“Come,” Ephraim commanded, and the first man limped toward him with his money cupped in his hands. When he reached, Ephrain, he gave a little bow, then dropped the coins and bills inside the casket. Ephraim nodded his approval and clapped the man on the back before he hobbled away.
One after the other, men placed money inside Thalia’s casket. Silver dollars rested against her skirt. Ten, twenty, fifty-dollar bills lay over her arms, nestled against her cheek. Michael felt his father tensing up beside him, heard him breathing faster as each new bill fluttered to rest.
After the last man had deposited his gift, Lenora left her post and gathered up the jewelry, cloth, and food offerings she’d weeded through earlier. She placed them at Thalia’s feet, then turned to the throng clogging the entrance to the room and raised an index finger.
The anxious crowd parted, and a toothless, elderly man dressed in an expensive black suit entered. His wan face looked like old china mapped with age lines, and the sparse, white hair on his head was slicked back. His hands were cupped around a crumpled, purple handkerchief, which he carried to Ephraim.
The transference of the cloth from one man’s hand to the other seemed to act as a signal that everyone except Michael and Wilson understood. The men still standing in the center of the room hustled toward the back wall as though expecting an explosion.
Michael shifted nervously from foot to foot while the black-suited man joined the group at the back of the room.
Silence ensued.
A couple of restless minutes later, Lenora signaled for Antony, and the two began to peel open the handkerchief in Ephraim’s palm.
Tension mounted as everyone waited for the completion of the unveiling. Curious, Michael stood on the balls of his feet to get a glimpse of what was inside but could only make out more purple fabric. He dropped back on his heels and glanced at his father. Sweat lined Wilson’s upper lip, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as they darted between Ephraim and the handkerchief. Suddenly, his mouth dropped open as though his jaw had disintegrated, and he wheezed.
Puzzled, Michael looked up and saw Ephraim holding up a large gold ring. Attached to the prongs of the ring was a bright gold coin or medallion. Ephraim pinched the edges of the medallion between two fingers and with a loud grunt, twisted it off the prongs. He handed the naked ring to the elderly man, then held up the golden medallion like a consecrated host. Its brilliance appeared to intensify second by passing second until it shone like a noon sun. The sound of weeping and sniveling traveled around the room as Ephraim lifted it high over his head.
A tinkling noise soon melded with the assonance of sorrow, and all eyes flickered toward Anna, who held a small music box on her lap. The tune coming from it sounded to Michael like the old lullaby, “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word—”
Lenora clapped her hands, and everyone’s attention immediately returned to Ephraim.
“Beware all spirits dark and light,” Ephraim said fiercely. He circled the coin over his head and repeated the same cadence, but the words were in another tongue. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his face as he bowed and concluded in English. “This child’s passage is paid.”
As Ephraim’s declaration concluded, voluminous pillows of smoke poured from Lenora’s bowl. It drifted over Thalia’s body, hovering over her like fog and obscuring the body from view.
Voices quickly rose in unison. “Mia lona, mia rhine. Mia lona, mia rhine.”
Ephraim snapped his fingers, and the smoke vanished as though sucked away by an unseen vacuum. The voices died when Ephraim pointed to Michael.
“You place this,” Ephraim said.
Michael, still perplexed by what he’d just witnessed, didn’t move. He saw Ephraim staring at him, but it didn’t register that he was being addressed.
With the coin clutched between finger and thumb, Ephraim shook it at Michael. “You place this!”
Michael took an uncertain step forward. “Place it where?”
Ephraim motioned to his daughter’s hands.
Michael looked around for Antony in hopes of receiving a clearer translation, but he was nowhere to be seen. “You want that in the casket?” he asked Ephraim.
Ephraim held out his left hand, palm down, and laid the coin on top of it. He then placed his right hand over the coin. “You place this,” he said again.
Nodding, Michael stepped up to Ephraim and held out his hand for the coin. Ephraim looked at him long and hard before handing it over.
