THE FALLOUT: THE CARTER FAMILY CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: Dec 21 - THE FUNERAL
A packed church, a family on edge, and a stranger in red turn a funeral into the moment everything cracks open.
Sunday, December 21st - 10:00am
The Phoenix heat didn't care that it was December. Bobby stood outside Solid Rock Baptist Church watching people file in, and the sun beat down on his black suit like it was punishing him for something. Maybe it was. The church parking lot was full, cars lining Van Buren Street in both directions. Everyone wanted to see how the Carter children would handle burying both parents at once.
Two oak caskets sat at the front of the sanctuary. Closed. Bobby had made that decision at Ferguson Funeral Home three days ago, and nobody argued. What the crash had done to his parents' faces wasn't something anyone needed to see twice.
"You ready?" Bella appeared beside him, her black dress conservative enough to pass Sister Morrison's inspection. Almost. The hem hit just above her knees, which meant Morrison would find something to whisper about anyway.
"No," Bobby said.
"Me neither."
Wallace and Wanda walked up together, twins even in grief, both wearing black suits that fit too well for people who'd just lost their parents. Wanda's girlfriend Chloe hovered nearby, uncertain, and Wallace's boyfriend Julian stood three feet back like he understood he wasn't family yet. Might never be.
"Brad's here," Wallace said quietly.
Bobby turned. A black SUV pulled up to the curb, and two men in suits that screamed federal agent got out first. Then Brad, handcuffed, his orange jumpsuit replaced with a black suit someone had brought him. The FBI had agreed to remove the cuffs during the service. Afterwards, they'd go back on.
"Bella," Bobby started.
"I know," she cut him off. "I see him."
Brad's eyes found his wife across the parking lot. Bella looked away.
Brandon and Billy sat in the church already, front pew, wearing matching suits their mothers had bought them. Barbara had dressed Brandon that morning before dropping him off. Bobby hadn't seen his wife in two weeks. Wynona had dressed Billy, then left before Bella arrived. Nobody was pretending anymore.
"We should go in," Wanda said.
The sanctuary was packed. Every pew full. Bobby recognized faces from his parents' life: church members who'd known Willis and Brenda for thirty years, neighbors from the old neighborhood, people from his father's job, his mother's book club, the usher board, the deacon's wives. Auntie Gloria sat in the second row crying already, and Uncle Marcus had his arm around Auntie Denise who looked like she'd aged ten years in ten days.
And in the back, last row, sitting alone.
Someone in red.
Not burgundy. Not rust. Not maroon trying to pass as acceptable funeral colors. RED. Bright, defiant, unmistakable red. Someone Bobby had never seen before but somehow knew exactly who they were.
His blackmailer.
They met his eyes for one second, smiled, then looked away.
Bobby's legs almost gave out.
"Bobby?" Bella grabbed his arm. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." His voice came from somewhere far away. "I'm fine."
Pastor Reynolds stood at the pulpit, his robes immaculate, his face showing the careful balance of grief and professionalism that came from burying church members for forty years. He'd buried Bobby's grandmother. His grandfather. Now his parents. The organ began playing softly, something old and mournful that Bobby's mother had probably requested years ago when she and Willis had pre-planned all this.
The service started.
Pastor Reynolds spoke about Willis Carter, faithful deacon, devoted husband, father of four. He spoke about Brenda Carter, choir member, Sunday school teacher, woman of God. He spoke about their decades of service to Solid Rock Baptist, their commitment to family, their love for their grandchildren. He spoke about God's plan and God's mercy and God's mysterious ways.
He didn't speak about the car crash on I-10. He didn't speak about the semi-truck that crossed three lanes. He didn't speak about how fast death came or how final.
The choir stood. Sister Williams stepped forward, and when she opened her mouth to sing Amazing Grace, her voice filled the sanctuary like it was reaching for heaven itself. The whole church rose with her, singing, and Bobby watched his mother's casket and thought about all the conversations he'd never have again. All the meaningless things he'd said when he could have said I love you.
Brad sat in the third row flanked by FBI agents, and people kept glancing back at him like he was the real spectacle here, not the two dead bodies at the altar. Bella stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her husband's presence. Brandon sat perfectly still between his father and his aunt, and Billy leaned against Wallace, both boys looking smaller than they had yesterday.
