The funeral was drawn out and expensive, but that came as no surprise to anybody present. Melinda Grainger had lived mostly for herself, so it made sense that she would die the same way. Among the people standing around the casket in the graveyard were Melinda’s four children, ranging in age from 20 to 29. As the priest delivered the dramatic “ashes to ashes” speech, the children were talking amongst themselves.
“Be quiet you guys,” Peter whispered. He was the second oldest and was dressed in an army lieutenant’s uniform. He’d signed up for the ROTC program his senior year of high school and attended the Rochester Institute of Technology for free. Now, in his last year of mandatory service, he’d been called home from Osaka, Japan to attend his mother’s funeral. There was the slightest hint of a tear in the corner of his left eye. “Really, guys,” he went on, “enough talking. It’s disrespectful.”
“But this is just such a waste of time and money,” complained Marla, the third born. She was wearing a black collared shirt and skirt much too provocative for a funeral. “She never did anything for us.” There was a pause and they heard the priest getting emphatic. “Are you even listening to me, Peter?”
Peter’s chest and chin were protruding and his gaze was pointed slightly upward toward the horizon. “I can hear you, Marla,” he answered without looking.
Having been acknowledged, she started her rant. “Hell, I don’t even know the last time I spoke to the woman.” Immediately after saying this, she noticed that John, the youngest, was glaring at her in disappointment. He wasn’t much of a talker, but his body language spoke loudly. Feeling suddenly guilty for her last statement, Marla rolled her eyes and admitted, “Fine. I guess I do remember. But still, it’s been a over a year.”
“Whose fault is that?” Peter blurted out. “You could have visited her anytime.” Blurting out inappropriately was a common occurrence with Peter when he was younger. He’d learned to suppress it while at boot camp, but now he was fighting Marla, and she was an army all her own.
“Don’t even talk to me about visiting, Peter,” she snapped back.
Realizing his hypocrisy, he blushed and thought quickly for a defense. “Well, that’s different…I was overseas. You live two hours away.”
Marla turned her head away from him. She noticed a middle-aged man standing on the other side of the casket checking her out. She decided to continue arguing with Peter. Under her breath, but loud enough to be heard, she mumbled, “What a nice excuse for not visiting. Overseas. How patriotic.”
“What?” said Peter angrily as he turned to face her.
Marla looked pleased. “You heard me.”
“Now wait a minute,” Peter said defensively, “ROTC was only to help mom out with money. I mean, Mickey practically emptied her bank account with Columbia. It was the only way—ah, forget it.”
Peter and Marla looked forward in silence, his rigid stance the opposite of her delicate slouch. The priest was finishing up his part of the ceremony and the sun was quickly expiring. Melinda had stipulated in her will that dusk was the only time of day appropriate to be buried, and her demand was being fulfilled.
Marla looked over at Mickey. “Why are you smiling?” she asked. She sounded more perturbed than in her previous conversation with Peter, but Mickey knew she wasn’t mad at him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m just listening.”
“You’re so condescending sometimes, Mickey.”
“Not condescending,” Peter butted in.
“What?” Marla asked, wide-eyed.
“You heard me,” he said with a smile.
“Actually, I didn’t,” she lied. “What did you say?”
“I said ‘condescending’ isn’t the right word.”
Marla threw up her hands in sarcastic defeat. “Oh, of course it isn’t!” she said.
The air was cooling fast and many of the women standing around the grave pressed up against their husbands impatiently. Marla was quick to notice this.
“Why don’t they just leave?” she said bitterly. “They don’t care about her anyway.” After a few more minutes, the service was over. Everybody scrambled to their vehicles quickly, except for the four Grainger children. At this point, Mickey turned and hugged Peter awkwardly. He hung on to him for a few seconds and Peter managed to maintain perfect posture all the way through it. Mickey then moved down the line to Marla. She wrapped her thin arms around him and buried her face in his shirt. When they released, Mickey saw that John was already walking toward the car with his head pointed toward the ground. Following him, Mickey walked toward the gate, the other two frozen and expressionless behind him. He turned to them and said, “I’ll make sure John’s okay.” Peter and Marla remained silent. Then, as Mickey turned away again he said, “I’m glad we’re all here.”
When Mickey reached the gate, Peter turned to Marla and said, “Well, I guess I’ll head home. I’ll be in town for another few days to help out with whatever else needs to be taken care of.”
“Okay,” Marla sighed.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“No,” she said reluctantly, “I just need a minute. I’ll see you at home.”
Peter nodded and started toward his car.
As night neared, the temperature fell. Marla dropped to her knees and shivered. Her mother’s headstone was so clean and so new. Marla looked into the glassy covering at her pale reflection. With her arms dangling down near the dirt, she stared at herself until the evening light dimmed into nothing.
