******090:

I entered the room beside Chris, dressed in my best black suit. Lance was behind us. I'd been to many viewings, but this one was heartbreaking. My mother was not old--- she looked good too, peaceful, as if she'd just gotten out of the shower and put on her pretty pink robe. I held Chris's arm. She'd felt that just the three of us should attend the beginning part of the viewing. Doug waited outside. It was the first time I wondered about their relationship, because I'd brought Aubrey-- and Chris had explained that just the three of us were going in, so Aubrey stayed in the lobby of the funeral home with Doug.

Chris was shaking. Her hand in the crook of my arm was literally trembling.

The room was a small square room, draped with a muted gold curtain thing, and with deep maroon accents. It seemed a little stuffy to me, and even though I'm a big boy, the idea did come to me that acting goofy at times like these might be more appropriate. I had no desire to dance at my mother's funeral—but neither did I feel like standing here staring at her in sorrowful remembrance

"She looks good." I offered. Of course, Chris burst into loud and obnoxious tears. I turned and gave Lance my best impatient expression, and fortunately, he knows me well enough to get Chris off me. She turned and embraced him, and I walked by the casket where a very large ornately framed painting garnished the wall---- some kind of herons flying over a marshy looking lake.

"Chris, you should invite people in now. We've had our time." I said this low, after looking through the little arched doorway to the waiting area where Doug and Aubrey were fending off questions from people I barely recognized as family and friends.

"I'm just not ready." Chris moaned, and Lance once more covered her in his embrace. He saw me roll my eyes. It's not that I don't like funerals. I can handle them--- not Troy's and not Daniel's, but I've been to Grandpa's and Aunt's and a couple of others, not recently. This wasn't exactly triggering any bad memories of Troy's, which it could have seeing as it was almost exactly a year ago today.

Now that thought did make me feel sick inside. Because of course, when you think those kinds of thoughts you start reliving where you were when you found out, and what that felt like, and where you were the rest of the day you found out, and it just goes on.

I saw Marc Shepherd embrace Aubrey.

I made a beeline for them, undoing the heavy gold twined rope strung between two posts meant to keep others out. I undid the rope and said that anyone who would like to come and pay their respects could, but just to be respectful as my sister was very upset.

I went to Aubrey, who didn't smile necessarily, but looked composed.

I moved her away from Marc. "You didn't bring a camera here, did you, man?"

He shook his head, and offered his condolences as he moved into the room quietly. There weren't as many people as I'd originally thought.

"How long do we have to stay?" I whispered.

Aubrey looked at me. "It's up to you and Chris. I think she's calling the shots. She didn't even allow her own husband in the room. He was pretty annoyed, I can tell you. We had quite the chat."

"What are we doing after this?"

"Did you want to do dinner with them, or just go?"

"What does Lance want?" I looked back inside and Chris was now lining herself next to the head of the casket greeting people. Lance was talking to Uncle Tim.

Aubrey took my arm. "Look, you don't have to stay. Everyone will understand if you need to get out. You put in an appearance, and tomorrow is going to be hard enough."

I shook my head, eyeing Chris and her warm wishers. I was up for it. I am strong, and I'd already grieved the way I wanted to. I wouldn't cry again.

"We can do dinner." I said finally. "I'll take care of it, and make sure we are very private. Just the five of us? Did Lance bring someone?"

I turned away from her, and made reservations for an hour from now at Nobu Malibu—a Japanese place I liked, that would be very discreet. I figured they'd have to make a table for us, but there were just the five of us, right? They did accommodate. They knew I would be appreciative. I always was.

I motioned for Lance to come over. "Hey, bro, we're heading to Nobu Malibu in about an hour." I glanced at my watch for good measure.

"I think this thing lasts about two hours."

"Like I said." I answered. "You want to tell her?" At a hundred or more a plate, I knew my sister. She'd cut this short. There weren't that many people anyway. I felt bad--- but assumed most would come tomorrow.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Aubrey, always concerned about her being on her feet too long. Dr. Breckinridge had been pretty clear that she needed to keep it at a minimal.

