Part 20 (1/2)

Chip stood beside her, as solid as granite. She led him to the front and slid in next to Trudy.

”Hey,” she whispered.

Trudy nodded slightly. Her jaw was clenched. Harumi realized that she'd been crying. The dark gla.s.ses were for hiding tears. Harumi laced her fingers through Trudy's and they sat there in silence.

She could make out the faint smile on the waxen corpse. Did Ca.s.sie die like that, or had the undertaker crafted her expression? Harumi shuddered. She wished someone would bring down the lid.

Harumi saw Ca.s.sie's father in the front pew with his young wife. A few months before, Ca.s.sie had predicted their divorce, but here they were together, leaning on each other like fellow cripples. Funny how these things brought people together. Harumi couldn't help thinking of her own parents. What if it had been her instead? Would they be as wrecked as Ca.s.sie's father appeared to be? Or would they suffer stoically, according to some j.a.panese code of decorum? Maybe they were here somewhere, in a gesture of community solidarity. She would call them after this. She'd tell them what had happened and she'd invite them to meet Chip. She was almost ready to forgive them.

Esther slipped into the pew. Chip moved over so the Divas could sit together. Harumi held out her free hand, but instead of taking it, Esther handed her a folded piece of paper. She raised her eyebrows.

”Read it,” Esther mouthed, sitting.

Harumi pulled her other hand away from Trudy and opened the paper. She could tell right away that it was a song, a ballad. The first stanza brought fresh tears to her eyes. She tapped out the beat of the words on her knee. A melody began to form in her head. Everyone rose to their feet for a hymn, but Harumi could barely hear the organ. All she heard was the song in her head. The Divas would have to stick together at least long enough to perform this song. They had to do this one thing for Ca.s.sie.

The ceremony pa.s.sed in a blur. Afterward, they followed the other mourners to the Haywood house. The living room was crammed. Harumi picked out Ms. Claiborne, the high school English teacher. There were a bunch of kids from school with their parents, including, oddly enough, Todd Elsworth, that jock she'd escaped from at the party.

”Maybe we should offer our condolences,” Esther said.

Johnette was carrying a tray of drinks. Harumi hadn't noticed before, but her dress was just tight enough to show off a swelling at her middle. She was obviously pregnant. They would go on, Dex and Johnette, with their new family. They would take down Ca.s.sie's photos and put them in a box. She would become a ghost, like her mother.

”Maybe ....” Esther prodded again.

”Yeah, let's go,” Trudy said. The three of them linked arms and went over to Ca.s.sie's father, who was leaning against the doorjamb. His suit was immaculately pressed, but his face was furrowed. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Harumi detected a whiff of Scotch. How Ca.s.sie would have hated that smell. He stared blankly at the three of them, there in front of him.

Harumi spoke up first. ”Um, Mr. Haywood, we're sorry for your loss.”

He nodded and gulped. ”Are you friends of hers? School friends?”

They all nodded.

”She was our guitar player,” Trudy blurted out.

”We were in a band together,” Harumi said quietly. ”We called ourselves Screaming Divas.”

His face started to crumple. ”Why didn't I know that?”

Trudy shrugged. ”I guess you weren't paying attention.”

”I guess you're right.” He took a deep breath and composed himself. ”Look, why don't you go into her room and take something to remember her by. Take whatever you want.”

They looked at each other and nodded. ”Thank you, sir.”

The last time they'd been in that room, the bed had been unmade and clothes had been strewn all over the place. Ca.s.sie's textbooks had been in a leaning tower on the floor. Today, everything was neat and orderly.

Harumi and Trudy watched as Esther slowly pulled back the quilt and lifted the pillow to her face. She inhaled deeply, then threw it back down. ”It smells like Downy,” she murmured. ”There's no trace of her at all.”