Until You Feel At Home

Chapter Ten

Brandon

Brandon knew the time would come when he would need to open the closet and get use out of his "Special Occasion Clothes" but he hoped it wouldn't be any time soon. Yet here he was, yanking on the sleeves of his black suit jacket trying to make them longer. He had worn the jacket in his high school graduation, surely he couldn't have grown that much? He muttered expletives at his reflection as he adjusted the jacket as much as he could, but nothing made it look like he hadn't thrifted it from a children's store. With a glance at his watch he bolted for the door, stopping only to let Simon know he'd be home after the service.

He hopped in the truck and sped down the driveway. Normally he wouldn't bother buckling his seat belt when he was in such a rush, but a voice in the back of his head reminded him why he had a funeral today, and he clicked the buckle into place. He drove in complete silence, glancing back to the clock on his dashboard every few seconds. If he was late his mother, and probably Claire, would give him absolute hell. He pulled into a spot outside a menswear store and rushed inside.

"Hello Sir, how can I help you?" A young man asked from behind the checkout counter.

Brandon held up his arms and showed the boy his wrists. "I need something longer. Black."

"Wonderful." He stepped out from behind the counter. "I can certainly help you, my name is Matthew." He straightened his own jacket. "We could have something custom tailored to you if-"

"I need it now, actually." Brandon said, still catching his breath from running in the store. "What do you have in-store?"

Matthew bared his teeth and looked over the racks. "Let me see what I can find you." He reached his hand out expectantly. "Can I see the jacket you're wearing?" He shrugged it off and handed it over. "And your name, sir?"

"Brandon." Matthew nodded and disappeared into a back room.

Brandon flipped through hangers on the racks and found nothing that suited him. He took a look at some ties, knowing he wouldn't be buying one. He overheard Matthew chatting with someone in the back and tried to avoid their conversation, but they made no efforts to hide it. He rolled his eyes when he saw a woman poke her head out to get a look at him.

She whispered to Matthew, "Is he crazy? The funeral starts in 20 minutes." Wonderful, he thought to himself. The whole town would know he bought his jacket the morning of.

He heard Matthew scoff. "We better get him out of here fast then." He came out from the back room with two new jackets and a smirk on his face. "Here you are, sir, give these a try." Brandon slid the first one on, glanced in the mirror, and was happy enough.

"I'll take it." Brandon carried it to the register himself, and handed Matthew his card before he even knew the total. "Do you have scissors? For the tags."

—

He drove straight to the funeral home from the store and was relieved to see Claire's car alone in the parking lot. He made it with 15 minutes to spare. He had been in the funeral home before, he knew what it looked like inside, but it was a whole new experience this time around. Collages of photos of his dad were displayed in the foyer, along with a slideshow on a tv and a playlist of his favorite songs. He couldn't imagine anyone had done all this work aside from Claire. It didn't occur to him to do anything personal for his father, but now that he saw how well he was being commemorated, he had to thank her.

To the left of the lobby was a kitchenette with coffee and donuts donated by Rob's diner- there was no Claire there. Next to the kitchenette was a sitting room. There were some floral arrangements on display from friends and family that couldn't make it. He took a moment to read who they were from. One from Claire's mother, one from a couple named Jodi and Eric, but no sign of the girl he was looking for. The viewing room had the double doors closed. He braved opening one, and sure enough she was inside. The lights were dimmed like the room wasn't open for guests just yet. She needed privacy, it seemed, to talk to Pierce. Well... Pierce's urn.