"I'm good." She answered confidently, pressing my hand to her belly suddenly so I could feel the little rolly thing inside. I smiled, a rewarding moment in an otherwise annoying interlude.

We two hung around the outer doors the rest of the time chatting quietly if someone approached us, but these were family and most were considerate enough to offer sincere condolences and leave. At exactly an hour I indicated my watch to Lance and made the motion for a steering wheel since he'd come with us, and would probably want to ride to the restaurant with us.

Instantly Chris's strident voice disrupted the silence. I couldn't believe it, and turned to walk out of the building. I wasn't going to do this right here with the dead barely in her casket. My stomach was roiling. Chris caught up with us, grabbing my arm.

She hissed like a snake, reminding me of my duties. I looked over her head at the very few well-wishers--- the thing was winding down, and the paparazzi was already lining up outside. If we left now we stood a better chance of getting out of here alive.

I saw that she had also noticed the crowd and the cameras. Was she trying to make a scene? Using this moment to what? Make me look insensitive?

"I'm not going out to dinner with you, Rafe, not the night before our mother's funeral. You can go celebrate if you have to, but I find your actions very crude. It's probably due to your Mormon customs now. You probably celebrate death in your new church, don't you?" She was looking pointedly at Aubrey and then at the crowd.

Did she want to provoke a fight in front of everyone? I covered my eyes with my hand.

"Chris, we're going to a very calm, peaceful dinner to be together and remember your dear mother's life, if you choose to come, you're welcome to." Aubrey invited calmly.

"Slut!" Chris screeched, her eyes blazing. "You drove her to it! If it wasn't for you and the Mormon church she'd still be alive!"

If I slapped her right here I'd be photographed doing it.

It might be worth it.

"Chris, shut your pie hole." Lance snapped, grabbing her arm and hauling her back inside. Doug was right next to them, and Aubrey simply took my hand as if nothing had marred our moment. Her grip was not even vice-like. She didn't need to. She didn't dictate to me, she simply reminded and encouraged me. I ran my other hand down her hair, taking a deep breath.

I opened my eyes. The room was just a room, my mother's body lay in another room behind me. We were just going to dinner in her honor. Now.

Aidan, Kodey, Boyd, and some other guys were there with a couple of black extra-long Mercedes, or something. They weren't limos--- I don't ride in limos. I walked sedately through the crowd, who was more subdued, but didn't put it past themselves to call out a few stupid questions like, "Rafe, now that your mother has passed, are you still going on tour?"

I ignored them, and Aubrey smiled and stared straight ahead, her baby belly leading the way to the car doors. I honestly felt perfectly clear.

We got inside the air conditioned well-insulated vehicle and it instantly pulled away. I hoped Lance, Chris and Doug were in the one behind us. There would be no more yelling, no more pushing my buttons, no more anything.

Aubrey had opened her purse.... She'd just brought this really little one, not a big old multi-colored floppy bag fitted out with kid stuff. But she brought out essential oils and rubbed lavender on my wrists, and the back of my neck. She put a little bit of peppermint on my forehead and I closed my eyes. She didn't say anything. I don't think she could. She'd probably never encountered anything quite so obnoxious and disrespectful.

She pushed me forward and proceeded to massage my back, using pressure points, and after a few minutes had me sit back so she could take my hand and use the pressure points between thumb and first finger. I guess she anticipated the headache I had begun.

"I love you." I said clearly. "Thank you."

She smiled, and then went back to her ministrations.

"Did you expect her to pull this?" I asked her.

"No."

"Did you think I was getting a headache?"

"I thought you might. You haven't hardly slept, and it's been a stressful couple of days."

"I'm sorry she said that to you."

"What? I didn't hear anything."

"That's kind of you."

"No, seriously, what did she say?"

"You didn't hear her honestly?"

"I didn't."

"How could you not, she was in your face."

"I didn't, Rafe, I'm not lying. I think if she said something bad, Heavenly Father just protected me from it. No worries."

I stared at her out of the corner of my eyes, and then sighed and leaned back, letting her massage my hand.

Thank you, God, for not letting her hear my sister's grieving crudity.

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