Chapter 5
August 8
Vanna slipped on her sunglasses as she stepped out of Ronni’s Atlas. They were at the cemetery; the hour-and-a-half-long funeral service had ended about twenty minutes ago.
Almost finished, she told herself as she tightened the belt to the navy-blue jumpsuit she wore. Since they would only be a short distance away from the car and she already had a glob of tissue in her hand, she slid her purse under the passenger seat and closed the door. After leaving the funeral home, Ronni had cut in front of the black town car carrying Gail, Cher, Cher’s husband, Ezekiel, and their twin daughters so that they were riding directly behind the hearse.
“How you gonna act like you’re VIP when you didn’t put up a dime to pay for this?” Ronni asked with a shrug when Vanna stared at her in disbelief.
She wasn’t lying, so Vanna stayed silent for the remainder of the ride.
Granny drove her own car, and so did Jamaica. They’d pulled up right behind Ronni and were now climbing out of their vehicles as well. It was the brightest and hottest day of the summer—or at least, that’s what it felt like—and Vanna couldn’t wait to get home, take a shower, and lie across her bed. Every second of every day since Monday had been a task, one that Vanna was beyond ready to be done with.
Gail had called her multiple times each day, with one insensitive remark or twenty ridiculous questions each time. At one point, Vanna seriously considered blocking her, but she knew that would only result in the pain-in-the-ass woman showing up on her doorstep, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted.
“Right this way, Mrs. Carlson,” Katherine Greenwood, the funeral director, said when she came to stand beside Vanna.
Behind Katherine was Minister Alita Stevenson, who led the women’s ministry at Vanna’s church and had agreed to officiate the services. Vanna stepped carefully over the grass, silently chastising herself for not changing out of the black pumps she’d worn. Ronni stood directly to her left, and Granny and Jamaica were behind her. She didn’t bother to look back to see who else had followed them from the funeral home, because she didn’t care.
Sitting in that room earlier, just a few feet away from the smoke-gray casket she’d selected for Caleb, had been the most unnerving thing she’d ever done in her life. Yesterday, she’d had to force herself to make the trip to the funeral home to view his body. Katherine had insisted it had to be done but had also asked if Vanna wanted Gail to do it. To that, Vanna had given an adamant no. If Gail hadn’t signed any checks, she had zero consent abilities. She’d told her former mother-in-law that more than a dozen times this week, and the woman continued to push the envelope.
So, Granny had come with her.
“He looks good,” Granny said as they’d stood beside the casket.
In all her life, with the numerous funerals she’d attended, Vanna had never heard anyone say the dead body didn’t look good. She supposed this was the standard comment. Still, she was frozen to that spot, her gaze locked on the man dressed in a black suit and bow tie in the ice-blue and slate-gray colors of his fraternity. She’d recalled the names of a few of his frat brothers and, with Jamaica’s help—because she kept in touch with everybody and their mother after college—had been able to get word to them about Caleb’s passing. Her heart thumped wildly, tears pooling into her eyes immediately, but she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t glance at him, give a nod of approval, and then run out of that place like she’d planned to do. No, she’d simply stood there, shaking all over.
She’d loved this man. Had kissed him, made love with him, planned her adult life with him, and now he was gone. And she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t hurt. Yet she did.
“They did a good job with his face, considering how puffed up you said it was the first time you saw him,” Granny had said, interrupting Vanna’s sadness.
“I want a closed casket,” Vanna announced. “He wouldn’t want this to be the last memory of him people had.”
The mortician had done a good job on Caleb’s face, just as Granny said, and the clothes he wore were new. Caleb used any occasion to get a new outfit. His lineup was crisp, the low beard he’d been wearing cleaned up as well. But there was obviously swelling at his neck and around his ears. Katherine had called her on Monday about some mark on his neck that Vanna hadn’t recalled seeing at the ME’s office. She couldn’t see it now either, probably because the collar of his shirt was covering it. But this wasn’t the Caleb she’d known. Not the handsome man she’d married.
“He was a conceited little bastard,” Granny had quipped. “So I guess that makes sense.”
