Steamed

scrounged up something that my mother would have deemed appropriate: black pants, sleeveless black top, and black blazer, all in different shades of black, since God forbid that I ever get it together to take things to the dry cleaner’s and prevent all my clothes from fading. The day was gorgeous and sunny, and I’d have to spend most of it dealing with the Raffertys while sweating in black. But between rescuing Oops paint and consoling the Raffertys, I felt as though social workers far and wide would be proud of me.
    I found the funeral home in Cambridge with no problem. Reluctant to commit even my car to the Raffertys, I avoided the funeral home’s lot, parked on the street, and fed the meter. After last night’s fiasco with the parking booth bitch, I had actually remembered to bring quarters. So here was my plan: I’d sit through the funeral service, make proper remarks to fellow mourners, briefly stop by the Raffertys’ after the service, and run home to change my phone number so they couldn’t find me ever again.
    I entered the funeral home through big wooden doors. A man in a suit asked for my name and then quickly escorted me down the aisle. The room was about half full, mostly with middle-aged people. My usher took me through the main room to the first row and presented me to a scrawny, pale woman in an expensive-looking black dress. “Ma’am? Ms. Carter has arrived.”
    “Darling, I’m Mrs. Rafferty. I cannot believe we’re meeting under these circumstances.” Eric’s mother leaned into me and wrapped me tightly in her bony arms. She eventually pulled i back, but kept her grip on my upper arms and stared at me. “Oh, you must just be sick about all this.” Sheryl Rafferty had carefully styled gray-blonde hair. She’d managed to pull herself out of her grief long enough to accessorize with elegant jewelry and to put on makeup, but her perfectly applied blush didn’t hide her fatigue and obvious sorrow. She turned to the man next to her. “Dear, this is Eric’s fiancée.” Either Eric had been a pathological liar, or Sheryl Rafferty had gone psychotic following her son’s death. “Chloe, this is Phil, Eric’s father.”
    Phil Rafferty was quite a handsome man, probably in his early sixties, with a full head of jet black hair, a color that wasn’t, I guessed, natural. The problem with men like this is that they don’t have the sense to just go ahead and dye their eyebrows to match their dyed hair. I mean, really, who has black hair and gray eyebrows? Mr. Rafferty looked as haggard as his wife but hadn’t gotten it together enough to look as collected as she. His tie was askew, his shirt rumpled, and his fake-black hair uncombed.
    “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered meekly.
    Mr. Rafferty practically fell onto me as he threw his arms around my neck and pulled me toward him. Ah, whiskey breath. That could explain his disheveled appearance. The poor man started sobbing as he hugged me tightly. At a loss about what to do, I lightly patted his back.
    “I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t,” he cried. This hardly seemed the same loud-spoken man I’d talked to on the phone yesterday. But grief hits people in different ways and at different times, and I was sure that the morning whiskey hadn’t improved this man’s ability to cope with pain. “Thank God that damn Veronica hasn’t shown up. I was afraid she’d try to make this day worse than it already is and come in here screaming and crying and making a big scene and saying how much she and Eric loved each other. I would’ve had to have her thrown out. I’m so glad you don’t have to see that stupid bitch and listen to her lies.” Actually, Veronica was beginning to sound pretty entertaining. And she could’ve taken the focus off me.
    Sheryl tugged me away from Phil’s grip. “You’ll sit with the family, of course, Chloe.” Of course I would: no hiding in the back pew by myself. Sheryl introduced me to some aunts, uncles, and cousins sitting nearby. “Now, we’ve had Eric cremated.” Sheryl paused as if uncertain about how to continue. “You can see the urn right up there among the daylilies. After the service, we’ll take him home where he belongs. Oh, here comes the minister. Should be a lovely service. Just what Eric would have wanted.” She patted my knee as I sat down between her and her husband.
    The minister began speaking about Eric. I thought I might learn a little something about who this dead