I felt Tate move in behind me then I felt his arm around my chest pulling me into his body. I knew he was watching too and I knew he saw it when Dad said something to Jonas which made Jonas tip his head back and grin at Dad like he was exceptionally funny something my Dad could be. I knew this because Tate’s arm tightened reflexively.

Tate’s lips came to my ear.

“Special,” he muttered, I lifted my hand to curl my fingers around his forearm and I held on as I fought back tears.

* * * * *

Tate parked the Explorer in the parking lot of the funeral home, my family following us in their rental and parking on Tate’s side.

I undid my seatbelt, opened the door and jumped down then stilled when I saw Jonas had also jumped down and was instantly accosted by an older woman with lots of blonde hair. She was wearing a brightly colored gypsy skirt with sequins stitched in a pattern around the hem and little bells jingling at the bottom; a hot pink gypsy top that had flowing sleeves gathered at the wrists and a tie that gathered at the neckline; scuffed, fawn suede cowboy boots and lots and lots of silver and turquoise jewelry at ears, neck, fingers and wrists.

“Bubby baby,” she whispered, latched onto Jonas so that Jonas’s face was stuffed into her ample cle**age. His hands were at her waist in a way I couldn’t tell if he was trying to push away or hold on and she was rocking him roughly back and forth.

I got close. “Um, can I help you?”

She lifted her head to look at me with dark brown eyes flecked with tawny, eyes I knew very well.

Tate’s mother.

Wow.

Something washed over her face as she stared at me and I didn’t know her but I knew that something was not good.

I felt Tate round the hood of the SUV as I saw my family round the back.

“Mom?” Tate asked and she tore her eyes from me to look at Tate.

She unceremoniously let Jonas go so swiftly he listed to the side and she said, “Buck, baby.” Then she threw herself in Tate’s arms.

I moved to Jonas, pulling him carefully to my side with an arm around his shoulders, his arm slid along my waist and I looked at Tate to see he was holding his mother but his eyes were aimed over her head at me.

“I can’t believe it, baby, I can’t. I heard and I couldn’t believe it.” Her voice was heavy with tears, she tipped her head back and Tate looked down at her when she finished. “You must be devastated.”

“Mom –” Tate started.

“I mean Neeta,” she went on.

“Mom –”

“Your Neeta,” she continued.

“Mom, you wanna –”

“I never thought I’d see it, it’s like the end of an era. You were born two halves of a whole,” Tate’s Mom proclaimed then wailed, “Buck, baby, how’re you gonna live without your other half?” And she collapsed in Tate’s arms, her sobs clearly audible because they were loud.

I watched Tate’s jaw get tight as his eyes went over his mother’s head to find mine.

“Babe, take Jonas inside,” he ordered.

I nodded because he looked pissed. And because of that, I tried not to let it show that his mother’s words affected me, I glanced at my family and then led Jonas toward the building.

We’d taken five steps when I heard her say in a loud whisper, “Buck, darlin’, who on earth is she?”

Jonas’s arm convulsed at my waist, I avoided my family’s eyes and I hurried him forward.

* * * * *

Jonas didn’t stay glued to me during the run up to the memorial service because Tate’s Mom, Shania, (Stella shared her name with me, she also shared that wasn’t her real name, her real name was Bernadette, but it was the name she changed it to when she was forty and having her first (Stella reported there were three that she knew of) mid-life crisis) commandeered him, acting like she was a staple in his life even though he looked confused and uncomfortable as she pulled him this way and that, keeping her hands on him nearly all the time.

Shania also spent a great deal of time sobbing, exclaiming about what a loss wild, crazy, full of life Neeta was to the world and generally sucking all of the attention she could get.

I hung back with my family, who stayed close and quiet. What made matters worse was the fact that Tate was clearly incensed by his mother’s behavior and he wasn’t the only one. Pop, Wood, Stella, Krystal, Jim-Billy, Betty, Ned and practically everyone else glared at her openly but her shields were solid and these glares glanced off her with no visible effect. Tate stayed close to Shania but I figured this was because of Jonas rather than any need to be near his mother. In fact, he seemed to be struggling with his desire to say something. But the events of the day forced him to behave with decorum and I knew this was taking a lot out of him because my man pretty much let it rip whenever the mood came over him and I could tell the mood was most definitely over him.

It was when the service was about to start and I’d shifted with my family and sat in the back when it happened.

Shania led Tate and Jonas to the front row and made a show of declaring the seating arrangements, herself between “my two boys” (her loud words). Tate nor Jonas sat, however, even when she pushed at the both of them. The Jackson boys’ eyes searched the large congregation and found me. When they did, I shook my head and smiled that it was okay and it was. It wasn’t for me to sit with them in the front row at Neeta’s funeral.

I was looking at my boys therefore I was startled when I heard Pop say from beside me, “Sweetheart.”

I looked to the side and up to see he had his arm extended in front of my Dad, his hand toward me.

“Pop, it’s okay,” I whispered.

“Family sits in front,” Pop stated.

“It’s okay, I think –”

“Family sits in front, Laurie.”

“Pop, you should –”

“Front,” he rumbled.

“Go, hon,” Dad whispered, I looked at him, he nodded to me, I bit my lip, looked at Pop and took his hand.

He led me to the front.

“Move along, Shania,” Stella demanded quietly when Pop and I got there.

“What?” Shania asked Stella but her eyes were on me.

“Down the row,” Stella stated.

Shania twisted her neck to look at Stella. “I’m sittin’ with my boys.”

“Fine, you can do that but down the row,” Stella returned.