Our Husband

by Stephanie Bond

  The interior was cavernous, solemn, and empty. She jumped when the door thumped closed behind her, the acoustics returning echoes back and again. Dim lighting set off the glowing stained-glass windows along the sides, the scenes representing the Stations of the Cross. At the front of the sanctuary, a statue of the Holy Mother raised her hands toward her, across the rows of mahogany pews.

  Her eyes were accusing... knowing.

  Beatrix swallowed hard, then approached the water basin just inside the entrance. She dipped in her shaking fingers, poised for the electric jolt—real or imagined—that she always experienced when she touched holy water. She quickly crossed herself, then moved to a table on the side of the church where candles of varying heights flickered in the gloom. Fishing in her wallet, she extracted a one-hundred-dollar bill and stuffed it into the offering box, then selected a long wick and lit a candle with the flame from another.

  After crossing herself again, she lowered herself gingerly to the kneeling bench—her knees had deteriorated a bit since her last visit to church. Her heart pounded as she crossed herself again. She pulled out her beloved cross pendant, kissed it, then folded her hands around the precious gold piece and bowed her head.

  Father, please bless the soul of my husband, who so recently left this earth. You alone know how much I loved him, despite his many flaws. In your boundless mercy, bestow an extra measure of forgiveness on his sins, and on mine, which are great. Amen.

  She made the sign of the cross and pushed herself to her feet, wiping her cheeks and feeling somewhat less burdened. Retracing her steps, she walked past a row of confession cubicles, hastening her step to ignore the fingers of guilt that plucked at her.

  At the last booth, however, she slowed, taunted by the flame of the burning candle that signified a priest was standing by to take confession. Yielding to the gnawing in her stomach, she stepped into the booth and pulled the curtain closed behind her. The odor of old fabric and mothballs enveloped her as she knelt on the low bench, resurrecting a flood of memories from her days at Sacred Heart Catholic School for Girls. A shiver seized her and her shoulders jerked in spasms. The screen slid open with a thwack, and she nearly bolted.

  "Peace be with you, my child," the priest said. He sounded very young.

  "And also w-with you," she said automatically, then her tongue froze.

  "Do you wish to confess?"

  "Yes, father." She inhaled deeply, sucking stale but consecrated air into her lungs. "It's been eighteen years since my last confession."

  "Go on."

  "I smoke too much, I drink too much, and I swear too much."

  "All is forgivable in the eyes of God. Go on."

  "I don't like people, I don't like animals, and I don't like most children."

  "Er, go on."

  "Father, has the law changed regarding pastoral confidentiality?"

  "No."

  She exhaled noisily. "Then hold on to your rosary."

  Chapter 8

  For a dead man, Ray looked pretty good, Ruby decided, wiping her eyes. She'd seen her fair share of corpses, and none of them had been smiling like that. She'd once dated a mortician who let her in on all the tricks, like Super Gluing the eyelids down and sewing the mouth closed so nothing happened during the viewing to freak everyone out. And he always tried to make the person look as if they were at peace with their Maker—a little rouge, a pink light over the casket. It was an art, the man had told her. Well, whoever had fixed up Ray was a master because he looked downright gorgeous.

  She wanted to take a picture of him with her phone, but Beatrix still stood at the head of the casket, her mouth set in a straight line, her eyes dry. The witch had agreed to let her and Natalie come in to look at Ray before everyone else, and she didn't want to push it by blinding her with a flash. Natalie hadn't yet arrived, but they still had fifteen minutes until the doors opened. Beatrix had invited people from Northbend who knew Ray, and some people who worked with him in the arms and legs business. Ruby had wanted to invite a couple of stripper friends who knew Ray, but Beatrix had nearly popped a cork when she mentioned it.

  Ruby stepped closer to the casket, enjoying the silky slide of her new red satin dress against her legs. She'd added the rhinestones on the skirt herself to save money, and her friend Plenty had loaned her the pointy-toed white ankle boots from her Victorian Virgin act to complete the special outfit. Ray would have been proud.