When the hymn ended, Pastor Reynolds looked at Bobby.
"The family would like to say a few words."
Bobby stood. His legs worked. His body moved. He walked to the pulpit and looked out at everyone, all these people who'd known his parents, who'd watched him grow up, who were now watching him try to summarize two lives in five minutes while standing between their caskets.
He opened his mouth.
He saw red in the back row.
"My father," Bobby started, and his voice cracked immediately. He cleared his throat. Tried again. "My father was..."
The figure in red sat perfectly still. Casual. Comfortable. Like they'd come to watch a show.
Bobby's vision blurred. His hands gripped the pulpit. "I'm sorry, I..."
He couldn't breathe. The sanctuary tilted. Every eye on him, every judgment, every whisper, and in the back row that red outfit like a fucking bullseye painted on his grief.
"I can't," Bobby whispered.
Silence in the sanctuary. Heavy. Shocked. Sister Morrison leaned to Sister Pemberton and whispered something that carried three rows forward.
Then Bella stood.
She walked to the pulpit and stood beside her brother, put her hand on his shoulder, and looked out at everyone with her mother's eyes.
"Our parents," Bella said clearly, "were complicated people."
Pastor Reynolds shifted in his chair.
"They loved us," Bella continued. "They raised us in this church. They taught us right from wrong even when they struggled with it themselves. They weren't perfect. None of us are. But they were ours, and now they're gone, and we'll never get to tell them thank you or I'm sorry or I love you one more time."
She paused. Looked at her brothers and sister.
"But we have each other."
Wallace stood. Walked to the pulpit. Stood beside his siblings.
"Dad taught me how to change a tire," Wallace said. His voice was softer than Bella's but just as steady. "He taught me how to throw a football even though I was terrible at it. He taught me that family shows up, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
Wanda rose. Joined her twin at the pulpit.
"Mom taught me how to cook," Wanda said. "How to balance a checkbook. How to pray even when you don't feel like praying. She taught me that women can be strong and soft at the same time, that you don't have to choose."
Bobby lifted his head, his face wet with tears, surrounded by his siblings.
Brandon looked at his father, then at his cousins, then stood and walked to the pulpit too. An eleven-year-old boy in an oversized suit, standing in front of two caskets, looking at his family.
"Grandma made the best pancakes," Brandon said, his voice so small the sanctuary went completely silent to hear him. "She always put extra chocolate chips in mine because she knew I liked them. Grandpa always let us watch the game with him even when we didn't understand football. They were..."
His voice broke.
Billy ran from the pew to his cousin, and they stood together at the pulpit, two boys holding each other up.
"They were good to us," Billy finished for Brandon. "They loved us."
The boys walked back to the pew together, and the sanctuary erupted in soft amens and hallelujahs, and Bobby pulled both boys close and tried to stop crying long enough to breathe.
But then Sister Morrison stood up.
Nobody had asked her to. Nobody wanted her to. But she stood up in the middle of the sanctuary and looked at Pastor Reynolds like she had something important to say.
"Pastor, if I may," she started, her voice carrying that particular tone of righteousness that preceded judgment. "I think we should remember that Willis and Brenda Carter were devoted servants of this church for over thirty years. They never missed a Sunday. They tithed faithfully. They raised their children in the fear of the Lord."
She paused. Looked directly at the four siblings.
"It's a shame their children didn't follow that example as closely as they should have."
Gasps throughout the sanctuary. Uncle Marcus stood up like he was about to say something, but Sister Morrison kept going.
"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking. One child separated from her spouse. Another married to a criminal." She gestured at Brad. "Two others living in sin with people they barely know. It's no wonder the Lord called their parents home. Sometimes He removes the righteous before they have to witness any more heartbreak."
"Sister Morrison," Pastor Reynolds said sharply. "This is not the time."
But another church member was already standing, Brother Jefferson from the men's usher board, and he had that look people get when they think God has given them a message to deliver.
"I want to testify," Brother Jefferson announced. "Willis Carter wasn't perfect. I worked with him for fifteen years, and I know things. Things about money. Things about where he was when he said he was working late. I'm not speaking ill of the dead, I'm just saying we shouldn't paint him as a saint when..."
"Sit down." Bobby's voice cut through the sanctuary like a blade. He stood, still holding both boys, his face wet with tears but his jaw set. "Sit the fuck down."
