Page 54 of Just Dare Me
I pull away. “Don’t worry about anything. Just leave it to me.”
“Are you sure?”
I stop, remembering something important. Taking her hand in mine, I say, “Listen, Mom, I know…like, we’re good now. I feel it.”
She squeezes my hand. “So do I.”
“But still,” I blab on, feeling heat in my face. “My OCD won’t let me leave without saying the actual words, so…” Swallowing back all my pride and a decade of habit, I look deep into my mom’s red, swollen eyes, and with all the sincerity I can squeeze out of my tiny but growing heart, I say, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her eyes twinkle back at mine with emotion. “Me too, baby girl.”
And then I hurry outside to make a call. A lot needs to be done to pull this off in the next three or four hours. I wipe my leaking eyes as Nora answers. “Shayne? Ohmigosh, I’ve been sitting here for hours just waiting for my phone to ring.”
“I know, and I’m going to tell you everything, but first I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Are you joking? Anything.”
“Well, you and Rook, actually.” I groan. “Actually, just Rook. I’m sorry, I know I’m not really his favorite person lately.”
“Shayne,” Nora says sharply. “I saidanything. That includes Rook.”
“Okay, so, the funeral is happening here tonight, and I was hoping that Rook could use his powers of diplomacy to extend some special invitations in behalf of myself oronbehalf of myself, however the hell you say it.”
“Done.” Nora’s voice moves away from the phone as she shouts, “Rook! Your butt, next to mine,now.”
I laugh, maybe a little too hard. I don’t know why. I mean, I do—it’s funny whenever Nora barks commands at all her hulking men—but I’m laughing more out of giddiness, I think. I’m a little punch-drunk after that talk with Mom. Everything feels so light, like I could tap-dance, or fly. It feels like Little Bunica is here, cackling right along with me.
In a glade at theheart of Newport Woods, silver moonlight glints off wet leaves and tiny pools of rainwater. Nolan steps down into the inky blackness of a small but deep grave. Dad hands him the bundle of nightgown, which Nolan gently lowers into the hole.
As he climbs out, I sweep my eyes across the small gathering—Mom and Dad, Blanche and Randy, Nolan and Mrs. Cody. Far behind them, at the edge of the glade, a man’s silhouette leans against a tree. He had been topped by the distinctive shape of a cowboy hat, but now the hat is held in his hand, revealing a smooth, bald head. It’s nice of Nick to drive out here in the middle of the night. I know he goes way back with Bunica. Maybe they were closer than I thought.
In our tradition, the burial of the body is not the main event of a funeral, but simply another instance of giving away one of the dead’s possessions. In this case, that possession is being gifted to these woods, which were a home to Bunica back when the wagon train was made of tents rather than trailers.
No words are spoken, no prayers given. It’s considered disrespectful to mourn the body when the spirit of the dead is still with us. Ceremonious respect and reverence will be given during the meal, when we’ll share stories and memories, then give a toast to the empty chair at the table. Only after those festivities, when the family is finally allowed to sleep, will Bunica’s spirit pass on.
Dad shovels dirt into the grave, then gestures for Mom to step forward. She takes the shovel, adds more dirt. The shovel gets passed around, until all have taken a turn but me. When little Randy offers me the shovel, I step back. “I don’t think I should. Technically, I’m no longer pack, right?”
As I had hoped, Mom calls my bluff and says, “Don’t be silly.” She takes the shovel to hand it to me, but Mrs. Cody intercepts it and snatches the shovel away with both hands.
“No, I agree.” She turns a withering glare on me, her eyes filled with despair and red anger. “Shayne quit the pack. That was her choice.”
Feeling a surge of dominance coiling in my gut, I quickly bow my head to stare at my own shoes, narrowly avoiding a confrontation. Only a heartless alpha would dare to challenge a grieving mother. It’s her right to be angry at me, even if her son is a raving psychopath.
After wrestling her emotions for a painfully long moment, all she can say is, “Why couldn’t you have just stayed away?” She drops the shovel at my feet.
I listen to her footsteps recede into the woods, only venturing to raise my eyes once Mom has clasped my hand in hers. “You all right? I don’t know how you can just stand there.”
“What else am I going to do? She’s right.”
“That’ll be the worst of it,” Nolan says. “To be honest, I’m surprised she was able to say anything at all, standing in front of you like that.”
Mom examines my fingers. “Look, your claws didn’t even come out.”
I snatch my hand away. “You guys, I’m not some kind of monster now. I’m still just me. Nothing has changed.”
Beaming proudly at me, Mom brushes hair away from my eyes like I’m five years old. “Aww, still so naive and ignorant.”
I make a surprised face. “Wait, I’m feeling something now. My claws, look…” I raise two middle fingers in her face.
