Chapter 9 Creepily
“ Y ou shouldn’t have done that,” I said, making my way back to Lauren.
“She was dear to me too, and I’ve seen how stressed you’ve been lately.”
I let out a sigh, grateful for her unspoken support. “Well, thank you, Lauren,” I conceded, placing my arms around her. She returned the embrace, rubbing her hand along my back. The moment was not meant to last, though, because I pulled away upon noticing someone waiting to talk with me.
“Hi, Regina,” I said, making Lauren aware of her presence. “Lauren, this is Regina. She also is a frequent visitor to the bookshop,” I offered in an attempt to exchange introductions.
“Joshua, when are you going to open up the store again?” said the older lady, her lack of awareness of what I was saying clearly showing she was hard of hearing.
“Next week,” I said, only to repeat myself a little louder a second time.
“Is she going to be helping run the place?” she continued without regard to my previous statement.
I looked at Lauren, who had willingly offered to help this week, but neither of us had made any indications of an extended agreement. Likewise, she now stared at me with an unsuspecting look, implying that she had not thought that far ahead.
“I’ll have to hire someone for sure.”
“Oh, good. She will be a great help,” Regina stated, only to turn away to greet others she knew and dismiss our conversation.
“Sorry,” I mumbled to Lauren.
“It’s alright.” Her words neither conveyed nor hinted at whether she would be interested in staying at the store, but I knew she already had a job, so the hopes of such were low. “Is there anyone else you see that you might want to speak with?”
“Not really. I think I’m ready to head back and do some work.” The thought of leaving so soon bothered me on the inside, but given the range of emotions that had already presented themselves, I was unsure if I was doing anyone a favor by remaining by Ms. Debbie’s side. Pausing to consider staying longer, I took note of a gray-haired man with a mustache standing alongside the casket. “Actually, there is.”
Ushering Lauren up to Ms. Debbie, I waited for the man to turn and acknowledge me before speaking. “Are you Keith?” I asked, offering an explanation for my question by raising my hand toward the office door.
“No, I’m not,” he answered. The sharpness in his voice confirmed this, but before I could explain further or apologize, he walked away. As I watched him head toward the front door, his gait established that he was indeed rather old to be capable of running a funeral home, but how was I to know?
Still curious, though, I continued watching as the elderly man paused upon reaching the podium. I waited for him to sign his name, turning to Lauren to see what thought she might contribute, but with the shrug of her shoulders, I knew we were both at a loss.
“That’s weird,” I said, as he headed toward the door. “I was just going to ask about the cards out front.” Leaving my statement to linger, I followed his path to the podium, hoping to catch the name he had scribbled on the visitation sheet. However, there were no other signatures listed below Lauren’s.
“Who do you suppose that was?” Lauren asked.
“Beats me,” I said.
Stepping away from the book, we walked past the office, where another gray-haired man stood thumbing through the cards on the desk.
“Aren’t you going to stop and ask him?” Lauren whispered as I intentionally kept walking.
I shook my head. As we reached the door, I failed to pause to allow Lauren to walk ahead. Once outside, my eyes took a second to focus against the bright sun. However, across the parking lot, I could see the strange man making his way through the cars. He never turned to look and see if anyone was watching, but his hurried manner made me question the situation. Then, I saw him step up into a familiar black SUV.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“Yeah. I think that was the man that almost hit us.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I continued to watch as he backed out of the parking spot and pulled out on the road.
“Maybe we should get his tag,” Lauren offered, but it was too late. The manner in which he sped through the parking lot before turning onto the road left both of us wondering.
“I couldn’t make it out in time. All I could tell was it wasn’t a normal one. Maybe a fish and game or one of those other specialty tags.”
“Well,” she laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I huffed.
“It’s just ironic that we came here for closure and ended up with more questions.”
“But how is that funny?”
“I guess it’s not, but sometimes you have to laugh when you want to cry,” she suggested with the meekest of smiles.
The softness of her face somehow seemed to ease my frustration. “Are you about to?” I said, inferring that there was no reason to do so now.
“No, but that’s how it goes sometimes.”
“I guess.”
A lull of uncertainty surrounded us as we stood along the stoop before Lauren broke the trance created by my distant thoughts. “So, now what?”
“We can stay for the service or head back.”
“It’s up to you,” she said.
“I’m torn now with the casket being closed, but, for Ms. Debbie, I would like to stay and possibly go to the graveside.”
“Okay. Shall we get some coffee from the lounge then?”
“That sounds good to me,” I said.
Turning to go inside, I paused to open the door for Lauren. She walked past, then waited with a smile for me to join her. In the moment, I thanked God for her being there.
