The drive to Mason's Funeral Home and Crematory only took a few minutes. Traffic was lighter than usual so she beat Marietta there. Pulling in to a parking spot to wait, she listened as her boys talked about school work and final exams.
"When do your exams actually start?" she asked. It hadn't occurred to her until just then that they might be missing them.
"Not until mid-December, Mom. We're good for a bit," Jackson said.
"My classes are super easy this semester," Jameson said. "I'm just taking some gen-ed stuff since I still have no real idea what I want to be when I grow up."
"It's probably time you started figuring that out." Eleanor caught her son's eyes in the rearview mirror. "They are going to insist you declare a major soon."
"I know, Mom. I just like so many things but I don't really love anything."
"Look, here comes Ms. Mari." Jackson pointed toward a little black sedan entering the lot.
They got out of the car and met Marietta on the sidewalk.
"You okay for this?" Marietta asked, hugging Eleanor.
"Not like I have a choice, right? Come on, let's just get it done." Standing there in the parking lot, it hit her. They were arranging Gary's funeral. Until then it had been more abstract, his being gone, but once they made these arrangements, it would be final.
Eleanor took a deep breath, set her shoulders and walked toward the main entrance.
They entered the funeral home and were met by a petite woman wearing a name tag that read Pamela. Soft music played in the background and the overwhelming scent of way too many flowers surrounded them.
Jackson sneezed immediately. "Sorry," he mumbled as he pulled a tissue from his coat pocket. "My allergies are acting up, I guess."
"Good morning," Pamela said. "How may I help you today?"
"I, um, need to—" Eleanor took a deep, steadying breath. "I need to plan my husband's final arrangements. He's, um, dead."
Marietta gave her a look but didn't say anything.
"Oh, dear." Pamela placed a hand on her arm, her expression understanding and kind. "Are you Mrs. Hart?"
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. And these are my sons Jackson and Jameson and my friend Marietta."
"Hello, ma'am," Jameson said.
"Nice to meet you," Jackson said.
Marietta nodded and smiled but didn't say anything.
Pamela folded her hands over her heart. "Please accept my deepest condolences for the loss of such a hero. All of our first responders and their families have our utmost respect and appreciation here at Mason's. Yours especially, and we will do everything we can to help you through this most difficult time."
"Thank you very much. I would appreciate the assistance."
"If you'll just follow me, I'll settle you in one of the family conference rooms. You'll be working with Mr. Mason today. He handles all the funerals for first responders."
Pamela led them down a wide hallway to an open door about halfway down. Inside the room sat a large, oval table surrounded by eight leather backed chairs. A large bouquet of white lilies and greenery sat in the center of the table. An unfamiliar odor lingered just below that of the strong scent of the flowers.
"Please, help yourself to water or whatever you'd like." Pamela motioned to a small table in one corner that held bottled waters and various snacks. "Mr. Mason will be right with you."
She left the room, closing the door halfway behind her. Eleanor pulled out one of the chairs that faced the door and sat down. The boys hit up the snacks and talked quietly between themselves while Marietta sat down next to Eleanor.
"Nice place," Marietta said. "You know for a funeral home and all."
"Yeah, I guess. It smells funky though."
"That's the scent of death," Jameson said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
Jackson smacked him on the back as he sat down. "Nice, butthead."
"What? It is. Have you ever smelled anything else like it?"
"Okay, you two. That's enough," Marietta said.
Eleanor only half listened as she opened the folder of documents she thought she'd need based on the what she'd found on the funeral home's website and spread them out on the table in front of her. As her fingers slid across their marriage license, she paused, letting her finger tips trace the letters of Gary's name. "It still feels so surreal."
"I know, sweetie." Marietta squeezed her hand lightly. "It's just going to take time."
The door opened. A large man filled the space. His shoulders were so wide, they nearly touched both sides of the frame. The grey flannel suit and crisp white button shirt he wore fit him perfectly. His dark grey eyes held a gentle kindness that was reflected in his smile.
"Good morning, I'm Timothy Mason. I'm so sorry to be meeting under these circumstances. I've met Officer Hart on several occasions. He was a good cop and a great man." He walked around the table to where Eleanor sat and gave a little half bow and offered her his hand. "Please accept my deepest sympathies."
"Thank you, Mr. Mason. I also wish we were meeting under different circumstances." She motioned to where her boys sat. "Those are my sons Jackson and Jameson and this," she nodded at her friend, "Is Marietta."
"You young men strongly resemble your father's features." To Marietta he said, "I'm glad you could be here for Mrs. Hart today."
"Please, just call me Eleanor. It's too hard to keep hearing Mrs. Hart. I'm not even sure I'm considered a Mrs. anymore." She used her sleeve to swipe at the couple of tears that leaked from her eyes.
Timothy sat down in the seat to her right and placed one of his large hands on the arm of her chair as he shifted to look her in the eye. "You most certainly are a Mrs. That won't change until you decide it should."
