24

“You O.K.,?” Audrey asked, peering anxiously at him. They were sitting on a bench in the hall of the funeral home. They were alone. Even the old lady had finally gone. So had the man in the too-big suit. The floor shone with a peculiar brilliance that made Fex’s head hurt.

“What happened?” he said.

“You fainted.”

“I did not.”

Audrey shrugged. She looked worn out. “O.K. Call it what you want. What do I care? You feel well enough to walk home, or should I call your mother to come get us?”

“I’m fine.” He struggled to his feet. “Let’s go.” He wobbled out into the air. The damp wind felt good against his face.

“What the heck happened to you?” he asked irritably. “One minute you were there and the next—whoof! you were gone.”

“I just went and sat down,” Audrey said. “Against the wall. I sat there, and the next thing I knew you were kneeling down by the coffin and putting your head down.”

“It was the old lady. She made me.”

“Anyway,” Audrey went on, “next thing I knew, you keeled over. Fainted, whatever it was you did. Everybody started rushing around, and I told them I was with you, and they brought you out into the hall, and I waited until you were fine.” She looked at him. “Are you fine?” she said.

Fex held himself very still. If he moved, something inside him might come loose. “Did I throw up?” he asked. His mouth didn’t feel or taste as if he had. He didn’t have the sour smell of throw-up on him, but he wanted to be sure.

“No,” she said. “You looked like you would, but you didn’t.”

He was relieved. That would’ve been the end. They walked in silence to the corner, where they waited for the light to change.

“I didn’t know men fainted,” Fex said. “I thought it was only women.”

“Women faint, men pass out,” Audrey told him.

He was too weak to argue.

“I don’t think that was Angie,” he said. “It sure didn’t look like her. I think they made a mistake. Either that or we were paying our respects to the wrong person.”

“It was her, all right.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I talked to her husband. And her son. I told them we were sorry. They said thank you for coming. Her husband said Angie was getting supper, and she said she didn’t feel so hot, and she lay down, and when they went to wake her up, she was dead.” Audrey spread her hands wide.

“Then where’d she get that dumb thing she had on?” Fex said angrily. “That dumb dress. She never wore anything that looked like that, not when we knew her, and you know it. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

Audrey stepped back, away from him, her eyes wide. The enormity of what he’d said swept over both of them. They began to laugh. Their laughter grew louder, harsher, more frantic. It merged with tears. They cried standing on the sidewalk while the light changed from red to green and back again to red. They cried with their arms hanging at their sides. For a brief minute they clung together, hanging on each other’s neck like exhausted swimmers who had finally touched bottom, safe at last.

Then, through his tears, Fex noticed that Audrey’s neck had a faint, spicy odor. Funny. He hadn’t noticed that smell the last time he’d touched her neck. The only other time he’d touched her neck. That night on the sofa in her house. That unforgettable night. This was different.

Fex’s nose started to run.

“You got a handkerchief?” he asked. Audrey rummaged through her pockets.

“No,” she said. He used his sleeve. By now they’d stopped crying. They were too tired to cry. They stayed where they were a little longer. Then they turned, and Audrey’s hand bumped against his. Fex took it and together they headed for home.