As the twelve o’clock hour approached, so did a spring afternoon thunderstorm. Prior to its arrival, the number of visitors seemed to dwindle, with no newcomers within thirty minutes of the service. By the time the preacher asked us to gather inside the room for a prayer, I realized Lauren and I were the only ones that he meant to address.
Thankful for my decision to stay, I took hold of Lauren’s hand, more out of wanting to draw closer during the funeral than from my own personal feelings. Together, we stood alongside the casket as the man in black offered his condolences and asked if we had anything to say before he began.
I hesitated, unsure of what I might say, only for him to continue. “I would like to add that the funeral director has advised me that, due to the storm, a graveside service will not be observed. However, if you like, I can provide a sermon now.”
Of course , I thought. Saying goodbye was hard enough without the constant infringements of a typical funeral. I could feel Lauren’s hand tighten around mine, offering what support she could. This was what Ms. Debbie wanted—simple and no fuss.
“I think a prayer would suffice,” I finally said, but did not offer any additional statements about Ms. Debbie. There was no reason. The preacher was someone who most likely had never met her but was on hand for such occasions. As for myself and Lauren, we knew her better than anyone, and no words were going to change how we felt.
“That will be fine,” he nodded in agreement, but before I could lower my head, he offered, “And I believe it might be more fitting for you to say the prayer.”
Praying was hard enough for me to do when I was alone, and with Lauren present, instant doubt filled my mind. However, the preacher’s words felt more like a delegation than a request because he had already bowed his head.
Releasing Lauren’s fingers, I knelt down on the floor beside her feet. Closing my eyes, I braced my hand against the carpet and exhaled a deep breath. The first few words that I managed came as a mumble. Each thought was derived from being thankful to have known Ms. Debbie and that she was at peace. However, no preconceived prayer could portray the depth of my internal struggle; they merely felt like empty words as I tried to convey my love for a dear friend.
Eventually, my attempt to pray peaked as my body trembled from within, and my mind felt numb to the words I spoke. Striving to pour my heart out, the emotional cry of my voice dissolved into the choking back of tears. Allowing a stream to pool and fall to the floor, I let my sobs dissipate into silence as I remained crouched in solitude. With nothing left, I said the customary “Amen,” wiped the water from my eyes with my jacket, and lifted myself from the floor.
Lauren placed her hand on my shoulder before turning the gesture into a hug. Her chest met mine with a sense of warmth and longing. I was not sure what she was thinking at the moment, but I was content with just having her present. When we pulled away, I could tell she too had become teary-eyed but had been wise enough to bring a handkerchief. She blotted her eyes once more, then offered for me to do the same, but I opted for my sleeve once again.
As I felt the tears pull back, I realized that it was time to leave. Without a word, I began walking toward the door. I could feel Lauren following behind, and out of the desire to be anywhere but at the funeral home, I found myself continuing until I was outside. Only when the blast of rain blocked my path did I stop.
Almost surprisingly, Lauren did not ask me what was wrong. Instead, she pulled an umbrella from her purse.
“You really do have everything in there,” I offered with a faltering laugh.
“Yeah, well, the umbrella is new.”
Facing the rain, I extended the covering and held it up for the two of us to seek shelter. Confined by the size of its canopy, Lauren clung to me to keep herself from getting wet. Together, we danced our way across the streams that ran through the parking lot.
Our attempts to bound over the pools of water proved successful until we rounded the car, where our feet disappeared under a gully that washed from beneath the tires. Realizing we had misstepped, I hastily opened the passenger door and ushered her in before dashing to the other side. Upon closing the umbrella and door, I paused, remembering this was her car.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Would you rather climb over and switch seats, or do the shuffle outside in the rain?”
“I’m wearing a skirt,” she laughed. “So, your shuffle is out of the question.” She paused, considering the rain that covered the window. “What if you just drive?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I hate driving in the rain anyway, so it’s kind of nice.”
“Alright, then,” I said, inserting the key and turning the ignition switch. I watched as Lauren slid her feet from the drenched high heels and placed them beneath her legs. “Should I take mine off?” I offered, wondering what I might do with them as to not make a further mess than the pool already collecting on the mat.
“You’re fine,” she insisted, settling her hand on my leg.
I shifted the car into the “Drive” position and began the short trek back to the store. Out of the side of my eyes, I could see Lauren adjusting her seat, likely turning on the warmers as she curled her bare legs beneath her. Never had I been able to understand why women clung to sweltering heat during a spring shower, but I had never been one to be cold either.
