16

What a nice big funeral Stan was going to have. Muriel was glad to see Pastor Jorgensen officiating. He had been such a blessing to her after Howard died.

Muriel stood a foot away from Natalie and looked out over the rest of the crowd. Members of the local financial community mingled on the other side of the casket. Muriel recognized the manager of her bank and a stockbroker who had given a presentation at one of those free lunch seminars. In their black suits and striped ties, they looked like an ad for a business convention. Their expressions were grim. Well, of course they were. It wasn’t every day a Ponzi scheme rocked the local financial world. The front-page news had crowded out the fact of Muriel’s kidnapping being resolved.

Chloe was standing with Phillip a few steps to the rear. They were discussing something heatedly when they’d emerged from Phillip’s Mercedes. Now they stood feet apart as a light drizzle turned into a heavier shower. Chloe’s hair and dress were getting soaked. The fabric clung to her bulging stomach. But she didn’t move under the umbrella Phillip held. And he didn’t reach it over her.

How odd.

Muriel looked around. There was no sign of Phillip’s father or mother. They should have come. Chloe was carrying their grandchild. She was their future daughter-in-law. Why weren’t they here to support her? Something was not right.

Muriel dug past her house keys and Natalie’s mirror to get to the tissues at the bottom of her purse. She was glad she had the distraction of searching for something. She felt such sorrow for her daughter standing there so stiff, so still. Natalie’s eyes were hidden behind the darkest wraparound sunglasses. In the midst of such a large crowd, she seemed so alone.

It was hard to become a widow at any age. But Natalie had her entire life ahead of her. She could go back to school. Start a lucrative career. Maybe travel. Perhaps she’d even find somebody else to marry. She had so many options. Women who were widowed later in life didn’t have any options at all. Not poor women. Not women like Muriel.

Stan’s casket looked expensive. Well, of course it was expensive. Natalie wouldn’t have it any other way.

Muriel had been forced to buy a pine casket for Howard. From his bed in the hospice house, he had grasped her wrist with the little strength he had left and made her promise. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No point in putting dust and ashes into an expensive box that will be buried six feet underground. Who’s going to see it? Keep the money you save. Use it to make your life easier after I’m gone. Those are my last wishes. Now don’t you go disobeying me.”

Muriel would have promised him anything at that point. But keeping her promise broke her heart. Ten years later her choice of a plain pine casket still haunted her. Howard had scrimped and saved all his life, buying used shirts at a Salvation Army store, borrowing last year’s best sellers from the public library, doing his own household repairs in his free time on the weekends. Yet he never once complained about the little luxuries his wife and daughter brought home from their shopping sprees. He hovered over their tote bags, eager to see their purchases, beaming in delight as they paraded their treasures in front of him.

Muriel would have liked Howard to have one last quality item to call his own. He deserved it.

She wondered what kind of lining Natalie had chosen. Something expensive, for sure. It would be silly to put a cheap lining in an expensive casket. Too bad nobody would ever see it. The casket was closed throughout the wake. It remained closed now. What with the wound to the head, there was only so much the funeral home employees could do to make Stan look presentable.

Oh, Natalie. I’m here for you. Just tell me how I can help.

Muriel dared not reach out. Whether Natalie took her hand or shook it off, Muriel would have burst into tears.

Muriel remembered how alone she felt after Howard died. Even with Natalie and Stan and Chloe and Roxanne standing by her side. Howard’s funeral had been so small. The funeral home employees had straightened up and paused as another car drove into the cemetery, hopeful it might be one more loved one joining the short service. But it was only a stranger with a little boy bearing flowers to another grave.

Ten years was so long ago. Muriel couldn’t remember the words anybody spoke at Howard’s funeral. Perhaps she was too stunned to really listen. All she remembered was how the sky turned the color gray that predicted rain and the wind came up, blowing through the light outer wraps everyone had optimistically worn. Did the weather always turn dismal for funerals? Sometimes it seemed that way. As if the whole universe were in mourning.

“I just buried my husband,” Muriel had whispered to Natalie. “I don’t want to be all alone.”

“Well, you have to get used to being alone sooner or later.” Natalie had left then, dragging eleven-year-old Chloe behind her as if she were a rag doll. Natalie hadn’t even glanced back.

And now, it was Natalie’s turn.

Muriel stuffed her half-used tissue back into her purse. She glanced again at Natalie, standing tall and stern, looking as unmoved as a marble statue. Muriel wanted to tell her that everything would be OK. That the sharp edges of sorrow would become blunter with time, smooth like driftwood. But she knew Natalie wouldn’t believe it. Not now.

Pastor Jorgensen cleared his throat before he started to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered together today to say good-bye to our friend, Stan. Please bow your heads as we open in prayer.”