I arrived at the funeral home a couple minutes after six. Although Jack Kinney's viewing had just begun, the small parking lot was fairly full. I had been to that particular funeral home once in the past when Daphne's grandmother died two years prior. I remembered that there were two different viewing rooms - one to the left of the foyer and one to the right.

I walked into the funeral home and could immediately see that the doors to both viewing rooms were open and that both rooms were occupied. Next to each door stood a sign with the name of the deceased along with the times of the evening viewing and actual service. Jack Kinney was in the room on the right while a woman named Ida Reynolds was in the other room.

I went into the room on the right and saw that there weren't many people there yet. Two young boys, who I guessed were Brian's nephews, were sitting in the front row. The boys looked bored out of their minds, each with a Game Boy firmly in their hands.

After taking a look around, I did not see Mr. Kinney.

A woman with shoulder-length brown hair was standing next to the open casket at the front of the room. She was loudly sobbing, wailing things like "Oh, Daddy" and "Why, God?" while an older woman with short gray hair stood next to her.

"Claire, please try to get a hold of yourself," the older woman said to the other one.

"Daddy died, Mother!" Claire snarled. "I'm allowed to fall apart!"

"Fine, fall apart," Claire's mother said in a dry tone.

Mrs. Kinney looked down at her husband for a moment before turning around, where she met my eyes. "Hello."

"Hi," I said to her.

She surveyed me from head to toe before looking into my eyes again. "Did you know my husband?"

"No... I'm actually one of Mr. Kin- uh, Brian's students," I replied, feeling like I was in some kind of trouble with the way the woman was staring at me with a cold expression.

Mrs. Kinney puckered her lips and looked around the room. "Well, it doesn't look like he's here yet."

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say as the woman continued to stare at me while Brian's sister carried on with her blubbering next to her.

"Why don't you take a seat?" she finally suggested. "I assume that Brian will show up late, as always."

I nodded again before walking back up the aisle and taking a seat in the third row. I sat there for the next half hour or so as more people continued to come in. Most of them were older men around Jack's age and I assumed that they were either former coworkers or bowling buddies of his. Each of them took a slow walk by the casket, greeting the two Kinney women and giving them their condolences.

A few minutes later, a small group of people around Brian's age walked into the viewing room. I immediately recognized one of them as Miss Peterson, along with a very pregnant but otherwise petite woman and four men. All but Miss Peterson took a seat on the other side of the aisle from me in the third row.

Miss Peterson approached Mrs. Kinney, who was still standing stoically beside her husband's casket. I could hear their voices over the classical music that was playing quietly over the sound system.

"Hello, Mrs. Kinney," Miss Peterson said. "I don't know if you remember me - I'm Lindsay Peterson."

Mrs. Kinney looked at her for a few seconds. "Ah, yes, you dated Brian in college."

"Yes, that's right," Miss Peterson said.

Dated? Bullshit... more like bearded for, I imagined, which made me assume that Brian was not only closeted at work but also with his family.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Miss Peterson said.

"Thank you," Mrs. Kinney quickly replied, seemingly already tired of everyone's sympathy.

Miss Peterson looked down at Jack for a few moments before turning around to join her friends. While walking up the aisle, she locked eyes with me. "Mr. Taylor?"

"Hi, Miss Peterson," I replied.

"How nice of you to come," she said, giving me a small smile.

I shrugged, trying to be aloof without having a damned clue what to say. "Yeah, well..."

"I guess Brian's not here yet?" she said while taking a look around the room.

"No," I confirmed.

"Yeah, where is he anyway?" one of Miss Peterson's male friends asked. "I talked to him this afternoon and he said he'd be here."

"He still has time," another one of the men said.

"You know how he's always ‘fashionably late,'" the pregnant woman said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, how rude of me," Miss Peterson suddenly said before motioning for me to get up to walk over to the group. "Guys, this is Justin Taylor, one of Brian's students. Justin, this is Ted, Emmett, Ben, Michael, and Melanie," Miss Peterson said as she pointed each person out to me.

I waved awkwardly at the group.

"Well, aren't you adorable?" Emmett said to me with a big smile. He had a gap between his front teeth, but I still thought he was rather attractive, albeit effeminate.

"Em, this is a wake," Ted scolded his friend. "You're not here to pick anyone up."

"Yeah, and he's like, fifteen," Michael said, looking at me impassively.

"Justin's a senior," Miss Peterson informed him.

"And I turn eighteen next month," I added.

"Ooh..." Emmett said quietly, smiling at me again.

Ted lightly smacked Emmett's shoulder. "Down, boy."

Miss Peterson shuffled past the men to take the last seat in the row next to Melanie.

Another few minutes passed before I went into a small room towards the back of the building, where I knew from my prior visit was where snacks and beverages were put out. I helped myself to a couple of chocolate chip cookies and a plastic glass of red punch.

Emmett joined me a minute later. "God, I hate funeral homes," he griped as he picked up a sugar cookie.

I snickered. "I doubt anyone particularly likes them."

"Well, I imagine funeral directors do at some level," he said.

We both chuckled quietly.

"I'm guessing you're a friend of Mr. Kinney's... I mean, of Brian's?" I asked Emmett, feeling weird calling Mr. Kinney by his first name.

"Sort of. I live with Michael, and Michael is best friends with Brian. We hang out at a lot of the same places, though."

"Have you seen Brian lately... you know, since his dad died?" I asked.

"Yeah, I saw him at all the usual places over the weekend."