  She belched into her hand, muttering, "Excuse me," when Beatrix glared at her. The baby was making her stomach upset, and all the stress had kept her from eating her regular bowl of Kix this morning. Even without being a legit wife, Billy Wayne had assured her she was in a good spot for money, what with being pregnant and all. But she'd have to wait until the baby was born to prove that Raymond was the father unless she wanted them to stick a needle the size of a crochet hook into her navel to withdraw fluid.

  She'd decided to wait, even if the tanning bed in the guest bedroom was repossessed, because her boss, Mac, wouldn't be happy if she asked for time off for a paternity test. Especially since he didn't even know about the baby. With creative costumes, she figured she could make it to four, maybe five months before anyone at work noticed.

  "Did you pick out the coffin?" she asked Beatrix.

  Ray's wife nodded.

  "It's nice. Since Ray's a 'winter,' the purple is a great color for him. Brings out the silver in his hair."

  Beatrix pushed out her cheek with her tongue. "Thank you."

  "Don't mention it."

  "Going straight to work from here?" Beatrix smirked at her new dress.

  Jealous hag. "I pulled a double shift last night so I could spend the day with Ray."

  The older woman puckered up her mouth. "Spend the day with Ray?"

  "Yeah. Did you know that in ancient times, the Aztecs kept their dead relatives in the house with them forever? Dressed them up, talked to them, even brought them to the supper table." She'd seen that on a National Geographic special, so there.

  Beatrix touched her hand to her temple. "Don't talk."

  "Do you have a headache? I have some Kmart aspirin. It's just as good as the expensive stuff."

  "Just. Don't. Talk."

  "Even when the visitors arrive?"

  "Especially when the visitors arrive." Beatrix shook a bony finger at her. "In fact, if I see you talking to anyone, I'll boot you out on your moneymaker before you can say 'pole dance.'"

  Ruby bit into her lower lip. "But what if someone talks to me?"

  "Pretend you're mute."

  "You're a mean lady."

  "Yeah, well don't forget it."

  At a noise behind them, they turned to see Natalie walk in, white and trembly. She looked past them to the casket, and her knees buckled. Ruby rushed to her side and she was surprised to see that Beatrix was on the other side, although she was frowning. They led her forward one shaky step at a time. At the edge of the casket, Natalie clutched the side and burst into tears. Ruby stroked her back and handed her a wad of toilet paper she'd gotten from the ritzy bathroom down the hall. Natalie blew her nose, whimpering like a puppy being weaned. When Natalie quieted, they seated her in a padded folding chair near the front of the room.

  The stinky funeral director appeared with a box of Kleenex—was he wearing lipstick?

  "Are you ladies related to Mr. Carmichael?" he asked, his voice soft and lispy. Definitely gay, she thought. Flame-o-rama.

  Ruby and Natalie looked at Beatrix, who squirmed. "Um... no. This is Natalie Blankenship and—" She raised her eyebrows at Ruby.

  "Ruby Hicks," Ruby provided.

  "Yes," Beatrix said, her mouth turned down. "They're... they're... my sisters."

  Ruby coughed away her smile. Sisters? Natalie seemed equally surprised.

  "How nice to meet you," the man said, pumping both of their hands with his cushiony paw. "And how wonderful for you to come to provide comfort to Mrs. Carmichael in her time of grief."

  "That's what sisters are f
or," Ruby said with a smile, settling one arm around Beatrix's shoulders, just for spite. The woman stiffened, but didn't belt her. "Sir, would you take a picture of us?"

  He blinked, but agreed.

  She dug in her purse, winding up having to remove her makeup kit and her curling iron before she found her phone.

  "This is highly improper," Beatrix said out of the side of her mouth.

  Natalie didn't protest, but didn't smile as the man snapped the picture. Ruby took advantage of the moment to nab a few photos of Ray. Other than two blurry photos from their wedding, she didn't have a single picture of him for her scrapbook.

  Beatrix appeared at her side and hissed, "What the devil are you doing, taking pictures?"

  Ruby blinked. "My baby will never know her daddy—I want to be able to show her photos."

  Beatrix's mouth tightened, then she spoke through gritted teeth. "Put away the phone and I'll get you a picture of Raymond."