“I won’t ever see him again,” Vanna said quietly then, as the tears had rolled down her cheeks.
Granny had moved in closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, since she was shorter than she was and didn’t try reaching up to her shoulders.
“He’s at peace now, Vanna. You deserve to be too.”
Those were the words Vanna had been telling herself since she’d gotten up this morning and prepared to say her final goodbye. Caleb had lived his life—whether it was in a way she approved of or could live with, he’d done it. And now she had to continue to live hers.
Minister Stevenson began reciting scripture, and Vanna sat holding a long-stemmed white rose in her hand. Beside her, Jamaica, Ronni, and Granny held one too. Vanna didn’t cry again as she stared at the casket for what she knew would be the last time. Instead, she let the corners of her mouth lift lightly as she recalled some of the good times she’d had with Caleb.
The Saturday mornings he would bring them both a bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal to bed, so they could find the cartoon channel and watch the way they used to do when they were kids. Or on Christmas Eve, when they would each open one gift together. Those were good moments, and they filled her chest with a lightness she hadn’t felt this week.
“You’re up here laughing, and my son’s about to go into the ground,” Gail said, her tone—as well as the look on her face—agitated.
Before Vanna could reply, Granny stood. “Look here, Gail. Don’t start no shit today.”
The graveside service was complete. The minister had prayed and come by to hug Vanna one last time. Others had gotten up to put their flowers on top of the casket, which was why Gail was near Vanna at all. Vanna hadn’t moved at the conclusion of the service, and so Jamaica, Ronni, and Granny had remained seated beside her while everyone else moved around. But now the confrontation Vanna had prayed wouldn’t happen was about to pop off. She could see it in the way Granny was standing, with one fist on her hip, her chin lifted, eyes narrowed at Gail.
“Nobody was talking to you, Mabeline,” Gail shot back. “Your grandchild has done nothing but disrespect me and my child since the day they met. But it ends today! Sittin’ up here in that loud-ass outfit when she knows Caleb always wanted everybody to wear white for him.”
Vanna only sighed at that last statement, because out of everything Gail had just said, that part was the furthest from the truth. Caleb had hated those Easter Sundays when she would remind him that they wore white at their church. He would attend the ever-popular white parties, but he’d always throw on tennis shoes that had a pop of color. So, while Gail, Cher, and the rest of their family had shown up today wearing all white, some of them—the younger ones—wearing white pants and T-shirts with a picture of Caleb on the front, Vanna never had any intention of wearing that color. Nor had Gail bothered to ask her to wear it during the hundreds of times she’d called Vanna in the last week.
“Nobody cares what y’all got on,” Granny continued. “That boy of yours sure don’t care no more.”
Gail took a step closer to Granny, and immediately Vanna stood. Ronni was right behind her. Jamaica got up from her seat too, but she moved so that she was standing directly in front of Cher, who had decided to join her mother in this ridiculous confrontation.
“You will not stand here and speak ill of my child,” Gail said. “Not you or your granddaughter, who never deserved him.”
“That’s enough,” Vanna said. “The services are over, so we can all go our separate ways now.”
“Oh, like you called yourself doing when you put my baby out on the streets,” Gail shot back.
“Your baby was grown!” Granny shouted. “And if you’d taken half the energy you do in runnin’ your mouth to teach him how to be a decent adult, my granddaughter wouldn’t have gotten rid of his ass.”
“C’mon, Mama,” Cher said grabbing her mother by the arm. “Let’s just go.”
But Gail ignored her daughter. Instead, she opened her mouth to say something else to Granny, but Granny put a hand up in her face.
“I don’t have any more words for you after this, ’cause you ain’t worth my time,” Granny told her as she shook her head. “Stay the hell away from my granddaughter after today. Don’t call her, don’t text her, don’t even speak her name. If you do, I swear I’ll come to your house and beat you like you stole somethin’. You hear me?”
Again, Gail opened her mouth to speak, but just as she did, she dropped her gaze and screamed. “Ewwwww!!! Get this little mutt!”
