THE FALLOUT: THE CARTER FAMILY CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: Dec 18th - Arrangements (Part 2)
Four siblings try to bury their parents with dignity and end up burying their guilt in the process.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 18TH - 6:58 PM
Bobby sat on his couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. Brandon was at Barbara's mother's house. Barbara was somewhere, Bobby didn't ask where anymore. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and his own breathing.
He opened FaceTime. Created a group call. Added Wallace, Bella, Wanda.
Waited.
At 7:00 PM exactly, the first square appeared. Bella. She was sitting in her car in a parking lot somewhere, engine off, darkness behind her.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
Wallace appeared next. His apartment. Bare walls behind him. He looked like he hadn't slept since the funeral home.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Wanda was last. She was in what looked like a hotel room. Generic art on the walls, single lamp lighting her face.
"Sorry. Had to get out of the house."
"It's fine."
For a long moment, nobody spoke. Four faces in four squares, all of them looking at screens instead of each other.
Bobby cleared his throat. "So. Last week was..."
"A disaster," Bella finished.
"Yeah."
Wallace rubbed his face. "I hit William."
"I know."
"I shouldn't have done that."
"He called Wanda a..." Bobby stopped. "He had it coming."
"Still."
Wanda's voice was quiet. "Thank you for hitting him."
Wallace almost smiled. "You're welcome."
Another silence.
Bella shifted in her seat. "Can we just... can we just get through this? Please? I can't do another week of waiting."
"Agreed." Bobby pulled up a document on his screen. "I talked to Mr. Ferguson yesterday. Apologized for the chaos. He said he's still willing to work with us if we can actually make decisions."
"We can."
"Can we?"
"We have to." Bella's voice was firm. "The funeral is Sunday. Four days from now. We don't have time for bullshit anymore."
Bobby nodded. "Okay. First thing. Casket."
He shared his screen. The catalog from Ferguson Funeral Home appeared. Rows of caskets, prices listed underneath each one.
"There's a range," Bobby said. "Mahogany, oak, pine. Metal options. Prices go from two thousand to fifteen thousand."
Wallace leaned closer to his camera. "Fifteen thousand for a casket?"
"That's the high end. But yeah."
"That's insane."
"It's a funeral home. Everything's insane."
Wanda spoke up. "What did Mom and Dad want?"
The question hung there.
"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "Did they ever say anything to any of you?"
Silence.
"They never talked about it," Bella said finally. "At least not to me. They were only sixty-two and sixty-four. They probably thought they had time."
"Everyone thinks they have time," Wallace said quietly.
Bobby scrolled through the options. "Mr. Ferguson recommended this one. Oak. Middle range. Classic. Seven thousand each."
"Each?" Wanda asked.
"Yeah. Two caskets, two services... well, one service but two..."
"I get it."
Bobby pulled up the image. Simple oak casket, brass handles, cream interior.
"It looks nice," Bella said. "Not too flashy. Mom would've hated flashy."
"Dad too," Wallace agreed. "He wore the same suit to church for twenty years."
Wanda smiled despite herself. "That brown one with the wide lapels."
"That's the one."
"Mom tried to throw it out three times," Bella said. "He kept pulling it out of the donation bag."
Bobby almost laughed. "I forgot about that."
"He said it was perfectly good. Why waste money on a new suit when the old one still fit?"
"Even though it was from 1987."
"Especially because it was from 1987. He was proud of that thing."
The mood shifted. Softened.
"So this one?" Bobby asked, touching the oak casket on screen. "For both of them?"
"Yes," Bella said.
"Yes," Wallace echoed.
"Yes," Wanda finished.
Bobby made a note. "Okay. Done. Next. Pastor."
He pulled up another document. "Pastor Williams from Solid Rock can do it. He's done most of the funerals at the church for the past fifteen years. Knows the family. Knows Mom and Dad."
"Does he know about Thanksgiving?" Wanda asked carefully.
"I don't know. Probably. But he's not going to bring it up during the service."
"How do you know?"
"Because I talked to him. Told him we needed this to be about Mom and Dad. Nothing else. He agreed."
Wallace nodded slowly. "Okay. If you trust him."
"I do."
"Then Pastor Williams."
Bella: "Agreed."
Wanda: "Same."
Bobby made another note. Felt something loosen in his chest. They were actually doing this. Actually making decisions without screaming.
"Music," Bobby said. "Mom loved gospel. Dad loved Motown."
"Amazing Grace for Mom," Bella said immediately. "She used to hum it while she cooked."
"Yes." Wanda's eyes filled. "And Take My Hand, Precious Lord."
"Dad would want Curtis Mayfield," Wallace said. "People Get Ready."
Bobby wrote it down. "Those three. Opening, middle, closing."
"Perfect."
They sat with it for a moment. The songs playing in all their heads at once. Their mother's humming. Their father's off-key singing in the car.
"Obituary," Bobby said, his voice rougher now. "Mr. Ferguson needs it by tomorrow morning. What do we say?"
