Seat Two: the niece

	Fear.  It’s not always what it looks like.  Although she 
could barely talk, for all of her crying, she was not sad.  She 
was afraid.  Afraid of the massive change this day pointed to.  
Afraid of what to do now.

	Soliel Kelli Tarrington sat, sobbing into her boyfriend 
Robert’s shoulder at her uncle’s funeral.  She didn’t want to be 
there.  She knew she needed to be there.  That she’d be in worse 
shape if she hadn’t come.  She’d probably lose everything if she 
hadn’t come, but that did not make Soliel want to be there.

	On the row with Soliel sat three women who raised three 
different emotions in her.  First, there was Tanya, her uncle’s 
second wife.  Now, Tanya wasn’t one of Soliel’s favorite people 
in the world, but Soliel didn’t have issues with Tanya per se.  
Soliel was indifferent to the second Mrs. French.  Tanya was 
always around, someone you had to deal with if you wanted to 
talk with Uncle Jay.  You learned to handle Tanya and her grasping 
ways.  She wanted society so she seduced and married into it.  
Not the worse of sins, to Soliel’s way of thinking anyway.

	Next to Tanya sat Soliel’s mother, Ashleigh French 
Tarrington.  Mother was at the height of fashion again, not 
even really crying.  It would probably ruin her make-up and 
image to really mourn.  Besides, to mourn, she’d have to stop 
thinking of her status for a moment.  Like that would ever 
happen.

	That thought started Soliel sobbing again.  Everyone 
would think it was for her uncle.  And it was, in a way.  At 
least Jay had been able to help her understand her mother, 
bridge the gap on occasion.  Now, without him, she had a status 
conscious mother and user for a father.  She sobbed again.

	At this point, the third woman on the pew, her younger 
cousin Samantha, turned and practically glared at her.  If Soliel 
wasn’t so afraid of the huge change in her world, she would have 
glared back.  When they were younger, she and Samantha were friends.  
But now…

	Now, Soliel envied everything Samantha took for granted, 
starting with her security.

	Samantha had a loving mother in Soliel’s former aunt, 
Jillian Bakto French.  Jillian was always there for her daughter, 
even and especially when Samantha wasn’t achieving or at the height 
of fashion.  Jillian had even braved the funeral for her daughter – 
Soliel had seen Uncle Jay’s ex-wife, through her tears, as the 
family came into the church.  Jillian and the Bakto family seemed 
to build a hedge of protection around Samantha, one not dependent 
on Samantha’s success.  But everyone let Samantha off the hook.  No 
one asked Samantha about how graduate school was going.  If Soliel 
had been the one in school, everyone would have been on her case.

	Besides a mother to die for, Samantha had more approval 
from Soliel’s own mother than Soliel did.  Soliel had spent hours – 
yes, hours! - trying to find the right fashionably mournful outfit 
for the funeral.  Her mother had taken one look at her outside the 
church and said, “Oh sweetie.  That was your choice?  Well, you must 
have been overwhelmed.  Next time, call me before you pick an outfit, 
hmm?”

	Ashleigh had taken one look at Samantha, on the other hand, 
and praised her choice, noting that it had been featured in Vogue.  
Vogue?  Who wears Vogue couture to a funeral?!

	Soliel would have if she had thought of it first.  But no, 
today “poor darling Samantha” was perfect.  Soliel didn’t know what 
to do.  If Uncle Jay had been there, she could have picked his brain 
for help.  That was what set off the crying.  Given everything else, 
Soliel really couldn’t stop.

	And Samantha, Samantha had had that great man for a father 
and she didn’t seem to care.  She always blew him off.  She didn’t 
come to see him nearly enough.  She had someone else escort her when 
she was presented to society.  She was rather a bitch, a fashionable 
bitch.  A fashionable bitch with a built-in support network.

	And Soliel’s support network lay in the coffin in the front 
of the church.

- end seat two -