All eyes fell to Gail’s open-toed white shoes, which were now being sprinkled by Frito’s urine. Jamaica burst into laughter, and Ronni clapped a hand over her mouth. Gail was about to raise the now-soaked foot to kick Frito, who by now had finished doing his business, but Cher grabbed her arm more forcefully this time.
“Mama, I told you to come on. Out here making a scene when none of this is necessary,” Cher told her. She was shaking her head now too, her honey-blonde goddess braids swishing with the motion.
Granny bent down and scooped Frito up, then dropped him right back into the oversize brown leather bag she always carried. Vanna hadn’t even seen the dog escape, but knowing Granny, she’d probably discreetly let him out during the service so he could relieve himself elsewhere in the grassy area. Not on Gail’s feet. Then again, Vanna didn’t put anything past her grandmother.
“I hate all of you no-class hoes,” Gail snapped at them just before she turned to follow her daughter’s directive.
Cher hadn’t spoken a word to Vanna, and she hadn’t really cared. She’d only seen her sister-in-law a handful of times in all the years she’d known Caleb because Cher only half dealt with her family in any capacity. Which was probably why the woman hadn’t engaged in this current argument, instead opting to get her mother out of here before Frito’s pissing stunt was the least of what happened. One of the cousins—at least, that’s who Vanna thought the younger girl with her RIP Caleb T-shirt tied in a knot at the back so that the front of it was stretched over her full breasts was—did look over at them and yell, “Y’all ain’t got no class, and my cousin was better off without your fake-bougie ass anyway!”
Jamaica laughed even louder this time. “Girl, go on before I forget I’m too old to put hands on somebody else’s child.”
“Who comes to a funeral to cut up?” Ronni asked when most of Caleb’s family had found their way to their cars. It was a good thing they’d been toward the end of the funeral procession so they could pull right off and not have to wait for Ronni, Jamaica, and Granny to make their way to their cars.
“People with no money to pay for funerals but still wanna flap off at the mouth,” Granny snapped. “Get on my nerves!”
“Well, I bet she didn’t plan on you sending Frito after her ass,” Jamaica added with another chuckle.
Jamaica was the jokester of their trio, but make no mistake, she would forget herself and put hands on a person if provoked. Which Caleb’s cousin knew not to really do, based off the way she quickly turned around and hurried herself to that car.
“I can’t believe it, though,” Ronni said. “If we’re too old for this mess, you know Gail’s simple ass is.”
“Well, I’m not,” Granny said, and then patted her bag. “I’ve got my gun right here for whenever somebody steps too far out of line.”
Vanna rolled her eyes.
“Really, Granny?” Ronni asked, her face scrunched up. “You carry a gun in the same bag as your dog? Frito acts like a whole grown person. It’s a wonder he never pulls the gun out and starts poppin’ people himself.”
Again, Jamaica laughed, but it was quickly cut off by a man who was approaching them.
A fine af man wearing dark sunglasses and a black suit that looked like it was designed, cut out, and sewed right back up especially for him. His bald head shone in the glaring sunlight as his long legs brought him closer. The silver-and-diamond watch at his wrist glittered, the sprinkle of gray in his full goatee popped, and when he was close enough, the warm summer breeze delivered a whiff of his amazing-smelling cologne.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said in a deep voice. “May I offer my condolences to you, Savannah?”
He hadn’t even paused, just stepped right up and offered her his hand. When she stared down at it, then back up to him, his medium-thick lips spread into a smile, and he lifted a hand to remove the sunglasses. “My fault. I thought you’d remember me,” he said.
And Vanna’s mouth fell open. “Aden?”
“Aha, you do remember me,” he said, and that smile turned into a full-fledged grin. One that she specifically recalled always making her insides flutter.
“Um, yeah, how could I forget you?” she asked, then cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s been a really long time.”
He nodded. “Yes, it has.” Then he sobered. “I was really sorry to hear about Caleb. I can’t believe it, actually.”
Caleb. Right. She was standing at her husband’s gravesite, recalling how much this other man had always turned her on. She could ask the Lord to forgive her, but until Aden Granger was out of her sight again, she was positive this reaction would remain the same.
