Moira Stares at the black dress that lays on her bed.
The funeral will begin in an hour and this will be the second funeral she has ever attended.
The first had been her mother's. Not that many years ago, Moira had been young, but also old enough to remember some of it.
With a heavy sigh, Moira puts on the dress and brushes her hair until no hair is out of place and puts her white headband to keep it from her face. Something had been gnawing at her insides since she woke up, she was uncomfortable at the mere idea of the funeral, like fear but mixed with nervousness, what worried her more was the service they would have to attend afterwards. Moira had never entered a church of her own free will, she had never been forced to attend and she had never seen the need. Hopefully the priest would overlook her complete ignorance of the bible.
At least she had slept well, no dreams but no nightmares nor constant waking. Just…sleep. She had closed her door before going to sleep, hoping nothing would wake her in the night—the walls were thinner than expected and she had heard the entire process of Charon going to bed, the creaking of his bed included—and she had been gifted with eight hours of good sleeping.
A knock wakes her up from her daydream and before she can speak up, the door creaks open and Charon's head appears in the small space created by the door.
"You ready? Dad says we're leaving in ten" murmurs Charon, like he's trying to be quiet and failing spectacularly.
He wears the black suit their dad had bought for him for his last job interview, his hair braided into a single braid and his left hand bandaged even though the wound on his palm was a small one.
"Yeah" sighs Moira, cleaning nonexistent dust from her dress's skirt, mind already wandering away.
A snap of fingers makes her rise her head in surprise, Charon is smiling at her with his fingers still poised for snapping—a terrible habit he had with her, to snap his fingers every time he felt she wasn't listening and also a way to tease her, since she had never been able to snap her fingers correctly in her entire life.
"Come on, Mo" he says, his smile soft "After this, I'll make pancakes. What do you say?"
Moira allows the smile that threatens to split her face in two to appear, just a smidge of it. Not polite to appear happy during a funeral. She rolls her eyes fondly at the prospect of her brother trying to comfort her with food like one would a child.
"Pancakes? I doubt we'll be done by lunch" she chuckles and Charon smirks full of mischief.
"Dinner pancakes then"
"Whatever" huffs Moira faking disinterest "Now get out of my room"
Charon does leave after mimicking her voice with an excessively high tone, and Moira huffs again but the smile remains on her face.
This childishness and the fact that he was the same height as Moira was the reason no one ever guessed he was the older brother—she always found funny that people thought them twins even though Charon was five years older than her, she had to admit that they did look similar and their mother always said their smiles were identical.
She finishes getting ready and goes downstairs, there she finds her father pushing a wheelchair, an elder lady sitting on it looking completely out of it, eyes blank and looking straightforward.
Ah, her grandmother.
The old woman looks too thin and too fat at the same time, her face is thin, mottled with the stains typical of old age, her torso round but her legs skeletal, bandaged to the knee, the pristine new bandages already spotted with blood. Moira remembers that her father had told them that, apart from the stroke, their grandma had wounds in her legs, an old injury that had never properly healed thanks to her medication and failing health, it required constant visits from the local doctor to keep them clean.
"Help me Moira" says dad as he grunts and pushes the wheelchair to the front door "This house was not made for the disabled"
Moira swallows the laughter that climbs up her throat and nods instead. Indeed, the wooden steps will be hard to descend for the wheelchair, Moira was still surprised they held her weight at all, so a heavy wheelchair with a person it would be a struggle for them.
Her dad mans the front while Moira, later joined by Charon, take the handles of the chair and the three somehow manage to lower the wheelchair to the front yard.
Grandma Ginny doesn't react much, still half asleep, but mumbles a bit and blinks. Her grey hair had been carefully washed and brushed into a high bun, her mourning dress a simple one.
Moira wonders if she knows what had happened to her husband.
Her father stares at the car and at the wheelchair for a while before sighing.
"Let's walk. It wasn't far, right?" He says in Charon's direction. Her brother nods and they start the walk.
Moira walks behind her father and brother, her father pushing the wheelchair and her brother at his side, making idle chat.
The sky is grey and the morning cold and foggy, the mist biting her ankles with humid fangs. Moira hopes it doesn't rain, with the cold winter they are having it would probably hail or snow instead.
The funeral home looks average, like any other house, but the chapel looms over it and the iron fence separating the graves from the street gives everything a spooky feel Moira hates.
She expects a lonely funeral, but when they finally reach the door to the funeral home, she finds that there are people already waiting.
A middle aged man Moira suspects is the funeral home director just by the fact he looks the most put together of all the people around him, a man in his thirties talking to him dressed in priestly robes and an elderly woman holding what Moira hopes it's not a casserole. There are more people around, ten at least, but they're farther from the door, murmuring in small groups like gossiping children.
A sighs makes her turn to her dad, he breathes in and out, like he's preparing himself for a fight, and braves the crowd with a thin but polite smile.
"Good morning" he greets the trio by the door.
"Oh Ginny" sobs the elderly woman, she looks sad and Moira feels guilt gnawing at her stomach. By can't she feel as sad as this old lady?
Moira's grandma mumbles incoherently, a hand patting the armrest of her wheelchair, and the old lady must have met Grandma Ginny before, because she reacts appropriately and accepts the hand the wheelchair-bound woman offers. The old lady pats it with her free hand and, after a few seconds, let's go of grandma Ginny.
The old lady then raises her head to look at Moira's dad, and offers a hand to shake. Her dad shakes it.
"I'm so sorry for your loss" she says "Your father was a wonderful man"
"Thank you, err…" mutters dad halfway bemused and embarrassed
"Oh! I'm Laura Vance" smiles the old lady "I used to attend book club with Ginny, Ron always sat with us when Ginny offered her house for our meetings, he was such a sweetheart!"
