Chapter 25: Funeral
Eight days.
The black wool skirt itched, even through her tights. It was her least favorite. Why did she wear it? It was hard to keep from scratching at her thighs.
Not like anyone would have noticed. They were staring at the small polished coffin, child-sized, propped on a pair of beams artfully disguised with a tarp of fake grass. Another covered the dirt pile. The same dirt that would be shoveled in on top of the casket once everyone had gone.
They were Catholic. Not like it mattered to Emily. But she was unfamiliar with the rituals. Neither of her parents were religious. The only time she had ever set foot in a church was for her cousin's wedding and it was quick, like twenty minutes. The service at the vaulted cathedral went on and on so long she was sure it would never end. Emily found herself staring at the stained glass windows. The images of Jesus on the cross. The small chips of red representing his blood.
It gave her the creeps.
Eight. Days.