I Heard That Song Before by Mary Higgins Clark

Author:Mary Higgins Clark
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2007-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

41

I arranged to have my father’s funeral Mass in the church nearest to MaryRest Cemetery where my mother is buried. It’s in Mahwah, a town about twenty minutes northwest of Englewood. I had hoped to keep the time and place of the Mass and funeral private, but when we arrived at the church, the photographers were there in force.

Maggie and I had been picked up by the driver from the funeral home. On the way down the aisle, I saw familiar faces: Vincent Slater, Elaine, Richard Walker, the Barrs. I knew they were planning to be there, but I didn’t want to arrive in a group with them. I was not part of their world when my father died. For these last hours I wanted to separate myself from them. I wanted to keep my father to myself.

In my grief I even felt isolated from Maggie. I knew she had loved my father, and had been very happy when he and my mother were married. I believe that after my mother’s death, Maggie had encouraged Daddy to date other women, but knowing her, I am sure she was secretly pleased that he could not or would not do it.

On the other hand, Maggie had always bad-mouthed Daddy to me about his drinking, although I think she exaggerated those stories to help make sense of his disappearance.

The church was sparsely filled, mostly with Maggie’s friends, so I knew she hadn’t been able to keep her promise not to tell where the funeral would be held. But then I saw the tears in her eyes and my heart ached for her. She had told me once that she never attended a funeral without reliving the grief of my mother’s death.

I sat in the front pew of the church, inches from the coffin, my fingers touching the pendant that until now had been on Daddy’s body all these years. I kept thinking over and over again, I should have known he couldn’t have killed himself. He never would have forsaken me.

Maggie began to cry when the soloist sang, “Ave Maria,” just as it had been sung at my mother’s Mass.

“Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria.” How many times over the years had I heard that song? I wondered. I heard that song before. As the last beautiful notes faded into silence, for some reason, I began to think about that episode years ago in the chapel at the mansion. Could the scene between the man and woman possibly have had more significance than I had realized?

The thought passed through my mind, then was gone. The Mass ended. I followed Daddy’s coffin down the aisle.

Once outside the church, the media closed around me. One of the reporters asked, “Mrs. Carrington, does it bother you that your husband can’t be with you on this difficult day in your life?”

I looked straight into the camera. I knew Peter would have the television on just in case the media did cover the funeral. “My husband, as you must be aware, is not permitted to leave our property.

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