundy wallpaper of the room. In fact, his outfit caught me more than slightly off guard. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing in a v shape the pale white skin of his neck and some of his chest. White was a very strange color to see around here. I’m sure it’s obvious why. Then none the less, he was in kakis. Not that it was quite as much of a strange choice, but it was still all too casual. My eyes moved upward to find a shaggy, somewhat curly mop of white blonde hair, just to match the shade of Mrs. Dreyton. His features were hers on a masculine scale. Needless to say he was just as gorgeous as she was. I only briefly glanced at his eyes; but it was long enough to see they were the same shade of blue as the man who sat on the couch, and the same cold feeling to match. I looked over at my dad instead.

“’Sorry for your loss,’” The boy's voice cut cruelly through the air. “Bullshit. What the hell could you understand about loss?”

I watched my father in a slightly stunned state. No one had ever said something like that out loud before; even if they had thought it. My brain then reacted slowly to what was happening. I didn’t understand. All three of them continued to talk amongst themselves. They had completely ignored the comment, continuing without as much as a pause or stutter.

I blinked multiple times, looking at the floor. I was still in shock over the comment. I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it though. At that point the first guests began to arrive. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind as best as I could, preparing myself for conversations with the mourners. Unfortunately nothing I could do would prepare me for the series of events that were about to unfold. And they were all because I attended this wake.