Beach Day

25: I Looked Out The Window (And What Did I See?)

Tiff pulls at the top of the dress again, adjusts the skirt, and tries not to feel all the discomfort she has at being here again. She isn't sure why she agreed, just that she did. Maybe it's just that she would agree to anything to make her grandfather proud.

Rather than sit with her immediate family, who she's pretty sure she's not supposed to be near anyway (she can see her parents sitting in a front pew, straight-backed and perfect, with Andy wilting and tugging at his tie next to them), she's near the back with Uncle Mike, Aunt Samantha, and Matt. It's more comfortable back here— but it's still hard to find comfort in a different view of a space she once knew well, in Aunt Esther's sundress over her legs, in the dead girl's leather still on her arms, of all of this.

From the podium, her grandfather's voice is hypnotic; the hymns she hasn't sung in years lull her into uneasy security. It's terror and nostalgia on a beige metal chair. It's feeling right at home and wanting nothing more than to bolt out the door.

Like she did when she was a child, she reads the hymnal until church is over. It's ancient; it's older than she is. She traces the lines of music and imagines playing them on the French horn. When she looks up in that non-focusing version of focus, Andy is tugging at his tie again, rows in front of her. He was never all that comfortable with church clothes. Then again, neither was she.

Church isn't the worst thing in the world. It's uncomfortable, but it isn't as bad as she remembers it being. Once she's over the hill, it's just kind of neutral. Then church is over and everyone else filters out of the chapel, leaving Matt and Tiff alone. It's like they're kids again, debating whether or not to skip Sunday School. (They never did. Neither of them had the guts or the lack of faith.)

Tiff leans forward on the pew in front of her, arms folded, cheek resting on covered skin. In front of her, Matt keeps doing what he should: cleaning up the remainder of the sacrament supplies, fighting the decorations of poinsettias by the window, muttering under his breath to his white shirt and discarded suit coat.

"Is this really the best time to talk to Peepaw?" Matt doesn't look at her.

Tiff keeps looking out the window to her immediate right. There's a bird in the grass out there. "What do you mean?"

"Couldn't you pull him to the side when you're at his house for lunch or for dinner?"

"Lunch, maybe, if we get there in time— but I plan to be long gone by the time dinner rolls around."

"How come?" He barely looks up before he goes back to his work.

"I don't want to run into my parents." She sighs, keeps looking out the window. She thinks of palm trees bending in hurricane winds; she thinks of pine needles biting into her hands. "I just don't know what to say."

"You could give them a chance? Or give yourself a chance, as it were?"

"I'm trying to keep the peace," she explains. "I— I don't want to be the reason Sunday dinner goes wrong. What's one more without me, right? And I'll be there for Christmas Eve and Christmas dinner anyway. I'm not missing that much."

"What are you going to do instead of lunch? Or— Shoot. Dinner?"

She shrugs, as much as she can in her position. "I guess I don't know yet. I might crack open that journal and see why it's blank. I guess I'll see when I get there."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No need. I'm the research guy, anyway."

That hasn't been true in a long time. She may still be the member of her small group of friends who does the most traditional forms of research and she does enjoy hitting the books— but she isn't sure if she fits that role anymore. She did when she was sixteen and they were fighting the Oneiron.