Chapter 8 Lovely
O utside, the spring morning had turned into a warm and sticky day. Under the jacket of my suit, I could feel my chest beginning to bead with sweat at the thought of walking to the funeral home. Unfortunately, I was without a car, and it would be a two-mile stretch to reach where we were going. I paused, considering the lack of thought, as Lauren seemed to notice I was not headed in a particular direction.
“Did you misplace your keys?” she laughed. “You just had them when you locked the door.”
I let out a breath, then managed a smile at her jovialness. “No, it’s actually my car.”
“Oh? Did you forget where you parked?” Her tone almost turned serious with the directness of my voice.
“No, I sold it.” Before she could raise another question, I decided it was better to go ahead and explain, hitting the main points while skipping over the details of my personal issues. “I was trying to pay Ms. Debbie—I mean Minnie—for my half of the store. Being sick and all, I sold my car to offer her as much money upfront as possible.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. I live close by and the walks to and from work have been pleasant.”
Lauren pulled her keys from her purse, then pressed the fob to unlock her car. It was a dark green sedan—nothing fancy, but respectable. She continued around to the driver’s side, insinuating she might leave without me, before calling over her shoulder. “We’ll take mine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind walking or meeting you there.”
“I can’t walk that far in heels, and I’m not about to let you when we’re going together.”
I nodded in response, biting my lip at the fact that there was no way I could possibly object.
“Just one thing,” she added, showing concern instead of playfulness.
“What’s that?”
“You can’t look in the backseat.” Her eyes glanced from inside the car, back to me before returning once again to the car’s interior.
“Oh, yeah?” I teased. “Is it a mess?”
Reconsidering her condition, Lauren instructed me to close my eyes and turn around. Upon her insistency, I did as I was told. Still curious, however, I tuned my ears for the sound of a bag being filled with trash or the echo of her voice, ensuring that I was not looking. However, neither of those perked my ears. In their place, I could hear the door open and, a minute later, the sound of her straining to lift something that would likely be heavy.
“Do you need a hand?”
“No,” she snapped, afraid I might turn around regardless of her answer.
Shaking my head, I waited, listening for any indication of what she was doing, but the only thing I was aware of was the trunk hinging open and a loud plop followed by the slamming of the lid. With no further noise from Lauren, I waited to turn around until I heard her soft voice replace the sternness from before.
“Okay, you can get in now.”
“Alright, but honestly, a little mess doesn’t bother me.”
She sighed, allowing her shoulders to slump, letting me know her reasoning about an unkempt car was something she felt insecure about. Seeing this, I gave no further affirmation and walked over to the passenger side and began to duck down into the car.
“It’s still probably best if you don’t look in the back,” she said, before my head disappeared.
Rising back up, I promised I would not. Then, lowering my head once again, I braced myself to possibly have to move a pile of junk out of the seat or push food wrappers out of the floorboard to make room for my feet, but there were none. In fact, the car appeared spotless. The dash was free of dust, there was no garbage in sight, and everything appeared to have its own place.
“Here. You’ll have to hold my purse since it usually rides shotgun,” she explained, placing the bag on the console between us.
“I guess it would require its own seat, given the size,” I joked. However, Lauren failed to laugh at my quick wit. Instead, her hand steadied around the rearview mirror, allowing her eyes to focus on the view.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, of course. Buckle up, please, if you don’t mind.”
I reached over my shoulder, never moving my eyes away from Lauren. Eventually, she settled into her seat and started the car. As she watched for traffic before pulling out into the street, I found myself all the more curious as to why she had made me promise to not look in the backseat. Perhaps she kept all her junk there, but that made little sense.
Despite my longing to look, I kept my word and watched Lauren from the side of my eye, taking in how careful she appeared as she waited. However, I knew why. The street had a blind spot where the road disappeared on the other side of the hill. Many times, I had accidently pulled in front of someone. The only protection we were offered was the fact that everyone knew it was a bad place to pull out into the road, so drivers always slowed down before topping the hill.
With a final look as the last car passed, Lauren began to pull away from the curve, but in an instant, a black SUV appeared from behind. A blast from the driver’s horn echoed through the car in response, spooking Lauren and me both. I failed to catch a glimpse of him as he jutted around us, for in the same instant, Lauren stomped on the gas, afraid that another car might be coming.
My focus was further derailed by the sound of her bag sliding from the console as the car accelerated. Instinctively, I reached my arm out in an attempt to stop it, but it was too late. The bag fell to the back, and everything inside scattered across the floorboard. By mere reaction, I lunged after the straps of the purse, but my seatbelt caught my shoulder. Regardless of my failed attempts to salvage the purse, my eyes fell upon the backseat, which Lauren had insisted on me not looking at.
