Wren’s gaze dropped to the bed, and just like that, Spencer knew for sure. He placed a warm, comforting hand on her arm. “Spencer, I’m so sorry. The rescue team is still searching, but they’re pretty sure she’s . . . gone.”
7
FUNERAL FOR A FRIEND
“Hanna Marin! Miss Marin! Over here!”
Hanna peered out from inside her mother’s car. It was Monday morning, one day after she had witnessed Emily drown in Cape May. She was at the Holy Trinity Church in Rosewood. The church was an old, venerable-but-crumbling building with a spooky cemetery out back that Hanna had once run through at midnight on a dare. But right now, she’d rather be running through that thing stark naked than facing what she was about to face. Already reporters and cameramen were descending upon them, almost looking like they were going to climb onto the hood of the car.
She glanced worriedly at her mother, who was clutching the steering wheel so hard the leather was making a squeaking sound. Ms. Marin gunned the car to the other side of the lot. The reporters lunged to either side to avoid getting run over.
“Come on,” Ms. Marin said when she had parked, turning off the car and darting out of the driver’s seat. Together they scampered for the church’s side entrance. The press sprinted toward them, screaming questions. “Do you have any comment on your friend’s suicide? Do you have any suicidal thoughts, yourself? Are you ready for the trial tomorrow?”
“Vultures,” Ms. Marin said inside the church lobby, once they’d slammed the door. She peered out the small stained-glass window, her eyes glimmering with tears. “On today of all days.”
Hanna looked around. The lobby was packed with people and smelled like old newspapers, incense, and perfume. Her gaze drifted toward a large plaque that stood at the double doors to the church. EMILY FIELDS, read swirly letters at the bottom. And there was Emily’s school picture from tenth grade—her parents had chosen it because it was one of the few photos not used in newscasts, magazines, promotional materials, or police files. Emily looked so much younger in it, her freckles bright, her smile wide, her eyes sparkling. It was before A. Before Ali came back. Before Emily even had an inkling about taking her own life.
Hanna felt her legs give way and grabbed onto a nearby statue of some random saint for balance. She was at Emily’s funeral. It was unreal. Unthinkable. Impossible.
One day had passed since Emily had disappeared into the ocean. Though Hanna had rabidly watched every single Emily-related news report—first a recap of the rescue efforts, then an update that her body still hadn’t been found, then a police and coast guard statement saying that considering the magnitude of the storm, it was safe to assume Emily was dead and that funeral arrangements should be made—the details had passed over her like quickly moving clouds. She kept thinking she’d wake up and it would all be a dream. Emily couldn’t have really walked into that water. Emily couldn’t have killed herself because she couldn’t bear the idea of going to prison. How had Hanna not realized Emily was in that much pain?
The thing was, though, Hanna had known. How long had Em gone without a good night’s rest? How much weight had she lost? Why, oh, why hadn’t Hanna tried to help her? She should have read a book on suicide or something. Talked to Em more. Stayed up with her that last night if she couldn’t sleep.
And what had it felt like to be so at the end of her rope? Sure, Hanna felt panicked about going to jail . . . but not suicidal. Why had it hit Emily so differently? Why had this affected her, someone so good, so sweet, so gentle?
How could Em be . . . gone?
Ms. Marin took Hanna’s arm and walked her into the church. The place was packed, and everyone stared at her as she walked down the aisle. There were so many people here that Hanna knew, but how many of them were here because they missed Emily? Like Mason Byers—hadn’t he laughed nastily after A had outed Emily at that swim meet? And there was Klaudia Huusko, the exchange student from Finland—had she ever spoken to Emily? And there was Ben, Emily’s old boyfriend—he’d attacked her! Like he was really grieving? Even Isaac, the father of Emily’s baby, was here, though he looked almost bored. The only person who looked legitimately upset was Maya St. Germain, Emily’s first girlfriend and the girl whose family had bought Ali’s old house. Maya’s hands covered her eyes, and her shoulders shook. Mr. and Mrs. St. Germain and Maya’s brother flanked her, their faces stony, their eyes glazed. Hanna wondered briefly if the family regretted ever moving to Rosewood.
Aria and Spencer were already sitting in a pew near the front. Ms. Marin guided Hanna toward them, and Hanna slid in next to Spencer. Both her old friends glanced at her emptily. Aria’s hands rested limply in her lap. Spencer had a packet of tissues wadded tightly in her palm. Her eye makeup was already streaky, but Spencer didn’t seem to care. Aria nodded slightly. “I think they’ve given up.”
Hanna swallowed hard. “It’s only been one day!”
“There were tons of helicopters, looking everywhere,” Spencer said in a monotone. “She probably drifted farther than anyone thought. Or she’s caught on something underwater, and they can’t see her.”
“Okay, stop,” Aria said, her voice cracking. Her eyes were filled with tears.
Dirge-like organ music started up, and Hanna swiveled around to watch a group of clergymen process down the aisle. Emily’s family followed. Each of them was dressed in black, and every single one looked zombielike.
Her gaze turned to the casket behind the altar. Even though there was no body, the Fields had decided to bury something at the cemetery anyway. It seemed almost inappropriate that the Fields had arranged a funeral so quickly—Emily could still be out there. But the cops had basically said that although there wasn’t a body yet, there was no way Emily could have survived the hurricane conditions. Maybe the Fields just wanted to get this over with and move on.