  She brightened. "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Cross your heart and hope to die?"

  "Enough," Beatrix said, raising her hand. She looked toward the entrance, where two suited men and a woman stood, looking forlorn. "There's Raymond's boss and coworkers, so leave. Now."

  Beatrix brushed by her to greet the strangers. Ruby watched as they patted Beatrix's arm and talked amongst themselves. Envy gripped her—she'd wanted the world to recognize her as Ray's wife. She glanced back to the casket, her eyes watering. Why did you lie to me, Ray? Because I wasn't good enough to be your wife? Because I was a low-life, white-trash stripper? I've got news for you, Ray. Low-life, white-trash strippers have feelings, too.

  Ruby swallowed, then walked to Natalie's chair. "Come on," she whispered. "Let's get something to drink."

  At first Natalie appeared not to have heard her, but finally nodded and stood. Ruby shortened her stride to match Natalie's as they walked down the hall, suddenly feeling protective of the thin woman.

  "Whew," Ruby said once she deposited Natalie at a little table in the vending room. "I could use a snack. How about you?" When Natalie didn't answer, she pulled out her change purse, heavy with tip money, and inserted enough coins to buy two bags of Doritos and two sodas. "I owe you money from the night at the hospital," Ruby said, setting the food on the table. "You bought me hot chocolate, remember?"

  Natalie was looking at her, but her blue eyes weren't focused. Ruby thought again of how attractive the woman could be with a new hairstyle and a little makeup.

  "Doc," she said, reaching forward to squeeze her small hand. "Are you okay?"

  Slowly, Natalie came around, nodding. "How... how can you be so calm?"

  Ruby ripped open the Doritos and cracked open the colas. "What do you mean?"

  "You were married to him, too. How are you dealing with this?"

  She took a sip of the drink. "The whole situation really stinks, but what's a person to do?"

  "Hate him?" Natalie asked, kind of like she wanted permission to do just that.

  "I can't hate him. He's the father of my child."

  "But look what he did to us... to you."

  Ruby frowned. "I know Ray was wrong, but he's dead now, so he's sort of been punished, don't you think?"

  "What goes around, comes around," Natalie murmured.

  Ruby smiled. "I always wondered what that saying meant."

  The corners of Natalie's mouth lifted the tiniest bit. "Have you seen a doctor yet? About the baby, I mean?"

  Ruby shook her head. "I took a home pregnancy test. Two of them, in fact. Saw a blue plus-sign both times. Do you think that means I'm having a boy?"

  Natalie shook her head. "No."

  "Good, because I want a girl. So did Ray."

  The woman was shredding the wad of toilet paper she'd given her. "So you and Raymond talked about having a child?"

  "Oh, sure. Ray said he wanted four, two boys and two girls." She patted her stomach. "This little one came along earlier than we'd planned, but Ray was thrilled. Insisted that we be married right away."

  Natalie stared at her hands, then slipped back into a funk.

  Famished, Ruby polished off both bags of chips and both colas, then followed up with a banana Moon Pie, also from the vending machine. She tried to make small talk with Natalie over the next hour, sharing little tidbits she thought the other woman would find interesting:

  "Did you know that they put menthol in Noxzema during World War II so it wouldn't be taxed as a cosmetic?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Did you know that a duck can't float in soapy water?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Did you know that the nail on your middle finger grows faster than the rest?"

  "No, I didn't."

  The lipstick-wearing funeral director came in about then and announced the viewing of Raymond A. Carmichael would end in approximately ten minutes. If the viewing had taken place in Leander, the family would have spent the night and the viewing would have gone on for two days. But this was the city, and everything moved faster, even funerals. She wanted one last look, and so did Natalie. They returned to the viewing room and stood among the potted palm trees until only Beatrix remained at the casket.

  To Ruby's surprise, the woman bent and placed a kiss on Ray's forehead, then removed her wedding ring and slipped it on his left hand, next to his own wedding ring. He'd told Natalie and her both the same story—that the ring was his grandfather's—but Beatrix confirmed she'd given it to him when they were married ages ago.

