"...remember when...good..."
As the funeral progressed, Vance found his attention lapsing. He focused on other things. The warm kiss of the sun. The floral scent of daisies and lilies. The muffled and unmuffled sobs from The Affected.
Vance stood at the back of the ground, giving him a good view of the people gathered. There were the mothers and wives and daughters whose eyes and nose were red. There were the iron-faced fathers who put on a front facade that was only compromised by the subtle wiping of the eyes when they thought no one was looking.
Then there those like him, who simply stood and watched as though they were one of the stone statues that littered the graveyard.
Vance wondered if they were numbed from shock and pain, or if they were just detached, only present because of social and familial obligation. Vance knew which one he was.
"cent...Vincent!"
Vance blinked. His face tightened when he realized that the speaker at the podium was addressing him. He realized it was his turn to speak. Vance walked down the path that split the audience into two halves.
The man at the podium--a brother from That Side--hugged him tightly before stepping down and taking a seat in the front row, which was filled with his father's relatives and family members on Her side.
Vance pulled out some papers from his inner coat pocket and flattened them on the podium. He only glanced at the script when it was time to turn pages, having memorized their contents. They were only there for appearances.
One advantage to having memorized his speech was that Vance could observe the sober crowd. At the saddened faces and broken postures, Vance wished he hadn't practiced the speech beforehand, if only for a chance to rest his eyes on something less emotional.
Eventually, Vance's eyes fell on the little girl seated in the front row. He knew who she was, but it was his first time seeing her since six years ago (which also happened to be the last time he was Dad or Her).
It might have been her height or maybe even the meekness that came with death and grieving, but Haruka didn't strike Vance as an eight year old. But then, Vance interacted with few children so he had no one to compare her to.
As Vance finished his part and headed back to his spot, he wondered what the next page of Haruka's life would be. He shooed the thought away. She had plenty of family here in Japan. It would be fine.
Hours later, Vance was proven wrong.
The family crowded around a large dining room table in a house that would soon be distributed to one of them. The conversation was about where Haruka would be moving to. Vance's eyebrows had risen and his nose pinched as he heard them all shift responsibility back and forth.
The conclusion became clear--the ones who would be most capable of supporting and caring for Haruka (and honestly the ones who had the most responsibility to do so) either "couldn't" or didn't want to.
Vance was silent as he listened to the discussion happening around him.
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