Unlikely Allies
Page 19
The minster started talking when we were seated. Quiet sobbing filled the air as he droned on about all my father’s attributes. My father was a pillar of our community, well loved by all, but none of them knew what truly made him special. Like the way he made “Pancake Sunday” a special event each week by adding different goodies to the pancake batter to mix things up. Or the way he would act like a rock star when he played Rockband with Megan. They would always beg me to play with them, but I always seemed to have something to do, like paint my nails or text a friend, or some other activity that now seemed meaningless in comparison.
I was brought back to reality as my Aunt Donna stepped up to the microphone to speak. How ironic that my dad’s least favorite relative would give his eulogy. He had joked for years about the stick up his sister’s ass and yet, there she was, probably because she was one of the only dry eyes here. Grandma had asked me if I wanted to say something, but I just didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of sharing my now precious memories with anyone else. Besides, would they really want to hear what I had to say if they knew all of this was my fault?
I would give anything to go back to the day that changed everything. Now, my life was filled with If onlys…If only I hadn’t picked a fight over my car…If only I hadn’t acted slow and sullen to make a point….If only I had picked any other day to be a whiny bitch, everything would be different. We would have been on time and the crazy asshole behind my dad and Megan would have picked another car to take out his road rage on!
“This was my fault,” I thought bleakly as I scanned the attendees, searching for a break in the crowd. My eyes settled on a lone figure leaning against a tree twenty feet from where I sat. Our eyes locked and bile rose in my throat.
This may be my fault, but it was equally his.
Maddon
I shouldn’t have come, I thought. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Something just pulled me to the funeral. This should be their time, I know I don’t belong. The family would probably freak if they noticed me and yet, here I am, like an idiot.
I scanned the perimeter, passing over the bowed heads and shaking shoulders of the mourners, searching for my whole reason for being here. Finally, after a moment, my eyes settled on her and my palms began to sweat. Even shrouded in her grief, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful.
A week ago she wasn’t even on my radar. There was a definite pecking order at our school, and our crowds just never mixed. I would have never given her a second thought until my father had irreversibly changed all of our lives.
I remember sitting on the couch with my aunt watching the news coverage as Kassandra led her distraught mother and pale younger sister from the hospital. My dad’s road rage had made us national news. The media happily gobbled up the heartbreaking tale of how one man treacherously ran an innocent driver off the road in a drunken rage. My eyes zeroed in on Kassandra. I took in her every feature as she bravely stepped between her family and the reporters, all demanding to know how they felt about what my father had done. She ignored their shouting, refusing to take part in the frenzy. The pain on her face was all too real, even through the TV.
Now, here I was, watching from a distance like some kind of stalker as she gripped her younger sister’s hand. My whole intention was to stay out of site, which backfired when her eyes met mine. I felt like I had been sucker punched in the gut. Her hatred was unmistakable.
This was my fault.
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