The music stopped and the priest cleared his throat. Hanna heard him say Emily’s name, but then her mind began to swim and swirl. She grabbed Aria’s hand and squeezed. “Tell me this isn’t happening,” she murmured.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Aria said.
The Fields family rose en masse and walked to the front. Mrs. Fields took the podium first and cleared her throat. A long silence followed before she spoke. “I’d like to think my daughter has returned to the water from which she came,” she said in a hoarse voice, staring at a crumpled piece of paper. “She was a dedicated swimmer. Loved the water, loved to compete. She was going to the University of North Carolina next year, on a full swimming scholarship, and she was so excited.”
Hanna caught Spencer’s eye. Was Emily excited to go to school? And really, what were the chances she was going to go after the trial? Weird that Emily’s mom would bring that up.
Mrs. Fields coughed. “She was also dedicated to her family. Her group of swimming friends. Her community at church. In the past few years, she’d been poisoned by forces out of our control, but deep down, we all know how good Emily was. How shiny and special and sweet. And I hope that’s what you will remember about her.”
Hanna twisted her mouth. Swimming friends? Church friends? What about her, Spencer, and Aria—Emily’s best friends?
Mrs. Fields left the podium, and Emily’s sisters Beth and Carolyn spoke next. Oddly, both of their speeches left out Hanna, Spencer, and Aria, too. There was more talk of “poisoning” and “evil outside forces,” but they didn’t really elaborate on what they meant. They kept talking about how much Emily loved swimming. Sure, she loved to swim, but that certainly wasn’t the only defining thing about her.
The whole Fields family paraded back to their pew. The church was silent as they shuffled and rustled. Hanna looked at the others. “We should say something. It’s like they’re talking about some other girl.”
Then, wordlessly, Hanna removed a small, clothbound book from her bag and stood. Spencer caught her arm. “What are you doing?”
Hanna frowned. “I’m going to give a eulogy.” She showed Spencer the book. “It’s pictures of us and Em. I thought I’d talk about them here, and then we’d . . . I don’t know. Bury them maybe, afterward.” It was what they’d done for Their Ali—Courtney—to help put her to rest. “Em deserves a better speech than the ones we just heard, don’t you think?”
Aria’s eyes softened. “I brought something to bury, too.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a tattered copy of Your Horoscope, Explained. “Remember that summer Em was really into doing our charts? I have notes in here that she wrote about all of us.”
“Great,” Hanna said, pulling Aria up. “We can talk about that, too.”
Spencer looked at both of them desperately. “Guys . . . you can’t, okay?”
Organ music started up again. Hanna stared at Spencer crazily. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you get it?” Spencer whispered. “We’re the poisoners. We’re the evil outside forces.”
Hanna shifted. She realized, suddenly, that people were staring at them.
Abruptly, Spencer stood from her seat and motioned for the others to follow. They walked into a drafty little hallway. A door stood open to a small room filled with toddler toys. Down the hall was a bulletin board boasting Bible verses.
Aria looked at Spencer. “Why would you say that?” she whispered.
Spencer glanced into the church again. “I called Mrs. Fields this morning and asked if I could give a eulogy. She admitted that she didn’t even want us here. Said it was inappropriate. But I said we’d be quiet. We just wanted to honor her death.”
“What?” Hanna gasped. She peeked through the doorway and peered at Emily’s mother, who was sitting straight-backed in the pew. Her hair was molded into a stiff shape. Her shoulders were perfectly squared. Come to think of it, Mrs. Fields hadn’t even looked at any of them once since the funeral began.
“But Mrs. Fields knows us,” Aria squeaked.
“Yeah, well, not anymore,” Spencer murmured bitterly.
Hanna couldn’t believe it. “Didn’t you argue with her?” she asked. “Didn’t you try to make her understand what Em meant to us?”
Spencer scoffed. “Um, no, Hanna. I pretty much got off the phone as quickly as I could.”
Hanna began to feel the hot, bubbling sensation of anger inside her. “So you just took the abuse? You let her call us inappropriate? You just let her believe something totally false?”
“You can take it up with her if you want,” Spencer whispered, her eyes flashing. “But the impression I got is that Mrs. Fields basically thinks we caused Em’s death.”
“Only because you let her believe that!” Hanna argued. And then, frustrated, she shoved the book of pictures back into her purse, crossed her arms over her chest, and said the thing that had been prodding the back of her mind all morning. “Okay, fine. You know what? Maybe Mrs. Fields is right. Maybe we did cause Emily’s death.”
Spencer recoiled. “Excuse me?”
Hanna stared at her evenly. She was so angry she could barely see straight, though she wasn’t sure who, exactly, she was angry with. Maybe just the situation as a whole. Maybe everyone. “Well, you must believe it, too, Spence—or else you wouldn’t have gotten off the phone with your tail between your legs. And maybe she’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t have stayed in Jersey after Betty Maxwell’s house was a bust,” she declared. “We should have come home, where Emily would have been safe.”