Wayward Wolf

Laid to Rest

Raymond

Despite losing Frankie, I haven't felt alone in the week he's been gone. The Scott's rallied around me like I'd always been there. Walter and Eli accompanied me to the hospital to collect Frankie's body and to the funeral home to get his last rites in order. He told me once after Mom died that he didn't want to be put in the ground. Instead, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes to be spread in the woods behind our childhood home where we used to play. Jared didn't mind, probably feeling guilty because his brother killed mine. I think any reservations about his brother being beyond help vanished when we told him what happened.

Eve has been a little quiet the last couple of days, though I'm not sure if it's because she feels guilty, which is ridiculous, but I know by now how her overly generous brain works, or if it's something else. I haven't had much energy to ask her about it, which makes me feel fucking shitty, but it takes almost everything in me just to get out of bed right now.

Joey finally got to the Scott family's home this morning, which means we can finally put Frankie to rest. I promise myself that after we do, I will talk to Eve about what's going on. If it's guilt, I'll just have to fuck it right out of her. I don't blame her, not even a bit. The only person to blame is Mark, that fucking shit stain.

I pull at the collar of the puffy jacket Eve forced me into because I'm sweating buckets in the warm house because Sandy is so busy fussing like a mother hen we haven't managed to leave yet, asking if we need snacks to take, if we'll be warm enough, and if I'm sure I don't want them all to come with. A part of me is a little annoyed at the smothering, but the larger, more embarrassing part, is all warm and gooey over all the motherly attention. My own mother barely had time to acknowledge her children between working two jobs and managing a dysfunctional bond with Jerry.

"Mom, we'll be fine," Eve finally interjects, her fingers twining with mine. "We'll go spread Frankie's ashes and then come right back. We can have a big family dinner."

"Okay, okay. Be careful, please," Sandy relents.

The three of us exit the house and pile into Joey's car. I scrunch myself into the back seat beside Eve, despite her telling me to just sit in the front. It's uncomfortable, but I know the only way I'll be able to be at that house without having another mental breakdown is if Eve plasters herself against my side and doesn't leave. I just wrap an arm around her shoulders--my other arm cradling the urn holding Frankie's ashes--and stick my nose into her curls and try not to think about the place we're going.

"What am I, a cab driver?" Joey grumbles, his voice barely audible over the tires crunching on gravel.

"Yes," I answer, voice monotone. I hear a quiet snort from beside me as Eve tries to suppress a laugh. It's the closest thing to a laugh I've heard from her all week, so it makes a little tension in my muscles loosen.

"Fucker," Joey mumbles.

The rest of the drive is silent; the only sound I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears. I don't want to go back to that place, but it was what Frankie wanted. And I'll be damned if his last wish isn't fulfilled. He sacrificed too much for me. I won't let this be another thing.

When the car stops and Eve opens the door, that same scent slams into a deep primal part of my brain that kicks up my heart rate and shrinks my thoughts into one single point. Get the fuck out of here. I can feel that same burning pain in my gut, nose, and mouth, and the piercing pain in my brain, like needles jabbing into the back of my eyes. It's like stepping right back into that fucking day, with Jerry looming over me, his hand prying open my jaw, with murder in his eyes. He stole my life from me that day, and while I learned to cope, there are some wounds that cut too deep to heal from.