The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter 1)

“Why would I want to cover it?”

Sam could not think of a good reason. No one would likely be at the funeral, at least no one Sam wanted to see. Rusty had hardly been a popular figure in town. Sam would make an appearance, then she would go to the farmhouse, then she would wait for Stanislav to drive up from Atlanta and leave this place as fast as she could.

That was, if she could manage to find the energy to stand. The muscle relaxer was still in her system. She could feel the drug weighing her down. Sam had been awake less than fifteen minutes and she could have just as easily gone back to sleep.

She picked up the mug of tea.

“Don’t drink that.” Charlie’s cheeks were flush. “It’s got boob sweat.”

“It’s got—”

“Boob sweat,” Charlie said. “I ran the tea bag under my bra when you weren’t looking.”

Sam put down the mug. She should have been irritated, but she laughed. “Why would you do that?”

“Don’t expect me to explain myself,” Charlie said. “I don’t know why I’m acting like a kid again, pestering you, trying to annoy you, trying to get your attention. I see myself doing it and I fucking hate it.”

“Then stop.”

She groaned out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to fight, Sam. Dad wouldn’t want that, especially not today.”

“Actually, Dad loved arguments.”

“Not the hurtful kind.”

Sam drank some tea. She needed the caffeine too much to care what was in it. “So, what now?”

“I guess I’m going to go cry in the shower and then get ready for my father’s hastily arranged funeral.”

Charlie rinsed her coffee mug in the sink. She loaded it into the dishwasher. She wiped her hands on a towel. She started to leave.

“My husband died.” Sam had pushed out the words so fast that she wasn’t sure Charlie had heard them. “His name was Anton. We were married for twelve years.”

Charlie’s lips parted in surprise.

“He died thirteen months ago. Esophageal cancer.”

Charlie’s mouth moved as she tried to think what to say. She settled on, “I’m sorry.”

“It was tannins,” Sam said. “In wine. They’re—”

“I know what tannins are. I thought that kind of cancer was caused by HPV.”

“His tumor tested negative.” Sam offered, “I can send you the research.”

“Don’t,” Charlie said. “I believe you.”

Sam wasn’t sure she quite believed herself anymore. Her druthers was always to apply logic to a problem, but as with the weather, life existed in a delicate dynamical balance between the fields of mass and motion.

In essence, sometimes shit happened.

She told Charlie, “I want to go to the funeral home with you, but I don’t think I can stay. I don’t want to see the people who will come. The hypocrites. The sightseers. People who would cross the street when they saw Dad coming and never, ever understood that he was trying to do good.”

“He didn’t want a service,” Charlie said. “Not a formal one. There’s a visitation, and then he wanted everybody to head over to Shady Ray’s.”

Sam had forgotten about her father’s favorite bar. “I can’t sit around listening to a bunch of old drunks regaling each other with courthouse stories.”

“That was one of his favorite things to do.” Charlie leaned against the counter. She looked down at her feet. There was a hole in her sock. Sam could see her big toe sticking out.

Charlie said, “We talked about his funeral the last time. Before the open-heart surgery. Just me and Dad. That’s when he made all of these plans. He said he wanted people to be happy, to celebrate life. It sounded nice, right? But now that I’m in the middle of it, all I can think is what a stupid asshole he was to assume I would feel like celebrating when he was dead.” She brushed away tears. “I can’t decide if I’m in shock or if what I’m feeling is normal.”

Sam could offer no expertise. Anton had been a scientist from a culture that did not romanticize death. Sam had stood by the furnace and watched his wooden coffin slide into the flames.

Charlie said, “I remember going to Gamma’s funeral. That was shock. It was so unexpected, and I was terrified that Zachariah would get out. That he would come back for me. That his family would do something. That you would die. That they would kill you. I don’t think I let go of Lenore’s hand the entire time.”

Sam had still been in the hospital when her mother was buried. She was certain Charlie had told her about the funeral, just as she was certain that her brain had not been able to retain the information.

