Clarissa was easy to locate. She was standing to one side of the casket talking with an elderly man who was nodding solemnly at what she was saying. Since Rory and Helene didn’t want to interrupt their conversation, they slid into the last of several pews behind the three members of the troupe who were the only others presently in attendance. Amy and Greg Renato, the newest members of the Players, were sitting beside Andrew Dobson, the troupe’s director. According to Helene, Rory’s only authority on the subject, Andrew was a moody, frustrated playwright who taught high school English to pay the rent and hated to be called “Andy.” The few times Rory had seen him before the trip, he’d always been wearing the same, sour expression, as if he’d taken a bite out of life and found it bitter with disappointment.
“It’s not exactly standing room only in here,” Helene whispered, leaning closer to her colleagues.
Amy twisted around in her seat. “I know. We’ve been here forty minutes, and that guy with Clarissa is the only one who’s come in.”
“Actually I’m glad you showed up,” Greg said, “because we need to get going; we just didn’t want to leave Clarissa alone in case that guy doesn’t stay long.”
Rory nodded. What could be sadder than holding a lonely vigil at a loved one’s wake?
Andrew was already standing. Tall and thin with hunched shoulders and a beak of a nose, he reminded Rory of a vulture looking down at them. “Well, I’m afraid it’s hello and good-bye for me,” he said, edging out of the pew past his companions. “I’m late for a dentist appointment. I’ll see you three at rehearsal Monday. Rory, I hope to see you at our next production.” He was gone before Rory could assure him she’d be there.
Amy and Greg stayed to chat for a few more minutes, leaving just before the old man did. Now that Clarissa was alone, Helene and Rory made their way down the aisle to pay their respects, hoping someone would show up eventually to relieve them.
Clarissa appeared far more composed than when Rory had last seen her, across the lobby of the hotel. Her makeup was flawless, her short blond hair liberally streaked with highlights. She looked a good ten years younger than she had to be, considering her son’s age.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said after they’d introduced themselves and murmured their condolences. “Are you both in the troupe?”
“I am,” Helene told her. “My niece plays a supporting role by being in the audience.”
Clarissa sighed. “I wish I’d made it my business to come out here to see more of Brian’s plays. One of those pointless regrets, I guess.”
“So you live on the Island?” Helene asked.
“New Hyde Park. My husband and I bought our first house there. We meant to move on to something bigger and grander, but we never got around to it,” she said with a little shrug.
“I’ve been a widow for five years now, and at this age, I don’t have the energy to start uprooting myself. So my first house will most likely be my last house too. Besides, where would I go? Brian was my only child.” Tears rose in her eyes, but she clenched her jaw against them and held on to her composure.
Rory tried to think of the right thing to say to bridge what was fast becoming an awkward silence. But aside from a few platitudes, she came up empty.
“The troupe and the audiences will miss Brian,” Helene jumped in. “He was really talented—like a chameleon the way he became the characters he played.”
Clarissa smiled ruefully. “I can’t say that I’m surprised.” She turned to Rory. “So how do you spend your time when you’re not an audience member?”
“I have a small PI firm,” Rory said, thinking that all the mourners she’d known wanted to talk about their lost loved one. Yet Clarissa had changed the subject as if to avoid such a discussion.
“And she used to be a sketch artist for the police department,” Helene added
“It’s not exactly standing room only in here,” Helene whispered, leaning closer to her colleagues.
Amy twisted around in her seat. “I know. We’ve been here forty minutes, and that guy with Clarissa is the only one who’s come in.”
“Actually I’m glad you showed up,” Greg said, “because we need to get going; we just didn’t want to leave Clarissa alone in case that guy doesn’t stay long.”
Rory nodded. What could be sadder than holding a lonely vigil at a loved one’s wake?
Andrew was already standing. Tall and thin with hunched shoulders and a beak of a nose, he reminded Rory of a vulture looking down at them. “Well, I’m afraid it’s hello and good-bye for me,” he said, edging out of the pew past his companions. “I’m late for a dentist appointment. I’ll see you three at rehearsal Monday. Rory, I hope to see you at our next production.” He was gone before Rory could assure him she’d be there.
Amy and Greg stayed to chat for a few more minutes, leaving just before the old man did. Now that Clarissa was alone, Helene and Rory made their way down the aisle to pay their respects, hoping someone would show up eventually to relieve them.
Clarissa appeared far more composed than when Rory had last seen her, across the lobby of the hotel. Her makeup was flawless, her short blond hair liberally streaked with highlights. She looked a good ten years younger than she had to be, considering her son’s age.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said after they’d introduced themselves and murmured their condolences. “Are you both in the troupe?”
“I am,” Helene told her. “My niece plays a supporting role by being in the audience.”
Clarissa sighed. “I wish I’d made it my business to come out here to see more of Brian’s plays. One of those pointless regrets, I guess.”
“So you live on the Island?” Helene asked.
“New Hyde Park. My husband and I bought our first house there. We meant to move on to something bigger and grander, but we never got around to it,” she said with a little shrug.
“I’ve been a widow for five years now, and at this age, I don’t have the energy to start uprooting myself. So my first house will most likely be my last house too. Besides, where would I go? Brian was my only child.” Tears rose in her eyes, but she clenched her jaw against them and held on to her composure.
Rory tried to think of the right thing to say to bridge what was fast becoming an awkward silence. But aside from a few platitudes, she came up empty.
“The troupe and the audiences will miss Brian,” Helene jumped in. “He was really talented—like a chameleon the way he became the characters he played.”
Clarissa smiled ruefully. “I can’t say that I’m surprised.” She turned to Rory. “So how do you spend your time when you’re not an audience member?”
“I have a small PI firm,” Rory said, thinking that all the mourners she’d known wanted to talk about their lost loved one. Yet Clarissa had changed the subject as if to avoid such a discussion.
“And she used to be a sketch artist for the police department,” Helene added
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