Her dad nods with a soft smile and Mrs Vance's eyes find Moira's.
"Oh, these must be your children! Splendid!" says Mrs Vance softly, eyes kind "Twins are you? How fun"
"I'm older, actually" interrupts Charon with a charming smile "But everyone always says we look too alike"
Mrs Vance opens her mouth in a small O and then smiles, already charmed by Charon.
"Mr Plutarch, we can begin as soon as you're ready" interrupts the suited man, he has a name card on his chest and Moira had guessed right with him being the funeral director.
"Yes, of course" sighs dad, then, in a low voice "let's get this over with it"
The funeral home is small, a narrow entrance with a couple of doors and then the main room where the casket lays at the end of it, many chairs sitting in front of it and creating hallway in the middle. The walls were a sad blue and the carpet Moira thinks may have been a nice brown at some point.
Moira follows her dad as they go to the front of the room, closest to the casket and place the wheelchair in a space with no chair—clearly someone had been informed of Grandma Ginny's situation—he sits next to it and sighs a shuddery breath. Charon sits on the chair by their dad's and Moira next to her brother.
It's all extremely awkward, terribly so, All those eyes staring at them and whispering among them, judging mostly her dad for leaving his parents to die. Moira thinks that this is probably the most interesting thing that has ever happened in this ridiculously small town.
A returned prodigal son with two previously unknown children and no wife. They'll soon become the talk of the town for sure.
Grandma Ginny babbles some more and Moira recognizes some words, the more she hears the more she's able to discern the way she speaks, as the stroke had paralyzed part of her mouth and tongue.
"Ronn….Aiden is 'ome" is saying grandma Ginny, lip quivering into a pout.
Moira's dad turns his head to stare at his mother with an unreadable face and grabs her gnarled hands gently, holding it in his own. The casket in front of them is closed, but a picture rests by it with a beautiful crown of yellow flowers.
As people start to sit and talk among themselves inside the room, the priest approaches her dad, face turned into a sympathetic frown.
He is handsome for a priest, younger than Moira had expected, with blonde hair and clear eyes, she had always thought priests were round balding men, but the world still surprises her expectations.
"Mr Plutarch, Miss Plutarch, I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr Plutarch was a beloved member of our community" starts the priest. Dad stands as he speaks and they shake hands "I'm father Peter Grimshaw, I'll lead the service after the burial"
"Nice to meet you" nods dad politely "I suppose my father is to be buried in our mausoleum?"
The priest nods and his face turns just enough to stare directly at Charon and Moira, judging or maybe just curious.
"Your children, I suppose" says Father Peter, Moira smiles nervously and Charon ignores the man completely, eyes on the casket "And…their mother?"
"My wife died some years ago" says dad with a stilted tone, not wishing to elaborate further.
"Ah, I'm sorry for your loss" says Father Peter.
Dad doesn't answer just smiles politely and looks at grandma Ginny, using the old woman as a way to change his focus without being rude. The priest takes the hint and, with a last smile for Moira, he leaves them.
More people approach after that, most wishing to offer their condolences while others try to be nice without mentioning the corpse in the room.
It ends up being a very boring wake and the burial doesn't get better, as the grey clouds that had been haunting the skies the whole morning finally decide to drop everything they were holding just as the casket is being put inside the Plutarch's family mausoleum.
By the time they're walking towards the chapel, it's almost dinner time and, while Moira had eaten some of the snacks offered at the funeral home, her stomach still grumbles as they walk the dirt path towards the old looking chapel.
As they walk the short trek to the chapel, she turns her head to look at her brother that had been shuffling his feet since they left the funeral home. He's frowning at the approaching chapel and his face look paler than normal.
"Charon" she whispers trying to not call attention to herself, he blinks at her, eyes glassy in a way that she doesn't like "Are you okay?"
He nods absentmindedly, like his head has grown heavy and Moira stops to wait for him. As he gets closer to her she can see his paleness is accompanied by sweat and shivers.
"Charon!" She exclaims, suddenly scared by how sick he looks. She grabs his arm, fearful of the possibility of him fainting.
"Moira, what is it?" Says her father as he joins them, his eyes widening as he stares at her brother, he palms his son's forehead in worry and softly pats his cheek as Charon's eyes seem to stay closed after a blink "Charon!"
"I think…I'm going to…puke" mumbles Charon and Moira immediately drops his arms and takes a step back. Her dad is braver than her and stays close, keeping Charon upright.
"Let's sit, yeah?" Says her dad as he slowly guides Charon to the bench by the chapel's door, the people around it mumble among themselves and watch the small spectacle they are making.
The moment Charon's body touches the metal of the bench he somehow turns even paler and starts to tilt to the side. His eyes are closed and his breath is shaky.
Worry overcomes disgust and Moira rushes to his side, holding him upright in a panic, but before she panic further, her dad takes over and manages to lay Charon down on the bench and holds his legs up.
"Charon? How do you feel?" Asks dad as he pats Charon's cheek softly, more to touch than to wake him up.
"Not up…for a funeral" mumbles Charon, his eyes at half mast and still too pale.
Dad looks back to the chapel's door and then returns his attention to Charon.
"The funeral already happened, this is just the service" chuckles Dad "So I think you can sit this one out. What do you say? You stay here and rest while your sister and I suffer for a bit"
Moira blinks in surprise at her dad and he smiles back at her.
"Okay" sighs Charon and starts breathing deeply, probably to calm his stomach.
With a final pat to his cheek, dad enters the chapel, Moira not far behind, looking back just once at her brother in both worry and some envy.