freezing point by karen dionne

Author:karen dionne
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: sci-fi
ISBN: 9780578085449
Published: 2012-12-04T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Los Angeles, California

Sometime during the past twenty or thirty years, Donald mused, somehow—maybe because of their overpowering fragrance, or maybe it was simple collusion among the Canadian greenhouse growers—freesia had managed to supplant gladiolas and mums as the number one choice of funeral flower. Certainly the main viewing room at the Wujek-Calcaterra Funeral Home on downtown Wilshire Boulevard gave evidence; the noxious, spotted pink-and-white blooms were everywhere.

Donald had hated the flower since he was a child. The enmity began at his grandfather’s funeral, when the five-year-old Donald had been sandwiched between his mother and his grandmother on a wooden folding chair in the front row while a dozen feet away, his powdered-pink grandpa ignored his favorite grandson by staring fixedly at the ceiling. Throughout the service, the young Donald had sniffed and rubbed his nose—not because of sorrow, but because of a stink strong enough to melt the paint off his tricycle and an as-yet-undiagnosed allergy to all things floral. The women had slipped their misunderstanding arms around his shoulders, adding Dior and Calvin to the mix. It was no wonder the grown-up Donald associated sweetness with death.

Mercifully, today, protocol had him sitting in the second row, an additional three feet between him and the lethal sprays. Thatcombined with the double dose of antihistamine he’d taken before he left the house were doing a fine job of keeping the allergies at bay.

Behind the fresh-faced and obviously allergy-free minister, the flowers were positioned in descending order on either side according to the status of their giver. Donald’s scentless roses were in the middle. His offering was also the largest; an extra hundred to the florist had seen to that.

Carla sat beside him, sans perfume as always, and Sally sat in front of them, flanked by Quentin’s parents and Donald’s in-laws. Quentin was noticeably absent. Cremation was the only option for a body so badly mutilated—though Donald was the only one who knew about that. As executer, Donald had offered to handle the arrangements, and Sally had gratefully accepted. No doubt some would argue that it was wrong of him to withhold the truth from her, but Donald had never shied away from making the hard decisions. The higher your position, the higher your level of responsibility. Heads of households, heads of corporations, heads of state—the difference was only a matter of degree. Let them think Quentin had died of a heart attack; as far as Donald was concerned, that may well have been true. If he’d been attacked and eaten by rats, he’d have had one, too.

“Bless this thy servant, who has been taken unto our Lord’s bosom into heaven . . .”

Heaven. As the minister’s drone wormed its way into Donald’s consciousness, Donald looked up at the ceiling, feigning piety, while his imagination carried him far beyond; through the troposphere, past the stratosphere, beyond the mesosphere . . . 250 miles above the earth to that last, thin, precious layer separating mankind from deep space: the ionosphere. Next year, it would be his H.

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