“I can’t believe the two of you are gonna carry on a conversation while the rest of us stand here and wonder who this is,” Ronni said, her gaze steady on Aden.
Jamaica, on the other hand, had folded her arms across her chest and now looked Aden up and down. “Aden Granger. Finance major. Was on the basketball team but cared more about his grades than showing off on the court. Dated Yvette Gowans our sophomore and junior year. But since you were a year ahead of us, that was your junior and senior year.”
He looked shocked as he gazed at Jamaica. “Correct,” he said, then narrowed his eyes at her. “And you’re Jamaica Brown. You didn’t stay at the same dorm with Savannah, but you two were together all the time.” He returned his gaze to Vanna. “That is, until Caleb stole all her attention.”
“What?” she asked, but she was certain he didn’t know the origin of that question. At least, she prayed he didn’t. She wasn’t asking what in reference to Caleb taking her attention, but rather what in the whole hell was happening, because the way he was looking at her was strange. Different. Tempting.
Not to drastically go off topic, because he had shown up at this funeral and offered his condolences just like many other guests had done at some point today, but the way his gaze seemed to be boring into her was alarming. But not necessarily in a bad way—or at least, she didn’t think it was bad. It was like he was shooting those red Superman lasers from his eyes and peeling back every layer of her life until her soul was bared to him, or some other wild nonsense like that.
“Ah, c’mon, don’t act surprised,” Aden continued, oblivious to the confusion now searing through her. “Once you and Caleb hooked up, none of us really saw y’all. I mean, I saw him during frat stuff and in the two classes we had together during my senior year. But that was it.” He shrugged. “Y’all stayed cuddled up.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Jamaica said. “I had to wonder for a minute if I’d ever get my bestie back. But then he started acting like the fool he’d been born to be, so my world went back to normal.”
Vanna sighed. “Okay, y’all, let’s not speak ill of the dead. Especially while he’s still technically aboveground.”
They all glanced over at the coffin.
“Then we shouldn’t be standing here like we’re about to have a picnic with the sonofabitch,” Granny said, and started to walk toward the car.
When she saw the surprised looks on each of their faces, Vanna tried for a nonchalant tone: “That’s my grandmother.”
Aden glanced back at Granny, then returned his gaze to Vanna’s. “I can hear the resemblance.” He grinned.
And Vanna did the same. “Oh, shut up.”
“So, ah, I didn’t see any details about a repast on the program. Are you just heading home, or do you have some other private plans?” he asked.
“No, there’s no repast. This”—she gave a wave of her hand toward the casket—“is over.” In so many ways, she thought.
“Great,” he replied, then cleared his throat. “I mean, that’s fine. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“Is that how they ask for dates now?” Ronni asked.
Jamaica shook her head. “Nah, what you want to ask is if that’s how frat brothers ask their deceased brother’s wife out on a date?”
Vanna’s eyes widened as heat creeped onto her cheeks. Aden didn’t look bothered by either question. He simply replied, “It’s how I ask a woman I haven’t seen in a long time out to catch up.”
Well, that shut them up. All three of them.
Until Vanna thought the silence was rude and way too uncomfortable, so she opened her mouth to reply, only to have it quickly clap shut again when she heard, “Savannah Carlson?” in a deep male voice she didn’t recognize.
It had come from behind her, so she turned to see who it was. Probably another guest who wanted to offer their condolences before leaving. There were actually two men approaching her now: one, a medium-build Black man whose salt-and-pepper hair was badly in need of a cut; and the other, an older Caucasian man, with thinning brown hair and black-framed glasses.
“Yes,” she replied. “I’m Savannah Carlson. Were you friends of Caleb’s?” she asked because she didn’t recognize either of them.
They were both dressed in suits—a muddy brown and a gray pinstripe. Both could use new shoes.
Mr. I Need a Haircut stepped up first. He moved his hand so that it pushed back the side of his suit jacket to reveal a badge attached to his belt, and said, “I’m Detective Andy Parish from the Metropolitan Police Department, and you’re under arrest.”