Read Online More Than You Know by Nan Rossiter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nan Rossiter
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nodded. “Yup, just don’t get it in your eyes.”
“Mum never told me that,” Beryl said. “We’ll have to get some before Saturday.”
“No need,” Isak said as she reached into her bag and produced a new tube of Preparation H.
Beryl laughed. “Well, that’s one less thing we have to think about.”
As she spoke, there was a light knock at the screen door and they all looked up. Beryl immediately recognized the tall, thin figure standing on the porch and hurried over to open the door. “Hi, Mr. O’Leary.”
She turned to introduce him to her sisters. “This is Mr. O’Leary—he owns the funeral home. He’s also a faithful customer at Tranquility.” The old gentleman smiled and reached out to shake their hands.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” he said solemnly. “Your mother was a lovely lady.” Isak and Rumer thanked him while trying not to notice his wayward appearance. Mr. O’Leary’s khaki pants, held up by worn leather suspenders, were hitched well above his waist, making them three inches too short and revealing sagging wool hiking socks; his blue oxford shirt was threadbare and wrinkled, and his once-white-now-mare-gray undershirt was frayed around the neck. “Please forgive me,” he said, apologetically, “I forgot my tie.” As he spoke he reached up to close his collar with fingers gnarled by arthritis.
Beryl gave her sisters a warning look. “That’s okay, Mr. O’Leary, we aren’t dressed up either. Would you like some iced tea?”
“That sounds good,” he said. She filled four glasses with ice, poured chilled tea into the glasses, and added a sprig of mint to each. He thanked her and they all sat down around the kitchen table of their childhood to discuss the burial plans for their beloved mother.
“He was very nice,” Isak said after Mr. O’Leary had left with the bag of clothes for their mom—of which she had approved—and a check for four thousand dollars.
“He was,” Rumer agreed, “and funny too. I never expected him to be funny, but I guess—in a business like that—you have to have a sense of humor.”
“His wife passed away a year ago,” Beryl said, eyeing them admonishingly. “I’m sure that’s why he looked a little disheveled. He used to come in and buy Irish breakfast tea all the time—and he was always neatly dressed—but I hardly ever see him anymore.”
Isak and Rumer nodded a bit remorsefully, and Isak commented, “Well, I’m glad he takes the body to the crematory himself—I don’t want to end up with someone else’s ashes.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to see her before . . . ?” Beryl asked.
Rumer shook her head. “I’d rather just remember her the way I do now.” Isak nodded in agreement.
The phone rang suddenly, breaking the somber silence that had settled over the kitchen and Beryl stood to answer it. Isak and Rumer both listened quietly as she spoke. “Hi, Reverend Peterson. Yes, I think so. Hold on.” She held the mouthpiece against her hand. “Are you guys all right with meeting at the church in an hour?” Rumer and Isak both nodded. “Yes, we can come,” Beryl continued. She looked at the clock. “Five o’clock? That’s fine—okay, see you then.”
“I’m going up to change,” Isak said as Beryl hung up the phone. She turned to get her bags.
“Well, before you do, we have a question for you,” Rumer said, grabbing the carry-on and following her. Isak set her suitcase down in the hall outside their mom’s bedroom and peered into the familiar sun-swept space as Beryl walked around the bed, opened the jewelry box, and picked up the ring. “Have you ever seen this before?”
Isak walked over, tucking her hair behind her ear, and Beryl dropped the ring into her sister’s hand. Isak smiled slowly. “Not only have I seen it before . . . I’ve worn it.”
“When?!” Beryl and Rumer asked in surprised unison.
“To my prom . . .”
Beryl and Rumer blinked in astonishment, and Isak
“Mum never told me that,” Beryl said. “We’ll have to get some before Saturday.”
“No need,” Isak said as she reached into her bag and produced a new tube of Preparation H.
Beryl laughed. “Well, that’s one less thing we have to think about.”
As she spoke, there was a light knock at the screen door and they all looked up. Beryl immediately recognized the tall, thin figure standing on the porch and hurried over to open the door. “Hi, Mr. O’Leary.”
She turned to introduce him to her sisters. “This is Mr. O’Leary—he owns the funeral home. He’s also a faithful customer at Tranquility.” The old gentleman smiled and reached out to shake their hands.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” he said solemnly. “Your mother was a lovely lady.” Isak and Rumer thanked him while trying not to notice his wayward appearance. Mr. O’Leary’s khaki pants, held up by worn leather suspenders, were hitched well above his waist, making them three inches too short and revealing sagging wool hiking socks; his blue oxford shirt was threadbare and wrinkled, and his once-white-now-mare-gray undershirt was frayed around the neck. “Please forgive me,” he said, apologetically, “I forgot my tie.” As he spoke he reached up to close his collar with fingers gnarled by arthritis.
Beryl gave her sisters a warning look. “That’s okay, Mr. O’Leary, we aren’t dressed up either. Would you like some iced tea?”
“That sounds good,” he said. She filled four glasses with ice, poured chilled tea into the glasses, and added a sprig of mint to each. He thanked her and they all sat down around the kitchen table of their childhood to discuss the burial plans for their beloved mother.
“He was very nice,” Isak said after Mr. O’Leary had left with the bag of clothes for their mom—of which she had approved—and a check for four thousand dollars.
“He was,” Rumer agreed, “and funny too. I never expected him to be funny, but I guess—in a business like that—you have to have a sense of humor.”
“His wife passed away a year ago,” Beryl said, eyeing them admonishingly. “I’m sure that’s why he looked a little disheveled. He used to come in and buy Irish breakfast tea all the time—and he was always neatly dressed—but I hardly ever see him anymore.”
Isak and Rumer nodded a bit remorsefully, and Isak commented, “Well, I’m glad he takes the body to the crematory himself—I don’t want to end up with someone else’s ashes.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to see her before . . . ?” Beryl asked.
Rumer shook her head. “I’d rather just remember her the way I do now.” Isak nodded in agreement.
The phone rang suddenly, breaking the somber silence that had settled over the kitchen and Beryl stood to answer it. Isak and Rumer both listened quietly as she spoke. “Hi, Reverend Peterson. Yes, I think so. Hold on.” She held the mouthpiece against her hand. “Are you guys all right with meeting at the church in an hour?” Rumer and Isak both nodded. “Yes, we can come,” Beryl continued. She looked at the clock. “Five o’clock? That’s fine—okay, see you then.”
“I’m going up to change,” Isak said as Beryl hung up the phone. She turned to get her bags.
“Well, before you do, we have a question for you,” Rumer said, grabbing the carry-on and following her. Isak set her suitcase down in the hall outside their mom’s bedroom and peered into the familiar sun-swept space as Beryl walked around the bed, opened the jewelry box, and picked up the ring. “Have you ever seen this before?”
Isak walked over, tucking her hair behind her ear, and Beryl dropped the ring into her sister’s hand. Isak smiled slowly. “Not only have I seen it before . . . I’ve worn it.”
“When?!” Beryl and Rumer asked in surprised unison.
“To my prom . . .”
Beryl and Rumer blinked in astonishment, and Isak
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