Knock Off The Hat by Richard Stevenson

Author:Richard Stevenson [Stevenson, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amble Press
Published: 2022-03-28T22:36:02+00:00

Chapter 27

Henry’s Dairy Store was famous for its pies, everybody said, but for breakfast we had hash browns, bacon, and eggs any way you wanted. The place was bright and teeming, and the waitresses in their light blue uniforms moved the orders around like those circus performers who twirl plates on top of a stick. The coffee was scalding, and Summerson cooled his in his saucer. I’d have bet that’s not how they normally did it in Chestnut Hill. A few people from the Fairview Street supper stopped by our booth to tell Beverly they were sorry for her loss, and she thanked them in a voice that was so quiet it was hard for people to make out her words in the restaurant hubbub. Others from the night before were chowing down, and they were already in their somber funeral outfits, as were Abigail, Summerson, and I. My prewar blue suit was snug around the middle, and I kept the jacket unbuttoned when I stood up.

We returned to the hotel, and while Summerson and Abigail went back to their rooms one last time, I sat out on a bench by the river again. In a nearby vacant lot, a bunch of neighborhood boys, age ten or eleven, were playing ball. Most of them were pretty skilled and agile, but one was a doofus. This gangly boy, taller than the others, couldn’t hit and could barely catch, and he ran a bit like a girl. But he was game, and the other boys seemed to have no problem including him. Maybe they accepted him because he helped them with their homework, or he owned the bat and ball, or he darned their socks. I guessed I knew where he was headed later in life, even if he didn’t yet, and I mouthed the words in his direction, Good luck, kid.

The funeral home was a nice old house that once must have been lived in by some of Lock Haven’s upper crust, and now anybody who paid Mr. Hoster’s bill could use it for entering the gates of paradise or wherever was appropriate. Not everybody who filed in could fit in the main room, so ushers herded more peripheral mourners off to side rooms fitted with loudspeakers. On the way in, everybody passed a donation box for the March of Dimes with a picture on a poster of a boy in an iron lung. Summerson, Beverly, and I all contributed.

We three were directed to seats up front with the family. Beverly was asked to sit between Flo and Charles, and she did so, with Flo clutching her hand throughout the service. The casket containing Leslie Croyer’s remains was closed for reasons of “privacy,” anybody who asked was told. But the box was there for all of us to gaze at as the Reverend Pilsner remembered Leslie Croyer with words that made many people nod their heads and some choke up.

A Cub Scout, a Boy Scout, a golf caddy, a whiz at

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