Free Year of the Monsoon by Caren J. Werlinger

receiving visitors who had come to pay their respects, or, rather, Linda was receiving them as Stanley dutifully stood near-by.
    Leisa couldn’t help but compare the frigid atmosphere of this funeral with the warmth of Rose’s only a few weeks ago. Despite the tragic suddenness of Rose’s death, there had been hundreds of visitors at the funeral home and again at the funeral. Nearly everyone had a story of some kindness Rose or Daniel had done them over the years, and there had been more laughter than tears as people reminisced.
    “Look at her,” Nan whispered to Leisa. “You’d think she actually liked the old lady, the way she keeps dabbing at her eyes.”
    “Why are you even here?” Miranda hissed, startling both of them as she appeared from out of nowhere.
    “Well, unlike you,” retorted Nan, still whispering, “I’m actually here for Grandmother.”
    “And what is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that for all her crankiness, she was good to me,” Nan said. “She was the only one who encouraged me to escape this place. I’m probably the only one who loved her, and the only one who doesn’t care what she left me in her will.”
    Miranda’s nostrils flared. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You’re not here – you don’t come home for years, and then you have the indecency to show up with your lover at a time like this –”
    “If you ever bothered to notice anything outside your own life,” Nan shot back, her voice getting a little louder, “you would know that Leisa isn’t my lover. She’s my partner and has been for over ten years. Ten faithful years, I might add.” Nan felt a little stab of triumph at the angry flush that colored her sister’s cheeks. “And you wonder why I don’t come home more often,” she added scathingly.
    Bradley came over at that moment. “Mom wants to introduce you to some people,” he said, eyeing Leisa in a way that made her edge away from him.
    She followed Nan as they all shuffled in Linda’s direction. Miranda grabbed Ted by the arm on her way to her mother where Linda introduced them to several older couples gathered near the closed casket. Linda turned, reaching a hand out to Nan when her eyes met Leisa’s for a fraction of a second. She immediately turned her back on them, directing her friends’ attention across the room to Miranda’s daughter who was sitting sullenly in a far corner, still listening to her music.
    Nan spun on her heel, taking Leisa by the hand and leading her outside. The evening air was misty and cool, refreshing after the stuffy warmth inside.
    Nan closed her eyes and bowed her head as she leaned against the iron railing. Her hair fell forward, shielding her face from view.
    “Are you all right?” Leisa asked softly, brushing Nan’s hair back behind her ear. When Nan didn’t answer, Leisa said, “I think this time at the funeral home is the only time I’ve seen your mother without a drink in her hand since we got here. Does she always drink this much?”
    Nan nodded, still not looking at Leisa. “She never gets falling down drunk, or out of control. She just… No one wants to deal with it, certainly not my father. That was a big part of why my grandmother wanted me to get away. She saw everything, and knew it wouldn’t change.”
    She picked her head up, swinging her hair back, and looked at Leisa, her eyes shining. “I’m so sorry you had to be subjected to this,” she said. She took Leisa’s hand and kissed it. “But I’m so glad you’re here for me.”

    As Nan entered the church the next morning for the funeral, she stopped on the threshold of the sanctuary and took a deep breath. They took a seat in the pew with the rest of the family. Nan looked around, toward the choir loft. Leisa reached for her hand.
    Nan blinked the tears from her eyes, looking down at Leisa’s fingers wrapped around hers. Even as she dimly registered her mother’s indignant huff of disapproval, she clung desperately to