  The funeral director closed the double doors to the room as he exited, sealing them from prying eyes. She and Natalie walked side by side up the aisle to say their final good-byes. Natalie kissed Ray's cheek, sobbing now.

  "I'd like to bury my wedding ring with Raymond, too," Natalie said.

  "And me," Ruby added.

  Beatrix turned ten shades of red. "Absolutely, positively not."

  "But we accepted these rings in good faith," Natalie said. "We thought we were married to him."

  Beatrix crossed her arms over her chest. "But you weren't married to him—I was. If I were you two, I'd hock those trinkets for whatever they're worth. Judging by the fake engagement ring he gave to Red here, that probably isn't much."

  The door squeaked open and the gay funeral director poked his head into the room. "Mrs. Carmichael, the hearse and the limousine are outside whenever you ladies are ready."

  "We ladies?" Beatrix asked, frowning.

  The man nodded. "I told the driver your sisters might be riding with you to the cemetery."

  "Oh, but they—"

  "Yes," Natalie cut in hoarsely, lifting her chin. "We will ride with Beatrix to the cemetery, won't we, Ruby?"

  Suspecting she might never know where Ray was buried otherwise, Ruby nodded. "After all, that's what sisters are for."

  Chapter 9

  Natalie leaned her head back on the cool dark leather of the headrest, reflecting on the irony that not only was her first ride in a limousine on the occasion of her husband's funeral, but that she was sharing the experience with his two other wives.

  Wives. The fact that the word 'wife' could even take on a plural form should be a warning to women everywhere.

  Funny how a person's perception of what was acceptable changed in the light of new realities. At moments, she could almost convince herself that she was overreacting. Polygamy was not only permissible, but encouraged in early times when men were in short supply. A practicality, according to history books. Harems still existed in some cultures, and in others, married men maintaining mistresses was simply a way of life. Indeed, many women she'd met in the course of her career had admitted to looking the other way when their partner strayed. Now those women would ask her, "My dear, did you think you were special?"

  No. Not until I met Raymond.

  "I don't feel so good," Ruby said, sprawling in the bench seat directly behind the tinted window that separated them from the driver. Natalie sat on the side bench, facing the jiggling bar
decanters. Beatrix had commandeered the back bench and hadn't uttered a word in the thirty minutes since they'd left the funeral home.

  "What's wrong?" Natalie asked.

  "Feel like I'm going to puke," she said, rubbing her stomach.

  Beatrix smirked. "That dress is making me nauseous, too."

  "It's probably all that junk you ate," Natalie said. "Do you want me to ask the driver to stop?"

  "Yeah," Ruby said, holding her hand up to her mouth.

  "Oh, good grief," Beatrix muttered.

  Experiencing a pang of sympathy for the green-faced woman, Natalie pressed a button to lower the window and asked the driver to pull over, quickly. They were in a rural area, with little traffic other than the hearse they followed. The car slowed and eased off the shoulder.

  Ruby slid from her seat and crawled toward the back door on her knees. Her cheeks ballooned and she cried, "I ain't gonna make it."

  Beatrix jerked her legs out of the way just as the contents of Ruby's stomach landed on the plush black carpet.

  "Jesus Christ," Beatrix shouted, clambering next to Natalie.

  Natalie looked away, and shoved her nose into the crook of her arm lest she be sick herself. When she felt composed, she dragged a handkerchief from her purse and knelt to help Ruby, whose shoulders still shook from heaving. Holding her breath, she held back the girl's hair and wiped her slack mouth. "Open a bottle of water from the bar," she ordered Beatrix, then wiped Ruby's white-washed face with a wet handkerchief while Beatrix glared.

  "I'm sorry," Ruby mumbled. "I'm sorry."

  Remembering the girl's gentle touch when she herself had been sobbing over Raymond's casket, she gave her a little smile. "It's not your fault—it's the baby. Can you sit up?"

  Ruby nodded and allowed Natalie to help her to the seat. Natalie handed the ice bucket to the grimacing driver and told him to look for sand or something absorbent.

  "I can't believe I agreed to let the two of you come," Beatrix hissed. "You've ruined everything."

  Natalie sat back on her heels. "I'd like to know how the day our husband is buried could be further ruined."