Toasted by Josie Gordon

Author:Josie Gordon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: ! Yes
ISBN: 9781594931574
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2009-09-15T23:06:49+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The first time I’d visited Van Dykema’s Funeral Home, I’d overseen Great Aunt Katherine’s send-off into the great beyond.

She’d made me swear that I’d keep that casket closed, no matter what my father, her nearest relative, wanted. She predicted I’d have a battle on my hands and she’d been right, as usual. But I was more scared of her than I was of my dad and sisters combined. I knew she’d haunt me forever if she didn’t get her way.

The downtown parking lot and streets around the funeral home were packed and as I walked the two blocks from the car, Aunt Kate popped into my head again.

Darned good thing you spent those summers with me, young lady.

I heard her voice so clearly I had to resist turning to look behind me. “Go away,” I whispered.

You were a spineless, frightened troublemaker. Hardly blame you, though, the way your parents dropped the ball.

I couldn’t argue with her there. They’d dropped the ball on all three of us girls, bickering for years, sending me away, descending into a divorce they didn’t really mean.

You needed tough love.

Tomato, tomahto. Her tough love had felt like plain old meanness to me. Unnecessary torture, since Mom and Dad got back together as soon as Annie got sick.

“Gotta focus now, old woman,” I whispered to my aunt. “Go away.”

Don’t be a wimp. Aunt Kate always did have to have the last word.

Everything in the visitation room sounded muffled, as if someone had cupped their hands over my ears. The thick rose carpet, the velveteen wallpaper of carnations and dahlias, the rotund velvet chairs and sofas—all of it deadened sound, an attempt to deaden our abilities to feel anything at all.

People stood in black clusters. Star, Elyse, Mimi and a few other perfectly coiffed women of a certain age stood nearest the coffin, murmuring intently about the Lord only knew what. The perfect location for Star to be sure everyone saw her.

The gaggle of folks from the college milled about in the center of the room. Provost Brenninkmeyer’s suit draped his large body with exact tailoring, falling from perfect seams and creases to a precise length over well-polished shoes. He stood out among the others in ill-pressed coats, unmatched trousers and comfortable well-worn shoes. Pia Hakksen wore a smart blazer and trousers with modest gold at her ears and neck. Professional, sure, but she didn’t seem to fit.

Maris Rittenga stood among them, her head tilted toward the Provost who gripped her arm as he spoke. Her eyes bore the empty look of the recently traumatized. She needed rescuing.

“—in any way we can,” the Provost finished as I stepped up beside Maris. Everyone’s eyes shifted to me.

“Hello.” I nodded at the group. “Maris.” I tried to find her eyes with mine, to send her the nonverbal message that I would extricate her if she wanted me to. I couldn’t imagine that today,

as she stood in a room with her husband in a coffin, she wanted to talk to the bastards who had forced him to retire.

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