Like I had assumed, the rest of her car was as well-kept as the front. The only difference being there was a subtle but apparent variance between the seats. From my view, the cloth along the bench portion of the seat looked as if it had been creased from something heavy residing on top. Whether the angle was playing tricks on my eyes or not, the faded upholstery around a rectangular portion, where something had been resting for months, if not years, was undeniable.
As I struggled to collect her purse, Lauren remained unaware of what was really happening until her attention transitioned from not hitting the black SUV to inside the car. At first, only confusion seemed to bother me, then the curiosity of what Lauren would be keeping a secret burned a concerning fire that smothered any hopes that our kiss may have brought.
My eyes were still between the fallen purse and the backseat when she noticed me. Looking at her now, I saw her attempt to smile disappear. I did not offer any words as the dislodged purse seemed to explain itself. However, she seemed to care less about the purse and only about the backseat.
Instead of explaining, she refocused her eyes on the road, and an awkward silence consumed the cab of the car. I cared less to point out her double standard for honesty but remained concerned about what it was that would mean so much to her.
I leaned back in my seat, and the absence of our conversation persisted the remainder of the ride, only breaking when we arrived at the funeral home. Placing the car in park, we sat, with neither of us offering to move. I was not sure what I might say, but luckily, Lauren spoke first.
“Joshua, I’m sorry. I know you probably have a million questions, but for now, can you forget everything else and just trust me?”
Forget? Forget our kiss, her secrets? That would be hardly possible if there was indeed something between us. However, with the hopeful plea in Lauren’s eyes, I was willing to put it aside. She had not chosen to be dishonest, but instead had a life that she was protective of.
“My memory is pretty sharp,” I jabbed, hoping for some comedic relief. “But I understand what you mean, and I don’t have to know.”
With a smile, Lauren assured me her thankfulness without issuing a word. It was amazing how intimate the conversation felt, leading me to only want to talk to her more. Yet, here I was, sitting outside the funeral home, needing to ready myself to say goodbye to my friend.
Releasing a long breath, I unbuckled and asked Lauren if she was ready. As if instinctively, she pulled down the visor to check her hair in the mirror. Upon finishing, she blushed, realizing why I might have called her basic in the first place. But instead of giving her a hard time, I merely nodded affirmingly.
As we stepped outside, I noticed the parking lot was about a quarter full. As we entered the parlor, it became evident that a bulk of the crowd was customers coming to pay their respects to Ms. Debbie, while the rest were strangers, attending the visitation of someone I did not know.
The guestbook had about ten names so far, most of which were familiar—older clients that had retired and often frequented the store during the day. I scribbled my name along the first blank line as my eyes finished scanning the list. Without placing the pen back on the table, I turned to Lauren. When she took hold of the pen, I stepped aside, taking one of the pamphlets for a memento.
Along the front was a picture of some flowers. At first thought, I found the lack of a personal touch of including her own portrait to be thoughtless, but Ms. Debbie had never been one for photos. In fact, she specifically refused to have her picture taken for the bookstore website or be mentioned as the owner. Instead, I was listed as the store’s contact, owner, and licensee to distribute works. No, the flowers on the front were indeed not a personal touch, but she would have likely been well pleased with the choice.
I could feel Lauren behind me, watching. Opening the fold of the paper, I pointed to the date denoted beside the word “Birth.”
“See, that matches the birthday we found and the day Ms. Debbie had told me.”
“You’re right, but how did they know her birthday?”
“They probably checked her license when they were filling out the death certificate. At least, that’s the only thing I can think of. They never asked me for any details.”
“Were you listed as her next of kin or anything?”
“No,” I mumbled.
Looking back at the table, I glanced at the remaining pamphlets. There were only a handful left, seemingly odd for the number of people that were present.
“What is it?” Lauren asked.
“Did you get a booklet?”
“No, I just signed my name. I didn’t want to take one since there were only a few left.”
Returning to the table, I took a card and handed it to Lauren. As we stood there, two things ran simultaneously through my mind: One, had the funeral home been thoughtless to account for the number of cards they would need? And two, there was a name I didn’t recognize. Who was Lauren Patterson?
Seeing Lauren’s last name listed below mine took me by surprise. There were thousands or millions of Laurens in the world, but knowing her last name really painted her out as a different individual.
“What are you doing?” Lauren whispered. “Did you come over here just to read my name?” she piped upon stepping closer.
“No, but now that you mention it, I was actually just confused by the funeral home’s oversight.” I wanted to ask her if Patterson was her maiden name, but I already knew how that question would play out. Dismissing the second thought, I returned to my initial pondering.
Stepping away from the podium, I walked over to the main office and tapped on the open door. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if there were more cards for Ms. Debbie.”
“Good morning,” the funeral director said in response, offering a friendly approach to deescalate the rather raw tone in my voice. “Are they all gone?”
“There are about four left, and I would suppose more people will be coming.”
