In the silence, while Dad talked to David by the mailbox, the woodsy, lemony smell of his seats stirred the memory of our picnic by the lake—making my stomach growl again, spreading the familiar weak and shaky feeling through my arms. I looked over at Dad, his hand on David’s shoulder, with Vicki jumping in to touch his arm. It was nice of them to just leave me sitting here, in the heat, waiting.
David glanced back at me, just for a second, then shook my dad’s hand, jerking his head in my direction. I saw Dad’s mouth move, breaking into a grin; I knew they were laughing at my bad mood—they always did. No one cared to ask what was wrong. All they cared about was that my sulking was something funny to laugh at.
“You okay?” David slid into the car, closing the door on a roll of thunder.
I cleared my throat and looked out the window. “I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered—just to shut him up.
“You know, you could’ve said no.” He started the engine. “I didn’t force you to come in my car.”
“You could’ve said no, too.”
“Your dad asked me. What was I supposed to say?”
“Hmph.” I refolded my arms for good measure and glared at my parents as we pulled down the drive.
By the time the church came into focus on the distant horizon, the silence in the car had evolved into a big fat cloud of tension. I just wanted to hurry up and get there, but David was driving much more carefully and a hell of a lot slower than ever before.
When the car finally pulled up in a parking space, my door swung open, David offering his hand before I even saw him pull the key from the ignition.
“God! Don’t do that!”
“What?” He looked ultimately confused.
“You keep popping up—like, way too fast.”
“Ara, I didn’t. I swear. You must have blacked out, sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that!” Ignoring his offer of assistance, I grabbed the doorframe and hoisted my dizzy self from the car, taking inconspicuously deep breaths to steady the ringing in my ears.
“Ara, are you okay?” His hand hovered near my waist. “You’re really pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said, scowling at him.
“You’re not fine.” He stood taller, dropping his hand. “Would you like me to take you home?”
For a moment, my gaze lingered between the church and freedom, but Emily caught my eye and waved softly. I waved back and shut the car door. “No. Then everyone will wonder why the new girl suddenly disappeared from a funeral—questions would follow.”
David laughed a little, wiping the amusement from his face quickly when he looked at mine. “I’m sorry. Um—shall we go in?”
“Lead the way,” I offered, and walked slowly behind him, in no rush to be stuck in that dreary red-bricked building.
“Mr Knight.” The priest by the door shook David’s hand. “Lovely to see you again.”
“You too, Father.” David turned to a short, portly woman in a black tunic then, and kissed both her cheeks.
“Thank you for coming, David.” She reached up and stroked his face. “My Nathan would be so proud to see you all here.”
“He was a good boy.” David squeezed her hand.
She smiled, her pudgy face tight with sorrow. “And who do we have here?”
“This—” David stepped back and placed his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Is Ara Thompson.”
Her eyes went from David to me, widening. “My dear child. How sweet of you to come.”
I smiled softly; there wasn’t much I could say.
“You’re so much like your mother,” she said, taking my hand in her moist, plump grip. “And is your father far behind?”
I gave a quick glance into the parking lot. “He’ll be here any minute.”
She nodded, patting my hand. “Well, I’ll see you both after the ceremony.”
“You will.” David kissed her cheek again and stepped across the threshold of the church, smiling as he made the sign of the cross over his body.
I dipped my fingers in the holy water by the door, too, and did the same. “This isn’t the time to smile, David.”
He dropped his private, glittering grin. “Sorry. I was…remembering something.”
“What?”
“Private joke.”
“Same old David,” I scoffed, turning away a little too quickly. The walls grew taller around me, seeming to reach miles up into the sky, gathering a deathly chill from the outer atmosphere and sending it down here, to my world, making my stomach churn. A hint of smoke from singed candles wafted around the room, bringing my mind back to the last time I set foot in a church; the light faded from each stained-glass depiction of Bible stories lining the walls, making the coloured images grey and blurred—revealing faces from the past; my mum, Harry, even my grandpa all stared out at me, though their spirits did not linger here, within these walls. I closed my eyes for a second and shut everything out—the muffled sobs and whispers, the dreary organ music and the sound of paper rustling on the wooden backs of chairs.
David grabbed my arm and gently steered me to the edge of the pew, sliding in next to me, pushing me further up to allow room for more people. I wrapped my fingers around the back of the seat in front of me, taking slow, deep breaths until the bile pinching my tongue eased off.
“Mint?” he offered; I grabbed one from the tiny tin and popped it in my mouth, refusing to look at him. “You’re welcome,” he said smugly and stuffed them back in his pocket.
Then, the priest began, as did the incessant kneeling and standing. After communion, I knelt beside David and opened one eye to watch him. He seemed intent on his prayer; his eyes closed tight, lips moving fast—speaking in tongues. Okay, so, not in tongues, but something that sounded remarkably like Latin. He never mentioned religion before. I didn’t even know he was Catholic and did not know he spoke Latin. But why not; he spoke French? Then, so did Mike—but that was different, because his mum was French, so he grew up with it.
“Focus, Ara,” David whispered quietly.
I turned my head, closed my eyes, and continued the Hail Mary I’d started, just as everyone around us shuffled in their places and began to sit back in the pews. David reached across and helped me up gently by my arm.
I glared at him, jerking away. “I can get myself up, thank you.”