Blue Smoke

her. She was still in bed. She must’ve died in her sleep. I guess. I don’t know. She was there all day, by herself all day.”
    “Bowen, it’s hard to lose someone. But let me ask you, when your time comes, can you think of a better way to leave than to slip away in your own bed, in your own home, while you sleep?”
    “Probably not.” He took a long breath. “Probably not. I just talked to her yesterday. Call every couple days. Just hey, how’s it going? She said her kitchen faucet was leaking again, so I was going to go by today or tomorrow, take care of it. I got hung up today and didn’t get over. Oh, shit.”
    “You took care of her.”
    “No, I just fixed stuff around the house. I went by every couple weeks, maybe. Not enough. I should’ve gone by more. Why do you always think of that after?”
    “Because being human we tend to beat ourselves up. Is there any other family around?”
    “Not really. My father’s in Arizona. Hell, I didn’t even call him. Uncle in Florida. A cousin in Pennsylvania.” He leaned his head back. “I have to find the numbers.”
    The picture was coming clear, and the picture told her he was on his own in this. “Do you know what she wanted? Did she ever talk to you about arrangements?”
    “Not really. A Mass, I guess. She’d want a Mass.”
    “You’re Catholic?”
    “She is—was. I mostly got over it. Last rites. Damn it. It’s too late for that. I feel stupid,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve never done anything like this before. My grandfather died almost twenty years ago. Car accident. My mother’s parents are out in Vegas.”
    “Your grandparents live in Vegas?”
    “Yeah. They love it. The last time I saw her, a couple weeks ago? We had really lousy iced tea—you know the kind you get out of a jar that’s got fake sugar and lemon flavoring in it.”
    “Should be illegal.”
    “Right.” He laughed a little. “We had lousy iced tea and Chips Ahoy!cookies out on her patio. She wasn’t the kind who baked and stuff. She liked to play pinochle and watch those World’s Worst whatever on TV. Like World’s Worst Pet Attacks. World’s Worst Vacation Disasters. She really dug on that crap. She smoked three cigarettes a day. Virginia Slims. Three. Not one less, not one more.”
    “And you loved her.”
    “I did. I never thought much about it, but I really did. Thanks. Thanks for talking me through this.”
    “It’s okay.”
    Steadier, he guided her in the rest of the way, to a pretty brick house with a meticulous yard.
    There were white shutters and a short white porch. She imagined Bo had painted them for her—had probably built the little porch as well.
    A woman in her mid-forties stepped out. Her eyes were red from weeping. She wore a powder blue tracksuit and had her light brown hair pulled back in a short tail.
    “Bo. Bo. I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him, and her body shook as she hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She sniffled, drew back. “Sorry,” she said to Reena. “I’m Judy Dauber, from next door.”
    “This is Reena. Catarina Hale. Thanks, Judy, for . . . waiting with her.”
    “Of course, sweetie. Of course.”
    “I should go in.”
    “Go ahead.” Reena took his hand, gave it a squeeze. “I’ll come in a minute.”
    Reena waited on the lawn, watched him go to the door, go inside.
    “I thought she was sleeping,” Judy began. “For just a second. I thought, well, for heaven’s sake, Marge, what are you doing in bed this time of day? She stayed active. Then I realized, almost immediately, I realized. I talked to her just yesterday. She said Bo was coming by in a day or two, fix her faucet. And she’d have a list of little chores for him to do when he got here. She was awfully proud of him. Didn’t have two good words to say at once about his father, but she prized Bo.”

    She fumbled out a tissue, wiped at her eyes. “She really prized Bo. He was the only one who took care, if you understand me. The only one who paid attention.”
    “You did.”
    Judy glanced over, and the tears rolled again.
    “Judy.” Reena draped an arm over the woman’s shoulders as they walked toward the house. “Bo said his grandmother was Catholic. Do you know the name of her church, her pastor?”
    “Oh, yes, yes, of course. I should’ve thought of that.”
    “We can call. And maybe we can find numbers for her sons.”
    D eath might come simply, but its aftermath was invariably complicated. Reena did