Sugar Free (11 page)

The church is overflowing with people, which doesn't surprise me given the large circle of people that JT knew. What does surprise me is that his parents are having his funeral service in a church. They must have given a hefty donation to the St. Luke's United Methodist Church in Sausalito to have the funeral here, because JT and his parents weren't Methodist. They weren't churchgoers at all. I expect they chose to have his funeral in the house of God because that would be expected by polite society, and after all, news of JT's death was in all the papers. There's no way Candace and Colin Townsend would want to be caught with pictures in the society page of JT's service being held in something as common as a funeral parlor.

Sela and I were surprised when Caroline showed up at the condo this morning, dressed in a long-sleeved black dress with black high-heeled boots. I took one look at her when I opened the door and said, “You didn't have to come.”

She gave me a light, backhand slap to my stomach and I gave an equally fake doubled-over
ooph,
and she breezed by me into the condo. “I didn't come for you. I came to see Sela.”

I laughed because I know my sister. She came for both of us.

We made a unanimous decision to leave for the funeral a bit late to put us there with no time to spare for socializing once we arrived.

The church is overflowing with cars and we have to park in a public lot a few blocks down. Caroline insisted on following us in her car because she was going to head straight back to Healdsburg after the service. By the time we walk up to the chapel, it's only a few minutes before the service starts and I'm surprised when we're met at the chapel doors by my father looking upset.

Because Sela and I walked in together holding hands, and Caroline followed behind us, my father's eyes come first to me, then Sela, then back to me without even noticing Caroline.

“You're late,” my father says by way of greeting. “I was afraid you weren't going to come.”

“Why in the hell would you think I wouldn't come?” I ask, affronted that he gives me so little credit.

“We'll talk about it later,” he says dismissively. “After the service. But your mother and I saved you a seat up front.”

He then has the grace to look at Sela, and I'm surprised he remembers her name. “Hello, Sela. It's good to see you again.”

“Hello, Mr. North,” she says with polite reserve. Like me, she's written my parents off and isn't going to spare them much more than common decency.

“Well, come on, you two,” my father says impatiently, and I'm surprised his invitation includes Sela. My mother would certainly have a cow if she knew her husband was fraternizing with the riffraff.

“Actually, we're going to sit back here with Caroline,” I say to my father, and he blinks in surprise, then his eyes immediately cut over my shoulder to see his daughter standing there. He hasn't seen her in almost five years…not since the rape.

He appears confused for a moment and I think he might even be compelled to say something to her, but then an organ plays a sad melody indicating that the service is starting and his mouth clamps shut. He merely nods at me and says, “We'll talk after the burial.”

I nod back, wishing this day would just hurry up and get the fuck over. Why the hell you have to have a service and then a separate get-together at the gravesite is beyond me. Why can't it all just be done there at once?

To say I'm a little on edge since the meeting with the detectives yesterday is an understatement. I came out of the police station with Doug on my heels feeling relatively okay about matters. Sure, they asked tough questions but nothing that would be beyond circumstantial evidence that I'd killed JT.

Of course, my bubble was deflated a bit as we walked to the coffeehouse and I pointed that out to Doug. He said, “Mr. North, most murders are proven based only on circumstantial evidence. There's hardly ever anything in the way of direct evidence unless there's a witness who observed what happened.”

That put me in a pissy mood, but when we walked into the coffeehouse and I saw the look on Sela's face, my mood got darker without even knowing what was causing it.

I went berserk when she informed Doug and me about the surprise interview from Detective DeLatemer, but Doug managed to calm us down and told us not to worry. He seemed confident that neither one of us said anything that was incriminating and that we just needed to remain calm.

Easy for him to say, especially after Sela and I got back to the condo and compared notes on the questions we were asked. And the immediate and most noticeable fuckup was that I lied and said Sela had been at JT's house for dinner and Sela didn't mention that to DeLatemer when he asked all the times they'd been together.

Sela started crying when she realized, not because she was afraid for herself, but because she was beyond wigged out that I was in the crosshairs now. It took me forever to calm her down, and when no amount of talking, sweet words, or stroking of her back would work, I ended up stripping her down and making her come with my mouth. That stopped the tears, but it didn't stop her worries. She tossed and turned all night, and neither one of us slept a wink.

The day after was no better, with both of us having too much time on our hands and nothing to do but wait for something bad to happen. Luckily, nothing did happen yesterday, and I feel marginally better that once we can get through this funeral, we can start leaving some worries behind.

Caroline, Sela, and I sit several rows back from the front and JT's casket, which is closed, and a large portrait of his smiling face beside it. I have no clue why it's closed. Not sure if that was his preference, his parents', or perhaps the gaping holes in the side of his neck couldn't be hidden. Regardless, I'm thankful, because I sure as fuck don't want to see him. Not that I'd mind taking some sort of satisfaction in said gaping holes, but I want to hurry up and forget the son of a bitch. The last time I saw him he was beaten to a pulp, and that's not a bad way to remember him.

