Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage

to mention materials.
    “I am just talking about what I think you’ll want, when you’ve had time to sit down and consider it. We are here to follow your wishes—”
    Maybe saying that was going too far.
    “But we went ahead this way because there were no instructions to the contrary.”
    A car stopped outside, a car door closed, and Ed Shore came into the waiting room. Bruce felt an enormous relief. There was still a lot he had to learn in this business. The dealing-with-the-survivor end of it.
    Ed said, “Hello, Nina. I saw your car. I thought I’d just come in and say I’m sorry.”

    Nina had spent the night in the living room. She supposed she had slept, but her sleep was so shallow that she had been aware all the time of where she was—on the living-room sofa—and where Lewis was—in the funeral home.
    When she tried to speak now, her teeth were chattering. This was a complete surprise to her.
    “I wanted to have him cremated immediately,” was what she was trying to say, and what she started to say, thinking that she was speaking normally. Then she heard, or felt, her own gasps and uncontrollable stuttering.
    “I want—I want—he wanted—”
    Ed Shore held her forearm and put his other arm around her shoulders. Bruce had lifted his arms but didn’t touch her.
    “I should’ve got her sitting down,” he said plaintively.
    “That’s all right,” Ed said. “You feel like walking out to my car, Nina? We’ll get you a bit of fresh air.”
    Ed drove with the windows down, up into the old part of town and onto a dead-end street which had a turnaround overlooking the lake. During the day people drove here to look at the view—sometimes while eating their takeout lunches—but at night it was a place for lovers. The thought of this might have dawned on Ed, as it did on her, when he parked the car.
    “That enough fresh air?” he said. “You don’t want to catch cold, out without a coat on.”
    She said carefully, “It’s getting warm. Like yesterday.”
    They had never sat together in a parked car either after dark or in the daylight, never sought out such a place to be alone together.
    That seemed a tawdry reflection to be having now.
    “I’m sorry,” said Nina. “I lost control. I only meant to say that Lewis—that we—that he—”
    And it began to happen again. All over again the chattering of her teeth, the shaking, the words splitting apart. The horrid piteousness of it. It was not even an expression of what she was really feeling. What she felt before was anger and frustration, from talking to—or listening to—Bruce. This time she felt—she had thought she felt—quite calm and reasonable.
    And this time, because they were alone together, he didn’t touch her. He simply began to talk. Don’t worry about all that. I’ll take care of it. Right away. I’ll see that it goes all right. I understand. Cremation.
    “Breathe,” he said. “Breathe in. Now hold it. Now out.”
    “I’m all right.”
    “Sure you are.”
    “I don’t know what’s the matter.”
    “The shock,” he said matter-of-factly.
    “I’m not like this.”
    “Look at the horizon. That helps too.”
    He was taking something out of his pocket. A handkerchief? But she didn’t need a handkerchief. She had no tears. All she had was the shakes.
    It was a tightly folded piece of paper.
    “I put this away for you,” he said. “It was in his pajama pocket.”
    She put the paper in her purse, carefully and without excitement, as if it was a prescription. Then she realized all of what he was telling her.
    “You were there when he was brought in.”
    “I looked after him. Bruce called me up. There was the car accident and he had a bit more than he could handle.”
    She didn’t even say, What accident? She didn’t care. All she wanted now was to be alone to read her message.
    The pajama pocket. The only place she hadn’t looked. She hadn’t touched his body.
    She drove her own car home, after Ed had returned her to it. As soon as he had waved her out of sight she pulled over to the curb.
    One hand had been working the paper out of her purse even while she drove. She read what was written on it, with the engine running, then proceeded.
    On the sidewalk in front of her house there was another message.
    The Will of God .
    Hasty, spidery writing, in chalk. It would be easy to wipe off.
    What Lewis had written and left for her to find was a poem.
    Several verses of scathing doggerel. It had a