More gasps. Louder.
"Bobby," Pastor Reynolds started.
"No." Bobby pointed at Brother Jefferson. "You don't get to do this. Not here. Not today. You want to gossip about my father? You want to tear him down? Do it on your own time. Do it when we're not burying him. Do it when his grandchildren aren't sitting ten feet from his casket trying to understand why the people they loved are gone."
He turned to Sister Morrison.
"And you. You want to judge us? Fine. Judge us. Whisper about us in the church parking lot like you've been doing for years. But you don't get to use my parents' funeral as your platform. You don't get to pretend your cruelty is righteousness."
Sister Morrison sat down. Brother Jefferson sat down.
The sanctuary was absolutely silent.
"We're going to the cemetery now," Bobby said. "Anyone who wants to come and pay their respects is welcome. Anyone who wants to come and judge can stay here."
He walked out of the sanctuary, Bella, Wallace, and Wanda following. Brandon and Billy between them. The two caskets would follow. The FBI agents stood, brought Brad to his feet, snapped the handcuffs back on with a sound that echoed through the church.
The figure in red slipped out a side door before anyone could see where they went.
Riverside Cemetery sat on the edge of Phoenix, old trees providing shade that the church parking lot had lacked. The December sun still burned, but here it felt quieter. More respectful. Two graves had been dug side by side, the red dirt piled high, and the funeral home staff had already positioned the caskets above the plots on metal frames.
Bobby stood between his parents, one hand on each casket. Bella stood beside him. Wallace and Wanda on the other side. The four of them making a wall between their parents and everyone else.
Pastor Reynolds spoke again. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.
Then movement in the back of the small crowd.
Julian stepped forward holding a single white rose. Chloe beside him holding another.
They approached the caskets.
Auntie Gloria moved faster than anyone expected a woman her age could move.
"No." She positioned herself between Julian and the graves. Auntie Denise appeared on the other side, blocking Chloe. "You don't belong here."
"I just want to pay my respects," Julian said quietly.
"You've known my nephew for two weeks," Auntie Gloria said. "You don't get to grieve with family."
"Gloria," Wallace started.
"No, baby." His aunt turned to him. "I love you. You know I do. But these people don't belong at your parents' graveside. They didn't know Willis and Brenda. They're here for you, not for them. And today isn't about you."
Chloe stepped back without arguing. Julian hesitated, then followed. They walked back to the edge of the crowd and stood there holding roses that wouldn't be laid on anything.
Bobby watched this happen and felt nothing. No anger. No defense. Just exhaustion.
"I want to say something," Bella said suddenly.
Pastor Reynolds nodded.
Bella stepped forward, put her hand on her mother's casket.
"Mom, I'm sorry I didn't visit more. I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry you had to see me make so many mistakes. I hope wherever you are, you know I loved you. I hope you know I tried."
Wallace moved to his father's casket.
"Dad, I'm sorry I wasn't the son you wanted. I'm sorry I couldn't be like Bobby. I'm sorry for all the ways I disappointed you. But I'm grateful you were my father. I'm grateful you showed up even when it was hard."
Wanda touched her mother's casket.
"Mom, thank you for teaching me to be strong. Thank you for showing me that it's okay to start over. Thank you for loving me even when you didn't understand me. I'll miss you every day."
Bobby stood at his father's casket and felt his throat close again. Everyone waiting. Everyone watching. His hand on the oak wood that separated him from his father's broken body.
"I don't know what to say," Bobby admitted. His voice broke completely. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to bury you. I don't know how to be the oldest without you here. I don't..."
He collapsed against the casket, sobbing, and his siblings surrounded him, all four of them holding each other up while their parents' caskets waited to be lowered into Phoenix dirt.
Then Brandon and Billy broke free from Barbara's grip, from Wynona's grip, and ran to the graves.
"We love you!" Brandon shouted at the caskets, his voice cracking with grief that didn't know how to perform. "We love you, Grandma! We love you, Grandpa!"
"We love you!" Billy echoed, crying so hard he could barely breathe. "We love you so much!"
The boys stood at the graves crying honest tears while the adults watched, and something broke in the cemetery that afternoon. Something real. Not the performance grief of a church service or the controlled emotion of eulogies. Just two children mourning their grandparents without filter or pretense or understanding of what death even meant beyond the permanence of it.