The beating rain persisted in pounding the car, causing me to leave the wipers on high for the majority of the drive. However, as we pulled along the curve and came to a stop near the store, a brief pause in the storm brought the rain to a drizzle.
“Let’s make a run for it,” I said, not waiting for Lauren to reply before I pushed the door open. On command, she quickly followed, and we ran toward the awning of the shop. Making it to the door first, I turned and laughed, seeing her tiptoe across the pavement with heels in hand.
“I daresay you had an advantage,” she said, lifting her shoes for me to see.
“I suppose you’re right, but I figured that was our best chance of getting out of the rain.”
As if on cue, the rain began to pour once again, drowning out the sound of my voice. Fishing the keys from my pocket, I unlocked the door.
Inside, the blast from the air conditioner greeted us with a chill that was soothing to me but drew a shiver in Lauren. I walked to the wall behind the counter and adjusted the thermostat, but with no way to warm the building instantly, I pulled my jacket from my shoulders.
“Here. Put this on.”
Lauren threaded her goosebump-laden arms through the sleeves and pulled the breast of the jacket tightly against her chest. The look of her in my jacket had a certain appeal, and from the manner in which it hung over her skirt with the matching black fabric, it appeared as though she was only wearing my coat. Setting aside the arousing thought immediately, I offered to fix us another cup of coffee before we returned to work.
The alluring scent and refreshing feel of a fresh pot proved to be just what we needed. Lauren soon shed my coat, hanging it on the chair, and we found ourselves emerging in papers along the floor of the backroom.
With so much to sort through, I was thankful for anything to take my mind off of the funeral. Instead of going home to dwell or finding myself in a rut, wondering what to do next, my eyes remained focused on reading, only stopping to examine anything Lauren brought to my attention.
Outside, the storm continued its boisterous rampage, yet the noise offered solace, much like spending the day watching movies during a spring rain. There was nothing else to do, and honestly, no one else I would rather spend the day with.
Heeding to my fifth cup of coffee for the day, I rocked forward to pull myself up, in need of using the bathroom. However, the call of nature was interrupted when Lauren broke the silence.
“Joshua!” she said with excitement and confusion.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Did Ms. Debbie ever say what she did before opening the store?”
“Hmm, not that I can recall, but can this wait? All of this coffee is ready to be poured out.”
“No,” she blurted, “I think you need to see this.”
Doing an embellished dance to display my unwillingness to wait, Lauren nearly smiled over the seriousness she displayed. Taking the paper, I quickly ran my eyes over the words but stopped upon reading the line, “Five million copies sold.”
Letting the paper flutter to the floor, I dashed from the room and ran straight for the toilet. Unzipping my pants, I let out a sigh, relieved from the strain of holding back half a pot of coffee. The stream flowed forcefully and continued for a solid minute before I finally stepped away from the toilet to wash my hands. When I flipped off the lights, I jumped upon meeting a lurking Lauren at the door.
“Sheesh!” I gasped.
“Was it that bad?” she laughed.
“You don’t even know. I’ve been drinking coffee, knowing I had to pee for twenty minutes.”
“Oh no, I do,” she admitted, pushing past me and shutting the door.
I stood waiting, listening for her own sigh of relief that I could joke with her about, but all I could hear was the release of her bladder.
“Okay, I’m not a fan of people listening to me pee,” she said, blushing at the thought when I greeted her in return at the door.
“You were doing the same thing to me.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was just waiting my turn.”
“But still.”
Rolling her eyes, Lauren gave my rebuttal no further thought and continued past me. She bent down to collect the paper from the floor and handed it to me once again. “Did you see what I was showing you?”
“I saw something about five million copies being sold.”
“Yeah, but did you see the name of the book?”
I retraced the lines, returning to the part listing the number of copies sold. “ A Life in Shambles ,” I said out loud.
“And who is it by?” she prodded, as if quizzing me.
“W. G. Murphy.”
Lauren stood staring at me, waiting for the final dots to connect in my head, but I merely shrugged, as the name meant nothing.
“Who is he?” I finally admitted.
“He? You mean she?”
“He, she—how am I supposed to know?”
“Perhaps you would recall her better by her real name.”
Again, I offered a confused look, dumbfounded by the proposal that I would know the author of a book that I had never seen.
“I’ve read a ton of books, but I’ve never heard of this one. I mean, it sounds like it was mildly successful, but so are a bunch of others that never make it into the vast public’s hands.”
“Joshua,” she resounded almost frustrated.
“What?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.”
Returning to the floor, Lauren evaluated the papers we had set out before lifting the desired one up and handing it to me. “Here. How about now?” she questioned, pointing to the name Willow Gladis Murphy.