The Dead Girl.

Life Without, 7

When morning came, after a long sleepless night, Roddick found his suit pressed and laid out neatly on a chair next to the air mattress. There was also a cup of steaming instant coffee in a travel mug and a homemade jelly donut for him, as well as a newspaper clipping.

Teague's obituary. The date of the funeral, that particular day, had been circled in red pen by his mother with a simple note; You should go.

Roddick scanned the obituary. The photo Teague's parents had chosen was one of the pictures she had taken at prom; her date had been cropped out, but his hand remained ghost-like on her bare shoulder. He remembered the pang of jealousy he had felt watching that picture be taken.

Teague Willis, he read. Was the daughter of Anna and Christopher Willis. A talented artist, Ms. Willis was a high school student at Our Lady of Hope Academy. She was an intelligent young woman who loved to read and listen to music, and will be sorely missed. Ms. Willis is survived by her parents, a grandmother, an uncle Tom Willis, and a cousin Rebecca Willis. The wake will be held at Dillon's Funeral home on Main Street from 4 PM. to 8 PM. on October 16th and the funeral will be held at St. Mary's Church on Park Ave at 10 AM. on October 17th. Burial will be private, coalition to follow.

Ms. Willis. So formal. So cold. Little old ladies with hundreds of cats and estranged sons were called "Ms". Not his Teague. Roddick grimaced, stowing the clipping in the pocket of his suit pant, next to the tie she had favored. Then, he put the pants on.

The funeral. He was going to go.

Roddick's dissolve quickly waned when he arrived at St. Mary's Church at five to ten. The parking lot was nearly filled and the hearse was pulling up just as he was. One small black limousine followed.

The family. Her family. One he was not apart of. Because he was never given the chance to be.

Roddick jumped as someone rapped on his car window. Marc. His hair was slicked back (but still managed to stick up at odd angles) and he was made up in a simple black suit. Roddick rolled the window down, "Yes Marc? Can I help you?"

"We didn't think you were coming, after you rushed out of the wake like that." Marc said pleasantly, his hands in his pockets. "I'm afraid it's only standing room inside the church now. I needed to come out here for a break because it's so damn stuffy in there."

Roddick nodded. "I don't mind standing."

"Good," an uncomfortable silence passed between them. Marc looked skyward and said, "It looks like rain. Smells like it too. Funny; storms always have a way of telling you when they're about to come. Don't you think?"

His mother's question about warning signs suddenly resounded in Roddick's head. A pounding headache overtook him. "I suppose. Well, I better park before everything starts..."

Marc nodded. "I'll see you at school Roddick. And remember, we still need to meet for lunch."

Roddick rolled up the window and drove away without another word. The sky was blackening and cloudy. Then, as he parked his car in one of the last available spaces in the church parking lot, it began to rain.