There was no body, only ashes. Verona’s mother had been cremated only a few hours after death. There was no biopsy, only a DNA test to confirm it was really her. There had been nothing left. Verona had refused to look at the accident photos, preferring to remember her mother whole, not mangled and broken.
Analia had looked. Sometimes, when Verona lay awake long into the night, she could hear Analia whimpering in her sleep.
And now, dressed in somber, earthy brown clothes, they sat in church for the funeral.
The familiar setting did nothing to comfort her. The intricate carvings on the pillars and the interweaving patterns of black and white on the walls couldn’t distract her as they had through many a boring speech. She waited silently, fingers twined with Analia’s.
They had arrived early with Uncle Iban, their mom’s oldest sibling. He had stepped up as the family leader in this time of grief, and it was he who organized the funeral and took care of all the logistical concerns. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Verona was grateful that she didn't have to deal with it. She had never expected to plan her mother’s funeral at twenty-one. But mostly she buried her pain in endless hours of media.
If Uncle Iban played the role of family leader, Uncle Dytan played the role of emotional support. When they had all gathered at the crematory on that fateful day, he had immediately offered to let Verona and Analia stay with him while they were grieving, despite the fact that his wife, Jena, was nearly comatose with grief over the loss of her twin. They had accepted - neither of them felt up to returning to school and the dorms.
Verona watched numbly as the people filed in, somber and silent. Many were family members, whom she knew, but some were strangers - probably Mom’s colleagues. It didn’t matter. She gripped Analia’s hand more tightly.
There had been tears at first. She had spent those nights with Analia. They had held each other and cried. But as the denial passed and the sense of loss hardened into grief, the tears had stopped. She almost wished she were back at school, dealing with the stress of assignments and tests. It would be much easier to forget. But she couldn’t forget, and the sleepless nights gave birth to a cold, hard anger.
Everyone had filed in and settled down. A woman stood up and spoke about her mother, candidly speaking of her deeds and misdeeds as heard from family and friends. Verona had been asked to contribute, but she could hardly remember what she had said, and she didn’t bother listening. But at the end, when the preacher led them in asking Nirvana to accept her mother’s life as just, Verona bowed her head and begged, Let her have peace.
Analia bowed her head along with everybody else. They hadn’t discussed her crisis of faith again. Their mother’s death had locked that door, for now. Verona didn’t know if Analia believed again, but she was glad she was participating. The support was comforting.
They all rose and headed outside to a flotilla of rented hoverbikes, with one hovercar to carry her mother’s ashes. Verona, Analia, Uncle Dytan, and Aunt Jena rode in the hovercar to the cemetery. Aunt Jena was the one that held the ashes, in a pure white, ceramic jar. The grieving woman spent the journey staring at the jar, as if she couldn’t quite believe the only remnant of her twin was inside.
Verona stared out the window to avoid looking at the jar, barely registering the buildings and trees flashing by. The sun was bright in her eyes, and she felt a brief flash of anger at the weather for being so cheerful. But she wasn’t really angry at the weather. She was angry at Him.
Murrin Pacton. She had only known the name for a week, but she hated the sound of it. Because of him, her mother was dead. He had been driving the delivery liner that had swerved across three lanes without looking. Her mother’s tiny speeder had never stood a chance. She let the anger blossom in her chest and support her. It drove away the pain.
The funeral procession arrived at the cemetery, a large, enclosed orchard with hundreds of trees, all different types. One for each person whose ashes were scattered here. Near the front of the park, the trees were only saplings, but towards the back the trees were full-grown. Some were more than one hundred years old. When the tree was old enough, a loved one would carve the name of the person in the tree, and the tree bore that name forevermore.
They walked to the small plot of land, Jena carrying the urn, Verona and Analia assisting with the sapling. The plot was freshly prepared, a hole dug to accommodate the sapling and the earth around it churned up. As the twin of the deceased, it was Aunt Jena’s place to scatter the ashes and plant the tree.
Her aunt bent down and unstopped the lid of the jar, everyone gathered around her in a half circle. Her hands were shaking, and tears streamed freely down her face.
Without a word, Uncle Dytan went to her, putting an arm around her and helping her scatter the ashes. Verona’s heart broke at seeing her favorite aunt so utterly destroyed. Her heart hardened in anger as she thought of Murrin and his upcoming trial. Prison’s too good for him, but I hope he rots there forever.
I see this one was shorter than the previous two. Don't overachieve, Meandbooks. 
Sharrae here for a review on this lovely day.
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