A chill ran through Michael when he felt the weight of the medallion, the heat of it. It seemed to carry its own energy source. He lifted Thalia’s right hand off her left and slid the coin between them.
“It is done,” Ephraim said. “We are to pray now.” With that, he walked to the back of the room, where he faced the wall and lowered his head. The rest of the congregation followed suit, save for two men, who stopped to turn Anna’s chair so she faced the wall, as well.
Michael backed away from the casket. Being more familiar with the Catholics’ solemn kneel and stand orthodoxy, and even an occasional fundamentalist jump and shout service, he didn’t have a clue as to what might be expected of him by this crew.
When in doubt, bow your head.
He did, and just as he closed his eyes, more from exhaustion than prayerful meditation, someone tapped him between the shoulder blades.
“Janet’s out back,” Sally whispered behind him.
It was the best news Michael had heard all day. He took a step toward the door, then hesitated when he remembered Wilson’s trigger finger in Antony’s face. “Stay here, will you, Sal?” he whispered back. “Just keep an eye on things. I won’t be long.”
“Sure, but your father’s right over there. Why do you need me?”
“He’s what I need you to keep an eye on.” Michael peered over at his father, who was pulling on the flap of one nostril. When he caught his eye, Michael mouthed, “Behave,” then crept quietly out of the room.
It didn’t dawn on Michael until he was halfway down the hall that the corridor was nearly empty. From the trail of debris, which led all the way to the lobby entrance, he guessed most of the visitors had migrated outside. Drawing in a deep, filling breath, he sprinted the rest of the way to the service entrance.
Janet, Ellie, and Heather stood waiting for him just inside the doorway, their smiles a feast for a starving man’s eyes.
“Daddy!” Ellie said in a loud whisper. “We’re being quiet!”
Michael scooped her up in his arms, then bent over to tousle Heather’s hair. He smiled at Janet. “How are my girls? Ready for the trip?”
“Yep,” Heather chirped. She gave him a gap-toothed smile. “Aunt Janet’s gonna let us ride the Ferris wheel tomorrow, Uncle Michael.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Ellie confirmed. “Two times if we want to. And you know what? They got all kinds of—” “Cotton candy!” Heather burbled. “They got all kinds of cotton—”
“Whoa, girls,” Janet said quietly. “We just came over to say bye, remember?” She tapped Ellie lightly on the chin. “Daddy’s busy right now, honey, so big hugs, then we leave.”
Ellie gave Michael a squeeze around the neck while Heather grabbed hold of his leg and hugged. When they untangled themselves from him, Michael kissed Janet’s forehead, then her lips.
“I still don’t like the idea of you driving all that way by yourself,” he said.
“We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Janet gave him a nervous smile, her eyes darting occasionally over his shoulder. “How—how’s the mother doing in there?”
Michael shook his head. “Not great. That poor lady’s had to put up with a lot of cr . . .,” he threw a glance at Ellie and Heather. “ . . . junk. But I’ll fill you in later, when we’ve got more time to talk.”
Janet nodded, her eyes continuing to flick past him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know—you seem e
dgy. Are you sure you’d rather not wait to leave—”
Janet reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. “I’m positive. Now go. We just wanted to tell you bye before leaving.”
“I’ll be out there as soon as I can,” he said.
“I know. Be careful driving up.”
“You, too.” Michael rubbed his brow. “I checked the tires and oil a couple of days ago, but you never know what—”
“The car’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.” Janet gave him another quick kiss. “Now stop worrying and go tend to your stuff. I’ve got a couple of things left to throw in the car, then we’ll hit the road. I want to try and make the cabin before dark.”
With a flurry of waving hands, Janet and the girls headed out across the parking lot. Michael watched them, his heart aching to follow. One short, one tall; his loves, his life, the two reasons he got up every morning. How lucky could a man get? Reluctantly, he closed the door, and with responsibility weighting his footsteps like lead shoes, he forced himself back to the viewing room.
