Read Online The Dearly Departed by Elinor Lipman - Free Book Online Page B

Dickie. “No matter how close you were or what kind of parent she was or how well or poorly you got along, you only have one mother.”
    â€œShe was a fantastic parent,” said Sunny.
    â€œOf course she was,” said Dickie.
    â€œWe grew up around it,” said Roberta. “We’re both third-generation funeral directors, so sometimes we lose sight of the fact that it’s so much more than the corporal remains of an individual.”
    â€œWhat she means,” said Dickie, “is that we understand very well that it’s someone’s mother or father or husband or wife, and we can empathize, but we’re professionals and we don’t have the exact same
physiologic
response to the death of the loved one as our client does. We
share
the sorrow, but at the same time we have a job to do.”
    â€œHundreds of little jobs that have to be performed seamlessly,” added Roberta. “Our goal is to be as helpful yet as unobtrusive as possible.”
    Sunny rubbed the back of her neck and asked what time it was.
    â€œIt’s time,” said Dickie.
    â€œYou stay right here,” said Roberta. “Everyone will understand—”
    â€œI don’t want anyone’s understanding! No one has to know I fainted.”
    â€œTechnically? I don’t think you actually lost consciousness,” said Dickie. “I think you got woozy.”
    â€œI want to greet people standing up. It seems the least I can do.”
    â€œThere are no rules,” said Roberta. “We encourage our mourners to do what feels right to them and not to worry about”—she flexed two fingers on each side of her face—“doing the ‘right thing.’ For example, the fact that you’re wearing navy blue tonight, and it’s sleeveless? With dangly earrings? Well, why not? There used to be an unwritten rule that anything but black and long sleeves was wrong, but times have changed. If you’d worn red, we wouldn’t have said a word.”
    Sunny got to her feet, gripped the back of her metal chair with both hands, and straightened her shoulders. “Unlock the door,” she ordered.

    Those who couldn’t conjure a distinct recollection of Margaret made one up: Cora Poole, whose late husband owned Fashionable Fabrics, said she remembered, as if it were yesterday, Margaret and Sunny picking out a pattern and powder-pink piqué for Sunny’s senior prom dress.
    â€œAre you sure?” asked Sunny. “I don’t think I went to the senior prom.”
    â€œEveryone goes,” said Mrs. Poole. “It was a Simplicity pattern, and you trimmed it in pink and white embroidered daisies that we sold by the yard.”
    â€œIt’s coming back to me,” said Sunny.
    Janine Sopp, L.P.N., said she was on duty the night Sunny was born at Saint Catherine’s and took care of her in the newborn nursery.
    â€œBut I moved here when I was two,” said Sunny.
    â€œYou couldn’t have,” said Mrs. Sopp. “I remember you had a high bilirubin count and we put you under the lights.”
    â€œThen you must be right,” murmured Sunny.
    Mourners testified to being present at all of Margaret’s performances, to clapping louder and longer than anyone else to spur multiple curtain calls. Endless Community Players—co-stars, seamstresses, scenery painters, ushers—formed their own receiving line. Sunny’s Brownie troop leader, pediatrician, children’s room librarian, the Abner Cotton board, the mayor, the superintendent of schools, and the mechanic who had serviced Margaret’s car all clasped Sunny’s hand between both of theirs. Invitations issued from every trembling set of lips: Would Sunny come to Sunday dinner? Care to play eighteen holes? Borrow the videotape of a dress rehearsal of
Two for the Seesaw
? Mr. DeMinico, still the principal of King George Regional, still dressed in shiny brown, still