Roger had specified, "No church service, no preacher who doesn't know who the hell I am. Have me cremated and throw my ashes in the backyard. Run and done."
So that's what Emily did. Now she was sitting by herself on the front row of the funeral home chapel. A scattering of folks sat behind her in the room - neighbors, a couple of guys from work. She was surprised to see a waiter from the restaurant they frequented. She didn't think they were that close.
Roger explained how it was just him when they married two years ago. His parents were dead, and he had no siblings or children. There were a few cousins, but they lived on the other coast, and he hadn't seen them in over 50 years.
He traveled a lot for his job as a pharmacy rep, so they hadn't made many mutual friends since they married. She mainly stayed home and tended to the house. She never missed her two favorite soap operas, and there was a small garden, just two tomato plants, and some herbs.
She didn't mind. After the horrible divorce from her first husband, she was happy to hang out with no trauma - no punching holes through the wall - no black eyes. Fortunately, her ex moved out of state after she finally summoned the courage to call the police. She didn't press charges, so that was that.
But now Roger was dead of a heart attack at age 55. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was over. They did all the standard maneuvers, pressing his chest and applying electrodes, but she could have told them not to bother. He was just dead.
People were starting to shift in their seats. The funeral home was on the wrong end of town and didn't believe in comfort. She felt a movement next to her and saw a woman sit down. The woman was middle-aged and dressed in black. Emily touched her shoulder and whispered, "Excuse me, but this row is for family." She didn't expect any of Roger's kin to show up, but she didn't want to share her grief status with a stranger.
"I am family," the woman replied. "I'm his widow." The woman looked as serious as death eating an onion.
"Excuse me," Emily said. "This is the service for Roger McHenry."
"I know," the woman answered. "I am Mrs. McHenry."
Emily stared at her and was about to speak when the funeral director walked in to deliver his faux eulogy. "Roger, blah, blah, blah. A godly man, blah, blah, blah." He mentioned Roger was married but failed to provide any details.
Emily looked at the strange woman who was now oddly weeping. Her face was contorted, and her breathing sounded as if she had asthma.
She wondered what she should do. Roger had left her enough money to get by. She'd always insisted she have a checking account with only her name on it. Their house was rented, and she planned to move in with her sister in the neighboring town. Besides a few keepsakes from her mother, she wouldn't take anything with her.
Emily looked over at the woman again, who, at this point, was crying hysterically and seemed about to collapse.
About this time, the funeral director quit talking. She looked at her phone and noticed it was almost two PM; she could make it in time for her favorite show if she hurried home.
As she slid by the sobbing woman, she stopped and patted her on the shoulder. "You have my condolences, Mrs. McHenry."
Before she left the room, Emily looked back at the woman one last time. The woman's expression still had not changed, and Emily had a hunch she did not have a checking account with only her name on it.
— opelikakat
So that's what Emily did. Now she was sitting by herself on the front row of the funeral home chapel. A scattering of folks sat behind her in the room - neighbors, a couple of guys from work. She was surprised to see a waiter from the restaurant they frequented. She didn't think they were that close.
Roger explained how it was just him when they married two years ago. His parents were dead, and he had no siblings or children. There were a few cousins, but they lived on the other coast, and he hadn't seen them in over 50 years.
He traveled a lot for his job as a pharmacy rep, so they hadn't made many mutual friends since they married. She mainly stayed home and tended to the house. She never missed her two favorite soap operas, and there was a small garden, just two tomato plants, and some herbs.
She didn't mind. After the horrible divorce from her first husband, she was happy to hang out with no trauma - no punching holes through the wall - no black eyes. Fortunately, her ex moved out of state after she finally summoned the courage to call the police. She didn't press charges, so that was that.
But now Roger was dead of a heart attack at age 55. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was over. They did all the standard maneuvers, pressing his chest and applying electrodes, but she could have told them not to bother. He was just dead.
People were starting to shift in their seats. The funeral home was on the wrong end of town and didn't believe in comfort. She felt a movement next to her and saw a woman sit down. The woman was middle-aged and dressed in black. Emily touched her shoulder and whispered, "Excuse me, but this row is for family." She didn't expect any of Roger's kin to show up, but she didn't want to share her grief status with a stranger.
"I am family," the woman replied. "I'm his widow." The woman looked as serious as death eating an onion.
"Excuse me," Emily said. "This is the service for Roger McHenry."
"I know," the woman answered. "I am Mrs. McHenry."
Emily stared at her and was about to speak when the funeral director walked in to deliver his faux eulogy. "Roger, blah, blah, blah. A godly man, blah, blah, blah." He mentioned Roger was married but failed to provide any details.
Emily looked at the strange woman who was now oddly weeping. Her face was contorted, and her breathing sounded as if she had asthma.
She wondered what she should do. Roger had left her enough money to get by. She'd always insisted she have a checking account with only her name on it. Their house was rented, and she planned to move in with her sister in the neighboring town. Besides a few keepsakes from her mother, she wouldn't take anything with her.
Emily looked over at the woman again, who, at this point, was crying hysterically and seemed about to collapse.
About this time, the funeral director quit talking. She looked at her phone and noticed it was almost two PM; she could make it in time for her favorite show if she hurried home.
As she slid by the sobbing woman, she stopped and patted her on the shoulder. "You have my condolences, Mrs. McHenry."
Before she left the room, Emily looked back at the woman one last time. The woman's expression still had not changed, and Emily had a hunch she did not have a checking account with only her name on it.
— opelikakat
What a cool way to elide the "truth" whatever it was! And I like the rising up of HABIT (time for her favorite show) which allows that to happen. Probably Roger would have approved. --- Macoff
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