Inside, the congregation had thinned to a small crowd, which still faced the wall. Anna remained in the same position he’d seen her in earlier, seated and ten feet away from everyone else. There was no sign of Lenora or Ephraim, but more importantly, no sign of Sally or Wilson, either.
Michael stepped back out into the reception area to see if Sally was at her desk, but found it empty. Restroom maybe? Where was his father?
Puzzled, Michael returned to the viewing room and went to the casket. Just follow procedure and finish the service, he thought. If a crisis is going down somewhere, I’ll find out about it soon enough.
After tucking the skirting into the coffin, Michael unlocked the back hinges and closed the lower lid. A fifty-dollar bill fluttered across Thalia’s arm. He trapped it between the lining and her shoulder so it wouldn’t fly out, then went for the portable crankshaft he’d hidden nearby. Inserting it into a hollow knob at the head of the casket, Michael turned it slowly and watched Thalia’s head descend. When she was near supine, he frowned. Something didn’t look right.
Michael straightened the pillow, working his hands back along the lining. When most of the wrinkles had been smoothed away, Michael stood back and cast a critical eye. Something still didn’t look right. Worse, it didn’t feel right. But what?
Hair in place—lining straight—pillow smooth—clothes unwrinkled—hands—hands—
Michael felt his testicles suddenly shrink up to his navel. He peered nervously over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then turned back and lifted Thalia’s right hand.
No coin.
He blinked, and his brain not only confirmed what was missing but reminded him, “Wilson ain’t here, either, bud!”
No coin.
No Wilson.
The equation added up to disaster.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Janet stuffed a quart-sized baggie with sliced apples and placed it into a small cooler along with some animal crackers and two bottles of water. After snapping the cooler shut, she tapped a finger against her bottom teeth and ticked through a mental list to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Chicken stew in the fridge for Michael’s supper tonight—coffee pot turned off—air conditioner’s thermostat turned up to seventy-five—suitcases and extra pillows loaded in the van—two little girls.
She heaved a sigh. Nothing left to keep her busy, which meant open territory for her mind to wander over thoughts of the funeral home and Anna Stevenson. Janet would have never admitted it in front of Laura Trahan, but the girl had been right. Something weird was going on at the funeral home. Janet hadn’t seen anyone in white walking through walls, but she had felt the oppression. An onerous air of dire expectation much greater than she’d felt the previous day. The cause may have come from the sheer volume of grief emanating from so many people. Or possibly Anna’s strange warning. But whatever the origin, Janet wanted to leave it behind. Hopefully, when they returned from Carlton everything would be back to normal.
“Okay, girls,” Janet said. “One last bathroom visit before we leave.”
Neither Ellie nor Heather replied. They were sitting knee to knee on the floor next to the kitchen table engrossed in the contents of Ellie’s fanny pack.
“Earth to girls, hello,” Janet said.
“Uh—hello,” a man’s voice said behind her.
Janet gasped and whirled about. She saw her father-in-law standing just inside the kitchen door.
“Christ!” she said. “Why didn’t you knock?”
“Sorry. The—the door was open. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Wilson said. He scratched the side of his neck, then stumbled forward. As he neared her, Janet noticed that his face was a sickly ash color overlaid with splotches. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, like he’d just finished a week-long binge.
Immediately thinking him drunk, Janet placed herself between him and the girls.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Wilson asked. “I-I need to wash up.” He scratched his left arm furiously. “I think I got hold of something at the funeral home I’m allergic to.”
Janet frowned. “Why didn’t you use one of the restrooms over there?”
“Full up. Way too many people.”
Janet sized him up while fingering the hem of her blouse. His presence, even without the itchy welts, made her uneasy.
“Well?” Wilson raked fingernails over the splotches on his cheeks. “Can I use it?”
Janet nodded reluctantly. He did look miserable. She pointed toward the hall. “It’s down . . . well, you know where it is.”
Scratching the back of his head, Wilson hurried for the bathroom in long, zigzagging steps.