Candace Townsend cries during the entire service. Her husband sits stoically to her left. My father sits to the right of Candace and I notice their shoulders touch the entire time. My mother sits to my father's right and quietly dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief.

My eulogy goes as expected. I keep it short and sweet. So fucking sweet. I talk about my childhood friend with genuine emotion. I tell a few funny stories about JT. I commend his amazing business sense and his confidence in me, for which I would not have had the opportunity to help create The Sugar Bowl. I talk about a life snuffed out far too early, and that the world is a little darker without him in it. I get through all of this without a single hitch in my well-rehearsed speech, because I want people to believe I'm devastated over the loss of my friend.

“I know we're all grieving,” I tell the crowd as I look out over the sad faces. I didn't prepare any type of formal speech but just had some index cards with jotted notes. “But we should all take some measure of happiness in knowing that JT is in a better place. Rest well, buddy.”

And by that, I truly mean “burn in hell,” but the mourners don't need to know that.

The graveside service is short, with only a few words spoken by the pastor before JT's casket is lowered into the ground accompanied by Candace's wailing. I expect Colin will medicate her with Xanax and whiskey later.

Sela, Caroline, and I stood at the perimeter of the crowd, quietly watching this last ode to JT's life. I expected it to feel bittersweet to me, that my friend had fallen so low. But there's no bitterness at all. Only sweet relief he's dead and out of our lives. I expect that makes me one cold bastard, but knowing what he did to my sister…to my Sela…I can't seem to find any shame in my thoughts.

As the mourners start to disperse, I watch as my father touches his hand to my mother's elbow and nods my way. She spares me the briefest of glances, says something back to him with flattened lips, and he leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

To calm her down maybe?

I watch as he clasps Colin on the shoulder, murmurs a few words, and then bends to give Candace a hug. It's so clear to me, their familiarity with each other. It's almost embarrassing the way Candace's fingers clutch desperately to my father's shoulders, and I nearly smile when I see my mother watching every bit of it like a hawk. Sela told me at Christmas she thought my mother knew about my father and Candace, and I've often wondered.

Didn't really care, but I wondered.

Now I'm pretty sure Sela was right.

My father turns and starts making his way through the crowd to us. I turn to Sela and Caroline. “Okay, ladies…that's your cue. Better get gone while the gettin's good.”

Caroline smirks and goes on tiptoes to give me a kiss on my cheek. After the funeral, we decided that Caroline would take Sela back to the condo so I could talk to my father alone. I bend down and give Sela a swift kiss, and then watch them walk out to the roadway that curves through the cemetery where our cars are parallel parked.

When I feel my dad's presence behind me, I turn around to face him.

“That was a good eulogy,” he says, but there's no genuine praise in his voice. It's filler…an icebreaker…nothing more.

“I wanted to talk to you about your mother's visit the other night,” my dad says uncomfortably. I know he's being made to have this “talk” with me at my mother's behest.

“Save your breath,” I tell him as I hold a hand up. “I told her I was done and I meant it. I'm done.”

“Just like Caroline then,” my dad observes bitterly.

“That's no one's fault but yours and Mother's,” I tell him. “And if I'm being honest with myself, I should have cut ties with both of you when you so callously tossed aside your daughter who had been raped.”

I can't gauge the look on my father's face. I can't tell if it's anger or sadness. It's this weird mixture maybe of the two, and he mutters, “Now all my children are gone.”

Still your fault, Dad.

Well, JT's not your fault. That's strictly on himself, but whatever.

Now that the unimportant shit is out of the way, turns out this talk was opportune because I've got some shit on my mind too. “You told me at the Christmas party that JT didn't know he was your son.”

My dad jerks in surprise and his jaw drops.

“He knew,” I say confidently.

“How do you know that?” my dad asks.

I provide the easiest lie. “Because he told me a few days before he died.”

My dad's gaze cuts over to where Candace stands with Colin, accepting handshakes and air kisses from friends. “Candace felt he had the right to know, and I couldn't argue with that.”

“And you left him half of your estate,” I throw out in accusatory fashion, not that I care, because I don't. I do it so my dad thinks I'm emotionally invested in this argument and perhaps he'll be more genuine with me.

“Of course I did,” he says heatedly and with self-righteousness, and it doesn't occur to him to find out how I know this. “He's my son.”

“And cut Caroline out,” I growl at him.

“She was lost to me.”

“Then why all the secrecy?” I say with unfiltered disgust. “Why not have just admitted all of this to me when I asked you about it at Christmas?”

“I don't know,” he says loudly as he throws his hands out to the side in frustration. Then he lowers his voice. “I don't know. It was just awkward and you caught me off guard.”

“And lying comes easy to you,” I interject.

He lets that one go. “I knew it was going to make you angry so I just avoided it. And yes, he's in my will, but I didn't tell you because I didn't want to deal with the messy fallout.”

“No, you were just going to leave that for me and Mom to deal with if you died, right?”