Read Online Rita Lakin_Gladdy Gold_01 by Getting Old Is Murder - Free Book Online

tiptoes and keeping up a litany of
Oh,
God
s.
    Sophie keeps looking down at the grave markers. "Keep
your eyes open for six forty-two."
    I ask why.
    "Because I changed my plot. I wanted one with a corner
view and I wanna make sure I got it."
    Bella utters a small screech.
    "What is it now!?" Evvie calls without looking back.
    "I've stepped on my cousin, Sarah! Oh, God . . ."
    "Over there!" Sophie points. And sure enough, not thirty
feet away, I can see our neighbors and friends from Lanai Gardens. And
in an instant, I know this is not good news. They are not facing in the
right direction. They're turned away from the graveside. In fact, they
are all walking toward us.
    We meet them halfway.
    "Such a lovely service," says Mrs. Fein from Phase Three.
    "How could you miss it?" asks Hy Binder.
    "It was inspirational," says Lola.
    "It's over?" Evvie says, totally dejected.
    "By five minutes. Where were you girls?"
    "Don't ask," says Ida.
    I watch in misery as Francie's son, Jerry, and his wife,
Ilene, and the grandchildren pass by, heads down, unable to see or talk
to anyone. Denny is there, in a suit much too small for him, probably
the last suit his mother ever picked out for him. He is sobbing
uncontrollably. Harriet struggles as she pushes her mother's wheelchair
over the uneven ground. Irving, with the help of his pal, Sol, is
supporting Millie, who has no idea where she is or why. Tessie Hoffman
passes us muttering something about another death so soon after her
dear Selma. Enya, as always, walks alone. Even Conchetta and Barney
have taken time off from the library to pay their respects. I recognize
a few of our Canadians. And--no surprise--there's Leo Slezak with a few
of his cohorts from the Sunrise-Sunset Real Estate office. The Sleaze,
being what he is, is slowly sidling up to Francie's family, his hand in
the pocket where he keeps his damned cards.
    Evvie looks at me and I look at her. We are despondent.
    We nod and watch mutely as everyone passes us on the
path. We wait until every last person is gone and then the five of us
walk up the knoll and over to where Francie's casket sits on an
elevated hoist.
    We stand there silent and bemused.
    Bella looks to me for help. "Say good-bye," I tell her.
    "How?" Without the rabbi, she doesn't know what to do.
    "Any way you like, Bella, dear. She'll know."
    And each of us in our own way quietly says our last words
to Francie.
    "Thank you for always being nice to me," Bella says.
    "I'll miss you," Sophie says, "especially your baking."
She stamps her formal black orthopedic sneakers, annoyed. "Oh, that's a
stupid thing to say. I don't know what to say to a dead person."
    Ida turns away. She chokes up, shakes her head. For once
the words won't come. She picks up a stone and places it on the casket.
    "Thank you for your friendship," Evvie says, sobbing.
"There will never be anyone like you again."
    I can't speak. I silently tell my beloved friend what is
in my heart. What do I do now, Francie? You're the only reason I stayed
down here. Because we shared the same interests and laughed at all the
same things. Because we were intellectual snobs at heart and we knew we
really didn't belong down here, but going back was too hard, so we made
it work for both of us. Because we knew what the other was thinking
before we ever said it. Because home is where the person you love
resides. And that person was you and I no longer have a home--
    "Glad?" Evvie interrupts my reverie. "Remember how I
first met Francie?"
    I smile. None of can remember what we ate for breakfast,
but ask about the distant past, and it seems like only yesterday.
    "I don't think I ever heard that story," says Ida.
    "It was a couple of years before you got here."
    "It was just after I arrived," I comment.
    "I was here," Bella says, "but I forgot."
    "So, tell us," says Sophie as she sits on the bench next
to the plot. Bella immediately joins her. Ida and I sit on the bench
opposite.
    "Actually, we met Al first. It was