The adults let them cry.
Then Barbara pulled Brandon back gently. Wynona pulled Billy back. The caskets were lowered. Dirt was thrown. Final prayers were said.
And everyone drove to Willis and Brenda Carter's house for the repast.
The house was too small for this many people. Relatives and church members filled the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, spilling onto the back patio where Willis used to grill on Saturdays. Auntie Gloria had organized food, and the counters overflowed with casseroles and fried chicken and potato salad and rolls and pies. People ate and talked and laughed in that particular way people do after funerals, like the grief had a time limit and now they could return to normal.
Bobby stood in his parents' bedroom doorway watching everyone and feeling like a stranger in the house he'd grown up in.
"You handled Sister Morrison well," Uncle Marcus said, appearing beside him with a plate of food.
"I cursed in church."
"She deserved it."
Bobby almost smiled. Almost.
"Your parents would be proud of how you and your siblings showed up for each other today," Marcus continued. "That's what matters. Not what Sister Morrison thinks. Not what Brother Jefferson says. Family."
"Yeah."
Marcus looked at him for a long moment. "You know at some point you're all going to have to go through this house. Sort through their things. Figure out what to keep and what to let go. Your aunties can help if you need us."
"Thanks."
"Maybe after Christmas. Give yourselves time to breathe first."
Bobby nodded, and Marcus walked away to join the other relatives, and Bobby stood in the doorway of his dead parents' bedroom thinking about what might be hidden in drawers and closets and under beds.
In the living room, Sister Pemberton and Sister Clark stood by the coffee table talking loud enough for multiple people to hear.
"Did you see that person in red? At the funeral?"
"Child, I almost fell out of my seat. Who wears red to a funeral?"
"Someone with no home training, that's who."
"I didn't recognize them. Did you?"
"No. But they left before the cemetery. Didn't even pay respects."
"Probably one of Willis's coworkers. You know how people from his job were."
Their voices faded as they moved to the kitchen, but Bobby had heard enough. The blackmailer had made their statement. Shown up in red. Reminded him they existed, that they could appear anywhere, that his secrets weren't safe even at his parents' funeral.
Bella found him in the hallway.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Me neither." She lowered her voice. "Brad's gone. FBI took him back right after the cemetery. He asked me to visit him. I said no."
"Good."
"Is it?" Bella looked at her brother. "I don't know what's good anymore. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. He's still my husband. Billy's father. Except he's not Billy's father and I don't know how to tell him that and I don't know..."
"Bella."
"Yeah?"
"We'll figure it out."
She laughed bitterly. "Will we? Because I don't see how. Wallace is dating someone who lasted less than a month. Wanda's doing the same thing. You're separated from Barbara. I'm married to a criminal who isn't even my son's biological father. We're all disasters."
"We just buried our parents."
"Yeah. We did. And now what?"
Bobby didn't have an answer.
Wallace and Wanda stood on the back patio with Julian and Chloe, the four of them talking quietly while the rest of the family pretended not to watch. Cousin Trey was telling a story about Willis that involved a fishing trip and a boat that almost sank. Cousin Shanice's twins were running through the house screaming until Auntie Denise made them stop. Deacon Harris and his wife sat in the living room discussing church business like this was a normal Sunday afternoon.
And somewhere in this house, in drawers Bobby hadn't opened yet, in boxes he hadn't sorted through, were his parents' secrets. Whatever they'd hidden. Whatever they'd kept from their children all these years.
He'd find out soon enough.
Brandon and Billy sat together in the corner of the living room, not talking, just existing in each other's space. Bobby watched them and thought about how much they'd lost in ten days. Their grandparents. Their families' stability. Their understanding of who their fathers were.
Christmas was in four days.
Bobby wondered if any of them would survive it.
The repast continued. People ate. People laughed. People shared memories of Willis and Brenda Carter that sounded true and felt hollow. The sun set over Phoenix, and slowly the house emptied. Relatives hugging the siblings goodbye. Church members promising to pray. Everyone leaving except the four people who had to figure out what came next.
Bobby, Bella, Wallace, and Wanda stood in their parents' living room after the last guest left, surrounded by empty plates and half-eaten casseroles, and nobody said what they were all thinking.
This wasn't over.
This was just beginning.
END OF PART 10: THE FUNERAL
