W Is for Wasted

Henry’s bored with the subject and Rosie thinks I’m faking it,” he said. “Actually, now that I have you here, there’s something we ought to chat about.”
    “Sure. What’s up?”
    “I just returned from a visitation and service at Wynington-Blake.” His tone had shifted at the mention of the mortuary.
    “I’m sorry. Was this for a friend of yours?”
    “No, no. I never met the man. I came across his obituary while I was waiting for my last physical therapy appointment. Gentleman named Hardin Comstock. Ninety-six years old and he was allotted one line. No mention of his parents or his place of birth. Not a word about hobbies or what he’d done for a living. It’s possible there was no one left to provide the information.”
    “Who paid for the funeral?”
    “He took care of his own expenses before he passed. I admired his forethought. I think he might have hired a small band of professional mourners. There were three people there who didn’t seem to know each other, let alone the man to whom they were paying their respects. Tastefully done, I must say, except for the inclusion of that unfortunate hymn, “Begone Unbelief.” Never cared for that one. Rhyming the word ‘wrestle’ with ‘vessel’ strikes me as unseemly.”
    “Well, yeah.”
    “I was the only other visitor, so I felt obliged to sing along. When I came to the word ‘wrestle,’ I hummed instead. I couldn’t help myself. I hope you don’t think I was out of line.”
    “Well within your rights. No question. Entirely up to you,” I said.
    “Thank you, though that’s not what I wanted to discuss.”
    “Ah.”
    “After the service, your friend Mr. Sharonson took me aside, expressing his concern that you hadn’t yet met with him to discuss arrangements for your family member.”
    “Family member?”
    “Terrence Dace.”
    “Oh, Dace. Oh, him. I’m sorry, I drew a blank. I was focused on Hardin Comstock and the reference threw me. I did have Dace’s body transported from the coroner’s office, but that’s as much as I’ve done. I’m postponing decisions until I hear from his kids, which might get tricky. It’s hard to say at this point.”
    “As I understand it, that’s why Anna’s here. To help with the arrangements.”
    “That’s just an excuse.”
    William said, “Nonetheless, I’d like to offer my assistance. I have years of experience in planning the formalities. Visitation in advance and graveside services as well. A modest reception afterward would be nice.”
    “I appreciate the offer. Anna won’t lift a finger, but when the time comes, we’ll chat.”
    “Excellent. I understand there’s a second chap.”
    “A
second
one? I don’t think so.”
    “This fellow, Felix. Wasn’t he a friend of yours?”
    “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll pay to
bury
him. I’ve got my hands full as it is.”
    William blinked in puzzlement. “Perhaps I’m mistaken. Terrence Dace was your cousin. Isn’t that correct?”
    “Something of the sort.”
    “As I understand it, Terrence and this Felix fellow were inseparable.”
    I could feel uneasiness creeping up my spine. “I wouldn’t go that far. I mean, I don’t think they were
close
. They were both homeless and hung out at the beach, so they knew each other, but that’s about it.”
    “I’m sure they’d take comfort in being together now that they’re . . .” William raised a finger and pointed heavenward.
    I looked up, thinking he’d spotted the cat on a branch above our heads. When I caught his meaning, I made a face. “You’re picturing a double feature; two for the price of one.”
    “If you care to think of it that way.”
    I put my hand across my forehead, like I was coming down with something. “Oh, man. This is all a bit much. Let me give it some thought, okay? Dace I can accept, but I knew Felix a week and a half and I don’t think I’m responsible for his remains.”
    “If the county buries him, you know it will be a miserable affair.”
    “Probably.”
    “Good we agree on that point. I’ll put together my suggestions before we meet again. I’m sure we can fashion a program satisfactory to everyone.”
    •   •   •
    I abandoned the idea of Rosie’s and retreated to my studio, undone by the sudden prospects of tandem funerals. During the conversation with William, I hadn’t heard my phone ring, but as I closed the door behind me, I saw the message light winking on my answering machine. I turned on my desk lamp