Charlie said, “Dad was good that day. Present. He kept making sure I was okay, catching my eye, interrupting when the wrong person said the wrong thing. It was kind of like you said. Some hypocrites. Some sightseers. But there were other people, like Mrs. Kimble from across the street, and Mr. Edwards from the real estate office. They told these stories, like strange things Gamma had said, or how she had known how to solve a weird problem, and it was really nice to see that other part of her. The adult part of her.”

“She never fit in.”

“Every place always has somebody who doesn’t fit in. That’s what makes them fit in.” Charlie looked at the clock. “We should get ready. The faster we can do this, the faster it’ll be over.”

“I can stay.” Sam sensed her wariness. “For the funeral. I can stay if—”

“Nothing has changed, Sam.” Charlie did her half-shrug. “I still need to figure out what I’m going to do with my wasted, unhappy life, and you still need to leave.”

15

Sam watched Charlie pace around the front lobby of the funeral home. The building was modern on the outside, but the inside was decorated more in the style of a fussy old woman. They seemed to operate with the same efficiency. There were two funerals taking place in the chapels on either side of the lobby. Two identical black hearses awaited their passengers outside. Sam recalled the funeral home’s logo from a billboard she had passed on the way into Pikeville. The ad showed a happy-go-lucky-looking teen beside the ominous words, Slow down! We don’t need the business.

Charlie passed by Sam, arms swinging, mouth set. She was wearing a black dress and heels. Her hair was pulled back. She had worn no make-up, done nothing to cover her grief. She mumbled under her breath, “Who ever heard of waiting in line at a damn funeral home?”

Sam knew that her sister was not looking for an answer. They had been asked to wait less than ten minutes ago. Competing music came from behind closed doors on opposite sides. One service seemed to be winding down while the other started. They would soon be overcome with mourners.

“Unbelievable,” Charlie muttered, pacing past her again.

Sam felt her phone buzz. She looked down at the screen. Before leaving Charlie’s, she had texted Stanislav, asking him to meet her at the farmhouse. The driver had been well compensated for each trip, but she still read a curt tone in his reply: Will return ASAP.

The ASAP threw her. Sam was suddenly possessed by the desire to tell him to take his time. She had arrived in Dickerson County wanting nothing more than to leave, but now that she was here, she found herself overcome by inertia.

Or perhaps obstinance was a better choice of word.

The more Charlie told her to leave, the more rooted Sam felt to this cursed place.

A side door opened. Sam had assumed the room was a closet, but the older gentleman in a suit and tie came out drying his hands on a paper towel. He leaned back in and threw the towel in the trash.

“Edgar Graham.” He shook Sam’s hand first, then Charlie’s. “I’m sorry that we kept you waiting.”

Charlie said, “We’ve been here almost twenty minutes.”

“Again, my apologies.” Edgar indicated the hall. “Ladies, this way, please.”

Sam took the lead. Her leg was cooperating today, just a tinge of pain reminding her that the détente was likely temporary. She heard C

harlie muttering behind her, but the words were too low to make out.

Edgar said, “Your husband dropped by with the requested attire this morning.”

“Ben?” Charlie sounded surprised.

“Through here.” Edgar stepped ahead of them so that he could hold open the door. The sign said BEREAVEMENT COUNSELING. There were four club chairs, a coffee table, and boxes of Kleenex discreetly placed behind potted plants around the room.

Charlie glared at the sign on the door. Sam could feel a flinty heat coming off of her sister. Usually, they fed off each other, whatever emotion Charlie was feeling becoming amplified inside of Sam. Now, Charlie’s panic, her anger, served to make Sam calmer.

This was what she was here for. She could not solve Charlie’s problems, but right now, in this moment, she could give her sister what she needed.

Edgar said, “You can make yourself comfortable in here. We’ve got a full house today. I’m sorry we weren’t expecting you.”

Charlie asked, “You weren’t expecting us for our father’s funeral?”

“Charlie,” Sam said, trying to rein her in. “We came unannounced. The funeral doesn’t start for another two hours.”

Edgar offered, “We generally open visitation an hour before the service.”

“We’re not having a service.” Charlie asked, “Whose funeral is in the other chapel? Is it Mr. Pinkman?”