Eleanor shook her head. "Gary was my first and my only love. I could never imagine ever loving anyone else, let alone consider marriage again."
"I understand those emotions very well. Allow yourself to grieve, but when the time comes, also allow yourself to live your life."
Eleanor sat up straight in her chair and wiped at her eyes once more. "I can't begin to even think about anything beyond these arrangements."
"Eleanor brought all kinds of paperwork with her today. What will we need to get started?" Marietta asked.
"I checked the list on your website," Eleanor said.
Timothy looked at all the papers on the table and nodded. "I think you have all the things you need. May I?" He reached over and pushed a few of them in to a pile. "I'll need to make one copy of each of these pages."
Timothy left the room with her papers but was only gone for a minute or so. When he returned, he handed them back to her along with another sheet.
"That is an outline of what our services usually look like for fire and police. You can pick and choose the things you want or don't want, but once you tell me your wishes, we will handle all of the details for you. Since he died in the line of duty, there are some things that will happen no matter what. For instance, the calling hours will be full. And I have seen officers come from hundreds of miles away to pay their respects on behalf of their departments."
"There's so many things to—" She threw her hands in the air and sighed, fighting back the latest round of tears.
"Let's just take it one step at a time." Marietta clasped Eleanor's hand in hers. "Do you want the casket open or closed?"
"Will his wounds be visible?"
Timothy shook his head. "No. Not at all."
"Dad would hate having all those people staring at him," Jameson said.
Eleanor nodded. "I agree. He didn't like that kind of attention."
"So, shall we leave it closed then?" Timothy asked, scribbling a few notes on a small notepad.
"Yes. I think my son is right. Gary wouldn't want to be on display."
"Do you want a full service, open to the public, or a private one with public calling hours?"
Eleanor shrugged. "Can't we skip the calling hours? People can say their goodbyes at the service."
; Timothy shook his head. "I don't recommend it. Having a separate viewing event is likely to help with crowd control at the actual service."
"We are Catholic. We need a mass," Eleanor said.
"Okay. Would you like me to get in touch with the church or do you want to?" Timothy asked.
"I suppose I should speak to Father myself." Eleanor sighed and leaned back in her chair. "So many details. So many people to talk to."
"Amazing Grace," Jameson said.
"What?" Eleanor and Marietta asked at the same time.
"Dad always said he wanted Amazing Grace played at his funeral."
"By bagpipes," Jackson said.
"How do you two know this and I don't?" Eleanor tried not to sound as upset as she felt about this new revelation.
They shrugged in unison.
"I don't know," Jameson replied. "Maybe he didn't like to talk to you about that kind of stuff. I guess he figured we'd tell you if it ever came up."
"What else has he talked to the two of you about?"
"He did tell me once he wanted to be cremated because the thought of spending eternity in a box underground scared him."
"Jameson Michael! Are you serious? He actually told you that?"
He nodded in response.
To Marietta, she said, "Why didn't he tell me these things?"
"I don't know, El. Maybe he thought you couldn't handle it? Or, maybe he just thought there was time to discuss it later."
"How would that work?" Eleanor asked Timothy. "Could we do both? Have calling hours and then cremate him?"
Timothy twirled his pen in his fingers then tapped it lightly on the table. "Yes, we can do that. You basically borrow one of our caskets then later on, we take care of the remains separately."
Eleanor inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing brain of its wild, disorganized thoughts. "Okay, then, that's what we will do."
"How would three days from now work?"
"We have to wait that long?" Eleanor had hoped to get through it all in the next day or so instead of dragging it out.
"There has to be an autopsy and the medical examiner has to sign off on the cause of death."
Eleanor jumped up from her seat. "Are you freaking serious? He has holes in his body from the rifle rounds. I saw them myself. What's there to sign off on?"
Marietta stood up too, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Here." Eleanor accepted the tissue her friend offered her, blowing her nose and wiping at her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Eleanor." Timothy spoke softly. His voice had a calming effect to it she hadn't expected. "The manner of death was a gunshot wound. That isn't necessarily the direct cause though."
"Oh, that. Well, I'll save the ME some time. The cause of death was all the holes in his body and all the blood. So much blood."
She dropped into her chair, the sobs shaking her entire body. She crossed her arms on the table and buried her face in them. Marietta rubbed tiny circles on her back. One of the twins—she had no idea which one—moved in to the seat beside hers and held her hand.
Timothy stood up and walked over to the table in the corner, grabbing a bottle of water that he placed in front of Eleanor with the box of tissues. "I wish I could make this easier, I really do."
When the sobs finally subsided, Eleanor sat up straight and smoothed her hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry for my little meltdown, Mr. Mason. It won't happen again." Even she didn't believe that promise but it made her feel more in control to say it.
"It's absolutely okay if it does."
"You don't have to be strong all the time, Mom," Jackson said.
"What's next on the list?" Marietta asked.
Timothy consulted his notebook. "Would you like the calling hours to be morning or evening?"