"The truth," Bella said. "That they were good people who loved their kids even when their kids didn't deserve it."
Wallace looked down. "We can't put that in an obituary."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it's not... it's not what you say."
"Then what do we say? That they were beloved parents and grandparents? That they served their community? That they died tragically in a car accident? All the sanitized bullshit that makes it sound like anyone's life when it was THEIR life?"
"Bella..."
"I'm serious. I'm tired of pretending. They were real people. They fought. They made mistakes. They loved us even when we fucked up. That's worth saying."
Bobby rubbed his temples. "How about this: Brenda and Willis Carter were devoted parents, grandparents, and members of Solid Rock Baptist Church. They loved their family fiercely and gave their lives to raising their four children. They will be remembered for their faith, their laughter, and their unwavering belief that family was worth fighting for."
Silence.
"That's good," Wanda said softly. "That's really good."
Wallace nodded. "Yeah. Use that."
Bella wiped her eyes. "Okay."
Bobby typed it into the document. "Who speaks at the service?"
"You," all three of them said at once.
"What? No."
"Yes," Bella said firmly. "You're the oldest. You were closest to them."
"I was NOT closest to them. I stopped answering their calls."
"We all stopped answering their calls," Wallace said. "But you're still the oldest. You have to do it."
Bobby shook his head. "I can't. I can't stand up there and talk about them knowing they died trying to reach me. Knowing I..."
His voice broke.
The squares on screen went quiet. Four siblings watching each other fall apart through laptop cameras and phone screens.
"They were coming to my house," Bobby said, the words scraping out of him. "They died on the way to MY house because I wouldn't pick up the phone. I did this. This is on me."
"No," Bella said. "It's on all of us."
"But they were coming to ME."
"Because you were hurting the most visibly. Because you were drowning and they could see it. But Wallace was hiding. I was waiting for Brad to get out of jail. Wanda was leaving her whole life behind. We were all a mess. They were worried about all of us."
"Bella's right," Wallace said. "We all killed them. Every ignored call. Every unanswered text. Every time we chose our own shit over just picking up the phone. That's on all four of us."
Wanda nodded, tears streaming down her face. "We did this together."
Bobby stared at his screen. Four guilty faces staring back.
"Then we all speak," he said finally. "Not just me. All of us. We each say something."
"Okay."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Bobby added it to the notes. "Anything else?"
"The invitation list," Wanda said. "For the repast after. Who's coming to the house?"
Bobby hesitated. "I was thinking... just immediate family."
"So us four."
"And the kids."
"What about Barbara? Wynona? William?"
"I don't know. That's complicated."
"What about Julian and Chloe?" Wallace asked quietly.
Bobby closed his eyes. "Do you want them there?"
"Yes."
"Then they're invited."
"Bobby..."
"I mean it. If they're part of your lives, they're part of this. I was wrong last week. I was angry and I took it out on them. I'm sorry."
Wallace's face softened. "Thank you."
"What about Brad?" Bella asked. "He's still in jail but he's been asking about the funeral."
"Does he deserve to be there?"
"I don't know. Probably not. But he's still technically my husband and Billy's father."
"Can he even get out?"
"With an escort, maybe. If I request it."
Bobby considered. "Do you want him there?"
Bella was quiet for a long time. "No. But I don't want Billy asking me in ten years why his dad wasn't at his grandparents' funeral."
"Then request it. Let the courts decide. If they let him come, he comes. If not, at least you tried."
"Okay."
Bobby made the final notes. "Sunday, December 22nd. Service at 2 PM. Viewing at noon. Solid Rock Baptist Church. Repast at Mom and Dad's house after. We'll need to coordinate food."
"I'll handle food," Wanda said. "I need something to do with my hands anyway."
"I'll help," Bella added. "We can do it Saturday."
"I'll clean the house," Wallace offered. "Make sure it's ready."
"I'll handle the church logistics," Bobby said. "Programs, flowers, all that."
They sat with their tasks. Four siblings dividing up the labor of burying their parents.
"This is it then," Wallace said. "We're really doing this."
"Yeah."
The weight settled over all of them. In four days, their parents would be in the ground. In four days, this would be real in a way it hadn't been yet.
"I miss them," Wanda whispered.
"Me too."
"Me too."
"Me too."
Bobby looked at his siblings' faces on screen. All of them crying now. All of them finally admitting what they'd been too angry and guilty to say before.
"Sunday," Bobby said. "We'll see each other Sunday."
"Sunday," they echoed.
The call ended. Four squares disappearing one by one until Bobby was alone again with his laptop on his knees and the quiet of his empty house.
He opened his voicemail. Scrolled to his mother's last message from three weeks ago.
Pressed play.
Hi Bobby. Just calling to check on you. Haven't heard from you in a while. Love you. Call me back when you can.
He listened to it three times.
Then he closed his laptop, turned off the lights, and sat in the dark thinking about oak caskets and gospel music and a funeral that would come too soon no matter how many days they had to prepare.
END PART 8 (Part 2)