I decided not to ask where those "usual places" were, but I assumed that Babylon was one of them. It was safe to assume that he would have seen Mr. Kinney there in the past few days. I, of course, had seen Mr. Kinney at Babylon that previous Friday night, which would have been the day after his father died. He certainly gave no indication that he was in mourning.

"So, he was still out and about, although his father had just died?" I asked, knowing that I was being nosey but not giving a fuck.

"Yeah," Emmett said. "He told us about his dad's death on Friday evening, but otherwise it's been business as usual."

Michael walked into the room and shoved a peanut butter cookie into his mouth. "Count on Brian to be late to his own fucking father's funeral," he grumbled to Emmett.

"This is just a visitation; the funeral's tomorrow," Emmett said.

"I know, but we're all here... and we're here for him, not for his dad."

"Did you try to call him?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah, but it went straight to his voice mail."

I threw my glass away and went outside to stand on the front porch. I pulled my cigarettes and lighter out of my jacket pocket and tried to light up, but the lighter wouldn't ignite after several tries. I then walked over to my mom's car in the dark parking lot to use the built-in lighter and found a black Jeep parked a few spaces away.

I walked closer to the Jeep and noticed someone was sitting behind the wheel. After walking over to the driver's side window I found Mr. Kinney inside, his head resting back against the headrest with his eyes closed.

I knocked quietly on the window so I wouldn't startle him, and he opened his eyes and looked over at me, looking very surprised to see me.

After turning the key in the ignition, he rolled the automatic window down. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh... I asked Miss Peterson during lunch today why you weren't in school and she told me that your dad had died. I looked through the newspapers when I got home and saw that his viewing was tonight."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

I bit my bottom lip before saying, "I wanted to see if you were okay."

Mr. Kinney chuckled. "Thanks."

I shuffled my feet nervously. "Um... why haven't you gone inside yet?"

He sighed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know why I even came this far."

I looked inside the car and noticed an open bottle of Jim Beam bourbon sitting between his legs. "Why do you have that?"

He looked down at the bottle. "People often drink alcohol to get drunk, Mr. Taylor."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I know that."

"And I'm choosing to get drunk on this wonderful occasion," Mr. Kinney said before picking up the bottle and taking a swig.

I looked at him, puzzled. "Wonderful occasion? Your father is in there lying in a casket and your sister is crying her eyes out!"

He looked at me and smirked. "You went inside?"

"Yeah. Your friends are in there wondering where you are."

Mr. Kinney sighed again. "Get in," he said, motioning toward the passenger side with a tip of his head.

I walked over to the other side of the Jeep and opened the door. No sooner had I closed the door did Mr. Kinney turn the engine over and begin to back out of his parking spot.

"Where are we going?" I asked him, feeling a bit of panic.

"We're getting the fuck out of here."

"But... but your friends are-"

"Fuck my friends," Mr. Kinney snarled as he peeled out of the parking lot.

"But Mr. Kinney-"

"We're not in school, Justin, so call me 'Brian.' Hell, anyone who's seen my dick can at least call me by my first name."

I felt myself blush. "Brian... uh, you shouldn't be driving when you've been drinking."

He turned the volume knob on the radio and AC/DC's "Back in Black" blared over the Jeep's speakers. "Thank you, Mr. Public Service Announcement, but I'm fine."

We rode for several blocks before stopping in front of a house. Mr. Kinney... I mean Brian cut the engine and we sat there for a few moments before I asked him, "Where are we?"

He snorted. "Home sweet home."

I looked over at the modest two-story house. "You live here?"

"No. I grew up here, and my parents... well, now just my mom still lives here."

Brian took another sip out of his whiskey bottle before offering it to me. I shook my head, not feeling at all comfortable about drinking in front of my teacher.

"Justin, I'm sure that you and all the other kids at St. James grew up in a big, fancy house where your parents never had any trouble paying their bills and everyone was happy. But I grew up in that," he said, pointing over to the house.

I sat there silently while I waited for him to continue.

"That... hell hole where half the time we didn't have running water or electricity because my fucking father would drink and gamble away his paycheck before he'd pay the bills. Where everyone would always live in fear of the next time he would fly off the handle and take his frustrations out on us, which would happen at least once a week. ‘It's your fault,' he'd say. ‘It's your fault that my life fucking sucks. It's your fault that I work my fingers to the bone, working sixty hours a week to keep a roof over your heads.'"

I felt my eyes well up and I couldn't help but reach over and place my hand on Brian's right forearm.

He used his left hand to hold up the whiskey bottle. "This is what killed him. He drank every single fucking day of his life and even after he was diagnosed with liver cancer he kept on drinking because he didn't give a fuck. Then the cancer spread everywhere and he only stopped drinking when he was put in the hospital last month."

"God... Brian, I'm sorry," I said, trying to hold back my tears.

He looked over at the house again. "Don't be. I didn't even come out to him until a couple months ago, after he told me he was dying. Do you know what he said? ‘You picked a hell of a fucking time to tell me you're a fairy. You should be the one dying.'"

I huffed out a breath, my anger rising over a man I had never met. "Asshole," I whispered.

Brian nodded. "That was the last time I saw him, but my sister took it upon herself to give me updates on the old man's condition until he croaked last week. I had to make the funeral arrangements when I finished up at school on Friday afternoon because Claire wouldn't get out of bed and Mom was too drunk."

"Is your mom an alcoholic, too?" I asked.

He nodded again. "It was the only way she could put up with him, although she never drank nearly as much as he did."

I looked at the half-empty bottle in his hand. "What about you?"