"Can I make a suggestion?" Marietta asked.
"Of course," Eleanor replied. "That's why you are here."
"They need to overlap the day and the evening shifts so that all of his friends have an opportunity to attend."
"That's true. Gary knew so many people."
"Everyone loved Dad." Jameson’s eyes watered up. "He was awesome."
Timothy consulted his planner. "How about from two until seven on Wednesday? Then the funeral on Thursday. It's a long day but I have a feeling we are going to need it."
Eleanor nodded. "You think you can handle that, boys?"
"Whatever you need, Mom." Jameson grabbed a tissue from the box and blew his nose. Jackson also nodded his agreement. "Dad deserves to go out in style."
"Then it's settled," Eleanor said to Timothy.
"The only other thing I need you to do is chose a remembrance card and a program design. Once you do, we will get them printed for you. Oh, and did you want us to order floral arrangements for the calling hours or do you want to do it?"
Anxiety seized Eleanor. Her chest tightened and anger filled her. "What difference does any of that make? He's dead. It's not like he's going to read the program."
"It's just part of the process, El." Marietta placed her hand on Eleanor's. "It's for you and the boys as much as in Gary's honor."
"Let them figure it out, Mom," Jackson nodded toward Timothy. "Just make sure you have something in them that says he died a hero."
Timothy nodded and made a note on his paper. "I'll make sure the florist understands that requirement. I do want you to tell me your thoughts on a verse for the cards. You knew him best. Did he have a special prayer he liked?" Timothy handed her a booklet with pictures of mass cards and bible verses. They settled on Gary's favorite verse, blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God and another one that Eleanor liked, Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. The rest of the details she left up to Timothy.
Eleanor gathered up all her papers and tucked them back in to her folder. "Is that everything then?"
Timothy stood and extended his hand. "It is. For now, anyway. I'll call you if I have other questions. I'm so very sorry for your loss. It's been a pleasure meeting all of you, despite the circumstances."
Eleanor accepted his hand in her own. "Thank you for your help."
"Are you okay?" Marietta asked as they walked to their cars.
"I don't know if I'll ever be okay again."
"I can't imagine how you feel but I want to be sure you know Ricky and I are here for you. Anything you need, okay?" Marietta squeezed her hand. "I mean it, chica."
"I wish you could turn back time. Keep my husband from being shot."
Marietta reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Eleanor's ear. "I wish I could too, sweetie. I really, really do. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will get through this. You're so much stronger than you know, Eleanor."
She shook her head. "It feels like I died right along with Gary. I miss him so much my heart aches from the pain of it."
"I don't know how to make that go away. All I can do is hug you and provide as much wine and cheesecake as you need."
Eleanor cracked a tiny smile. "You're a good friend, Mari. I love you."
"I love you too."
Eleanor hugged her friend and said goodbye. The boys were quiet in the car. As soon as they got home, she went straight to her room, threw herself down on her bed and ugly cried.
Chapter Six
Vivian
"Marietta just called. Calling hours are on Wednesday at Mason's Funeral Home and the funeral will be Thursday morning."
Antonio sat on the couch, a beer in his right hand and the remote control in his left, pretty much the same as he had since the night of the shooting. He made no move to acknowledge her presence, let alone the fact that she'd actually spoken to him.
"Antonio!" Vivian stepped between him and the television.
"What?" He looked up at her, his eyes red rimmed and blood shot. Her beautiful husband looked like he'd been run over by a truck. Twice. What she wouldn't do to go back in time and change that night.
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Gary's funeral is Thursday. Calling hours are on Wednesday."
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks." He turned the volume up again and took a long swig of his beer. He held the empty bottle out to her. "Hey, babe, can you get me another one?"
"It's barely noon. How many have you had already?"
"I didn't ask for a lecture. I just want a damned beer."
"Then get it your own damn self!" Vivian stomped out of the room and headed to the kitchen. So much for being the sweet, understanding wife. Not that she felt bad about it. He was being a total jerk. Her moods had been all over the place since the night Gary died. Antonio's version of mourning wasn't helping. All he did was eat, sleep, watch stupid television, and drink. He drank a lot. If she had to guess, he hadn't been fully sober since before the shooting.
Food would help. At least it would be a good distraction for her. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out lunch meat, cheese, and assorted vegetables to make a sandwich. When she set them on the counter, she looked up and saw Antonio standing in the doorway but she ignored him.
"I'm sorry, Viv."
Vivian sliced a tomato and then an onion without acknowledging her husband. Antonio hated to be ignored. It was the one thing she could always do that got under his skin.
"Vivian." He stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry, babe." His breath smelled like alcohol. She wrinkled her nose and stepped out of his hold.
"Fine." She started tearing lettuce, making a small pile, and ignoring his arms wrapped back around her.
Antonio reached up and took the lettuce from her hand, then turned her to face him. "Look at me, Viv. Please."
The Line That Binds Page 7