As soon as he disappeared, Heather scrambled to Janet’s side. “That man looked scary and mean,” she said in a low voice.
“He’s not mean,” Ellie said. “Mama says he’s my grandpa . . . huh, Mama? And grandpas aren’t mean.”
“Is too mean,” Heather insisted.
“Is not.” As though to emphasize her point, Ellie stood and adjusted her fanny pack over her stomach like a gunslinger with a poor sense of direction.
“Okay, but he looked like he had the cooties,” Heather said. “All bumpy and itchy.”
An indignant look crossed Ellie’s face. “If my grandpa’s got the cooties, then yours has ‘em, too.”
“Does not.”
“Does, too.”
“That’s enough,” Janet warned, although she wanted to agree with Heather about Wilson’s condition. She picked up the cooler and handed it to Ellie. “Run this out to the van for me, okay? Heather, you can carry my purse. Just put it on the driver’s seat.”
Instantly, the girls’ disposition changed from confrontational to pleased that they were being assigned a grownup duty. Ellie took hold of the cooler with great care, and Heather latched onto Janet’s purse as though the crown jewels rested inside.
Janet watched them head outside and couldn’t help but wonder at their ability to leave arguments behind so quickly. Adults had a tendency to hang onto almost everything—words, slights, resentments—like they were tickets needed for entry into some future argument. She was guilty of that herself. Especially with Wilson.
Agitated with a sudden twinge in her conscience, Janet turned to the sink and snatched up a dishtowel so she’d have something to do with her hands. So what if she resented Wilson? It wasn’t like the old bastard hadn’t earned every bit of it. He’d hurt Michael. He’d hurt the whole family. She didn’t trust him. Even now Janet suspected Wilson of being up to something. He was being too—too—nice. Still, her conscience needled her. Maybe Wilson was just an old man who didn’t know any other way to survive in life other than being an asshole. He was Ellie’s only remaining grandfather, and he did look sick.
Janet weaved the dishcloth between her fingers and listened to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Moments later the toilet flushed. She tossed the towel onto the counter. All r
ight, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be more civil to Wilson. Maybe even smile at him once in a while. Though she didn’t think the endeavor would transform him into Grandpa Walton, it would be a start.
She tested her theory the moment Wilson walked back into the kitchen. Seemingly refreshed, his hair was slicked back, and the splotches were gone from his face. He carried his suit jacket draped over one arm.
“Feel better already,” he said.
Janet forced a smile. “Good.”
Wilson’s left brow arched with skepticism. “Good?”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
As his right eyebrow lifted to match the left, Ellie and Heather burst into the house in a fit of giggles. They ran to Janet’s side.
“All done!” Ellie declared.
“Yep, all done!” Heather beamed and did a pirouette. As soon as she spotted Wilson, her cheerfulness deflated. “Uh . . . can we go now, Aunt Janet?”
Janet smoothed Heather’s hair, sensing her unease. “In a moment, honey. Bathroom first, okay?”
Heather whispered, “But I don’t gotta go.”
“Me neither,” Ellie added loudly.
“At least try,” Janet urged. “It’s going to be a long drive.”
Ellie sighed expansively. “Okay, but nothing’s gonna come out.” She reached for her cousin’s hand. “Come on, Heather. You can get the Barbie bag from my room while I go first.”
The uncomfortable silence that followed their departure made Janet straighten a toaster and coffeepot that didn’t need straightening.
“She’s something else,” Wilson finally said.
Janet gave him a quizzical look.
“The girl . . . Emma . . . she’s really something. Bright, you know? Got a lot of spunk for a kid.”
“Her name’s Ellie, and, yes, she is very smart.”
“Oh, right, right, Ellie. Nice name.”
Another smothering pause spanned between them while Janet tried to figure out if Wilson’s amicable behavior was genuine. His eyes didn’t reveal anything one way or the other. They were too busy darting from her to the nearest window. Either geniality made Wilson nervous or he’d found a new way to scratch itchy eyeballs.
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