Better Left Buried Page 23
Brea took Jack’s arm and walked down the long aisle to the coffin where she stood because she was too sore to kneel. Jack moved the bench for her to be closer.
“Thank you,” she said and watched him leave to keep from having to look down at the lifeless body of her best and only friend.
Her knees felt about to buckle.
“Brea?” A familiar girl’s voice called out to her.
She turned to see Pete and Becky standing at the back of the room.
Pete sat next to Jaxon. Becky walked down the aisle and wrapped her arm around Brea’s good arm, holding her hand in an act that said everything was going to be all right. There was life for her after all of this death.
“She looks kind of beautiful.”
Brea smiled, imagining Harmony looking down at what could easily be the most ironic moment in any of their lives.
“She looks kind of wrong,” Brea whispered to keep from being overheard.
Harmony’s ivory skin radiated against the black satin liner, but Beth, the undertaker’s wife, had done her makeup too conservatively, like a young girl’s. Harmony would have been mortified. The tattoo Lance gave her showed through the lace-trimmed sleeves of her black dress: Summerland.
I hope you get there.
After all Harmony had been through, she deserved the peace.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The rain let up midway through the interment. The ceremony was brief and nonsecular at Charity’s request. Jack O’Connor presided.
Pete and Becky bailed after the wake. Brea’s parents stayed despite the tension between them and Charity, who watched the proceedings from the back of the police car, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.
The funeral home, which had undoubtedly made financial arrangements to cover the costs, had donated two small flower arrangements, one of which shifted around in the back of Jaxon’s Jeep.
“You really want to go back there?” Jaxon raised his eyebrows.
“I do.” Brea nodded. “Someone has to care that this happened.”
She’d only been to one other young person’s funeral when a friend of her mother’s sixteen-year-old daughter died in a car crash. There was a line around the block at her funeral and so many people at the burial there wasn’t enough room for all of the cars to park inside the cemetery.
Harmony’s services had been underattended by anyone’s standards.
“I can’t believe how Charity was to you, like this wasn’t all her fault.”
Brea shrugged her one shoulder. “It wasn’t. Not entirely. Adam was right about one thing. Harmony was fixated on death and dying. I keep thinking that if I had called her, if I’d have gotten my family to tell me what happened sooner ….”
“If you’re right, and she was hooked on the idea, nothing you could have done would have mattered. Charity should have been more concerned. She should have been the one to try and stop this.”
“I think Charity’s just angry. She’s sober for the first time in a long time and dealing with something she’s probably been trying to forget all these years. She lost Harmony and has to live with the kind of mother she was. Honestly, from what I know about what happened in that house, why Charity killed Tom, I hope she doesn’t get punished too badly.” Charity remained solid on the fact that she acted alone. Uncle Jim had reassured everyone that there would be no mention of Brea’s father’s hand in the cover-up. Brea had thought long and hard on what happened, finding the concept of justice blurry. “I just don’t know how she can afford all of this. Charity needs more than a Public Defender.”
“My father’s made arrangements.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
“In exchange for expedited demolition and a quick closing on the house, he’s offered her a blank check to cover her legal costs. She’ll have a good lawyer, Brea, and from the evidence that came out of that house, the battered wife defense is definitely on the table.”
“And what is your father getting out of this?”
Jaxon shrugged. “A green-lit development and your mother owing him about a million favors. My father loves being owed favors, plus he gets to look like the hero: ‘Local Developer Funds Abuse Victim’s Defense.’ He had everything boxed up and moved to storage. It’ll be waiting for Charity when this is all over, if she wants it.”
Yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, hanging from the teeth of a bulldozer loading pieces of the house at 6 Maple into a truck, waiting to carry it all away. The tires spun in the mud under the weight of the splintered boards, shattered windows, the remains of a front porch, and the swing, before breaking free. The driver waved to the few men on the ground, giving them the all-clear.
A chainsaw-wielding man in a yellow rain slicker took no notice of them as he carved a sizeable oak into logs.
They had pulled up in time to watch the last tree fall.
All that remained was a furrowed yard and the basement whose secrets had washed away in the rain.
Brea sniffled, overwhelmed by the imagery of the near-flat plain where Harmony had died and where their families’ secrets nearly killed her as well.
“Are you all right?” Jaxon set his hand on her knee. The gesture meant to comfort her sent her into full-on tears. “Babe, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” She opened the car door.
Jaxon rushed around to help her but she was already out.
One of the men nodded in their direction, his sad expression saying he understood why they were there.
Brea intended to start a memorial with the funeral flowers, even if she were the only one to visit it.
“Help me with the flowers?”
A weathered wooden post topped with a rusted mailbox was all that was left to mark.
Jaxon opened the back of the Jeep. “Where do you want them?”
“There. By the mailbox, I guess.”
Jaxon propped up the wreath of daisies and roses. “Like this?”
She nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve. A weight pressed down on her chest, the memories making it hard for her to breathe. She stared across the lot, at the smashed red car loaded onto the flatbed, and at the hole that had been Tom’s final resting place.
The ground shook as the bulldozer caved in the foundation and backfilled the basement with dirt.
“The house is gone,” she said, the finality of it making it hard not to completely break down. Harmony’s life and death were in there, and in a sense, so was part of hers. Her family had been there, having the kind of good times that families do before life complicates them. She lowered her head and wept for everything the home had stood for, good and bad. “It’s all gone.”
Jaxon folded her into his arms, rubbing her back. “And why is that making you cry? Did you want them to rebuild it?”
“No,” Brea said, shaking her head. “Some things are better left buried.”
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
One of the most rewarding feelings is to hear that a reader has enjoyed one of my stories. Writing is a time-consuming, solitary venture and most often it is word of mouth that encourages others to take a chance on an author unknown to them.
Thank you for reading Better Left Buried and I hope you’ll consider leaving a brief review.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
After fifteen years of working in healthcare, Belinda Frisch's stories can't help being medicine influenced. A writer of dark tales in the horror, mystery, and thriller genres, she has been writing since her teens. Her fiction has appeared in Shroud Magazine, Dabblestone Horror, and Tales of Zombie War. She is an honorable mention winner in the Writer's Digest 76th Annual Writing Competition. Her novel, Cure, was the runner-up in the General Fiction category of the 2012 Halloween Book Festival and was optioned for film. She is the author of Cure, Afterbirth, Fatal Reaction, and Better Left Buried. She resides in upstate New York with her husband, sons, and a small menagerie of beloved animals.
Visit her blog at: BelindaF.blogspot.com
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