A confused look painted his face as he stood from his chair. Reaching for a box inside the desk, he pulled a handful of cards out and walked back into the lobby. I watched as he stood counting the cards, only to tightly fill the cubby, as if expecting them to magically disappear.
Upon his return, he took a final look through the door, as if to ensure they were still in place. “That’s strange,” he said, after placing the extra announcements back into their container. “I thought Keith said he was going to put out a sleeve full.” Shrugging his shoulders, he slid the remaining handful back in a drawer and offered his apologies.
Compensating for my intrusiveness, I thanked him for his help. He assured me he would make sure they were properly stocked, considering how the cards were not where my true struggles lay. With that, I turned to Lauren who had been standing and watching this whole time. Yet, her curiosity piqued as soon as we were alone.
“Where do you suppose they all went?”
“I’m sure they just underestimated how many visitors an elderly lady with no family would have.”
I shook my head, and my eyes fell upon the opening of the room where Ms. Debbie’s body lay in state. I had come to pay my final respects, yet my mind had constantly found something else to remain occupied. Now, however, there would be no more delaying the painful goodbye that I had planned to deliver.
With Lauren by my side, we found our way into the room. Initially, I focused my eyes upon the floor. There was something about seeing a body from afar that bothered me. If I could make it to the casket first, I always felt less inclined to show emotions. Either the shock would hide my true feelings, or the grief would have less time to build up. Regardless, neither was the case.
My eyes raised to look at the casket, only to find it closed. Instantly, I could feel Lauren’s arm slide around mine; she could sense the frustration and anticipated my next thoughts.
“Maybe we can ask for them to open it?”
Taking a step back, I could feel the anger building inside of me. The past week had been tough enough and the funeral home had done nothing but make it worse. I curled my fingers into a fist, but fighting the urge to say anything I might regret in front of Lauren, I nodded and slowly guided our steps away from the coffin.
“Let me go talk to the guy again,” I said, easing my arm away from hers. Lauren slid her hand along my arm, letting me know that she understood I was upset, but that she was there for me.
As I walked back to the office, Lauren followed beside me but stopped short of the entryway.
“Excuse me, again, but why is Ms. Debbie’s casket closed?” I asked, letting my frustration be known while trying to remain calm.
Again, he furrowed his brow, acting confused. “That was what she requested,” he said while considering my uneasiness.
“Ms. Debbie?”
“Yes, sir,” he confirmed. “She had a list of final requests when she made her funeral arrangements a few years ago,” he added for clarification.
Now I was the one looking confused. “But wait. I thought the coroner said they usually cremate those that don’t have any next of kin.”
“That usually is the case. And I apologize if there was some miscommunication, but I spoke with the coroner after her passing. Once he determined there was no family, he reached out to the local funeral homes to see if Ms. Debbie had prearranged her funeral. When I advised him that she had, he assisted in the transfer so that we could prepare her to lie in state.”
“I see,” I said, lowering my voice.
“I do sincerely apologize. Funerals are always tough and, well, difficult. However, if you have any more concerns, I’d be glad to help. My name is Jacob, and Keith is the man with grey hair and a mustache. Either of us can assist with whatever you need.”
“Thanks. Actually, there is something else. I told the coroner I would finance the funeral expenses. You see, she was a very dear friend, and I wanted to make sure she had a proper burial.”
I reached for my wallet, but upon doing so, Jacob interrupted. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Huh?”
“When Ms. Debbie made the arrangements, she paid for the funeral in full, with cash I believe.”
“Oh, and the flowers on the front of the card?” I added.
“Everything was picked out by her. She said she didn’t want any fuss, pictures, or even an obituary.”
This was sounding more like the Ms. Debbie I knew, not Minnie. I felt solace in knowing that she had indeed planned the funeral, even though she had disregarded how others like myself might feel.
With another “Thank you,” I walked out into the lobby where I was greeted by Lauren’s warm smile. I needed not to explain, because it was clear she had been listening from the door. So, I returned her smile with one of my own, and we went back into Ms. Debbie’s room.
“I’m glad you are feeling better,” she said with a nudge.
“I’ll have to admit, I’m relieved.”
“Relieved?” she snickered. “That is not what I was expecting you to say at all.”
“I just meant I was going to have to come up with the money for the funeral, and well, now I’m not.”
“That is good.”
“Yeah, but now I’m kinda kicking myself.”
“Why? There’s no reason for you to be hard on yourself.”
I took a look around the room. Only one stand of flowers occupied the space. The arrangement was a collection of red and white roses, with a spray that complimented the pedals.
“I didn’t even get her flowers. Amidst everything and thinking about paying for the funeral, it failed to cross my mind.”
“Did it?” she asked with a smile.
“Yeah.”
“Actually,” she said, pointing toward the lone stand of flowers, “maybe you should check the card.”
Wondering if I had possibly gone crazy, I walked over and folded back the note. Inside, it simply read, “With Love, Joshua and Lauren.”