My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Twenty-One - For All We Know

i.

"I called for three days of mourning. We reopened tonight," Mrs. Jones says, holding her glass out for Latin to refill.

"Who came to pay their respects?" Latin grunts out, moving in slow, steady movements, making an exaggerated show out of trying to find a comfortable position in his seat.

"Oh, on the heart and bones of my mother! Take your chair, you big whiner," Mrs. Jones says, standing up from the leather chair, rolling her eyes.

"Only because you insist." He doesn't stand and cross to the other chair as much as lurching to it. "Ahhh, much better." He closes his eyes, luxuriating in what must be his chair. "Now, who came and when?" he asks, pulling over a notebook and readying the tip of his pen.

"The first day was the busiest, of course. Sophia Bassie came with her uncle and aunt, Excelsior and Ruby, around two o'clock in the afternoon."

At the sound of Excelsior's name, Valyntine stiffens. She is about to tell them what Taboo said about him, but Latin speaks first, mentioning names she doesn't recognize.

"What about DonnaLee?"

"Yes, her too. She and Louis came a little later."

"I suppose it would be odd for her to arrive at a saccharine house with her parents," Latin says, scribbling notes in his book, "regardless of the reason."

"DonnaLee?" Valyntine asks, her voice quiet, afraid of interrupting.

"Excelsior and Ruby's daughter, Sophia's cousin," Mrs. Jones answers. "Her husband, Louis Nichols, is a musician. I've hired him to play the Nest a few times over the years."

"And Holiday?" Latin asks and then takes a drink from the bottle, impressively keeping his eyes on his handwriting.

"She came last night."

"Last night?" Latin questions, ceasing his scribbles, giving Mrs. Jones a quizzical look. "I thought the two of you were old friends?"

"The oldest. Holiday is coming tonight."

Latin raises an eyebrow.

"She's coming tonight, so we could have time alone without all the sycophants pretending to share their grief."

"I see," Latin says, nodding his understanding.

"Holiday?" Valyntine repeats the name, squinting at Latin. "Wait, she's... she's..."

"The Sophisticated Lady's mother," Latin finishes, his pen flying across the page. "Waller Bassie's widow."

"Oh, right," Valyntine nods, though she does not remember this particular detail. "You and she are friends?"

"We've been friends for almost fifty years now. Long before the Compass Families ever existed," Mrs. Jones says with pride. "We met as children and came up together."

"You know," Latin chides, looking up from this notepad. "If we wax nostalgic on every name, we'll be here all night."

"I've been dealing with nothing but memory for the past week," Mrs. Jones says, holding her glass out to him again. "I have been torn and ripped by memories, the kind that sting and burn and refuse to scab."

Latin pours her a considerable measure from the bottle, his eyes solemn.

Mrs. Jones finishes, "If it takes all night, then it takes all night."

"Very well," Latin concedes, turning the page of his notebook. "What about the West? They should have been the first to pay their respects."

"Rhapsody came the first evening with Rosalie."