Ice Shear by M. P. Cooley Page B

dairy industry was first in line. He’d arrived at noon.
    I joined the line with Hale and Dave, several people removed from Jerry. Phil wore a gray suit, and in the face of people’s grief, he stared at the ground or over their shoulders. Amanda wore a black dress with a small circle pin glinting on her lapel. She pulled people in, accepting their condolences with a warm handshake, never breaking eye contact. Most people made a brief stop in front of Danielle’s open casket, and from back in the line she appeared uninjured: She wore a pink dress and artfully applied makeup, making her look young and alive. They’d styled her hair to cover the bruise on her head, and she held a rosary in her left hand. If I hadn’t seen the earlier wreckage I would have thought her death had been natural and peaceful.
    Dave nudged me, tilting his head to the corner of the room where Marty and Ray sat. Marty wore a suit, and I was very aware that underneath his navy wool and cuff links a flaming skull was traced on his arm. Ray was again playing dress-up in his brother’s clothes: belted chinos, a white shirt that hung halfway down his shoulders, and a tie. In fact, Ray wasn’t that small—he was only a few inches shorter than his brother—but he had no substance to him. His body was shooting up, but soon age would settle weight on his frame, bulking him up with muscle or fat. Marty had that solidity—all muscle—and I don’t know whether it was his years in the Abominations or Danielle’s death that gave him a heaviness of spirit that tethered him tightly to the ground. I bet Marty believed that everything in life had to be hard. I felt the same way after Kevin died, but it seemed an unfair burden for a twenty-five-year-old.
    No one talked to the brothers. No one got within three chairs of them. Ray stared at the crowd, his mouth set in a straight line like Lucy figuring out one of her spelling problems. When Ray saw us he elbowed Marty, who nodded and returned to gazing out the window.
    Dave, Hale, and I stood at the front of the line now. Dave shook Amanda’s hand, and I reached out to Phil.
    â€œI’m here in an official capacity,” I said, “but I wanted to say how sorry I am about your daughter, personally.”
    Phillip nodded, never breaking eye contact with my wrist. I imagine I looked the same after Kevin died. A banking lobbyist shouldered himself in front of Amanda, and we found ourselves pushed in front of the casket.
    Hale nodded toward the reception area, where a few hundred people congregated. “I’m going to the reception room, keep an eye on things.”
    â€œI’ll go with you,” Dave said, and then more quietly, “Keep an eye on things in here, okay?”
    I made a quick sign of the cross, helpless not to with my Catholic childhood, and approached Marty. A formal acknowledgment of his grief seemed appropriate, even if the rest of the room shunned him. I extended my hand.
    â€œI’m very sorry for your loss. Do you mind if I sit with you?” I eased into the chair next to him. “Have you spoken to Danielle’s family?”
    We both winced; Marty was Danielle’s family, too. We looked to where Danielle’s parents stood. Amanda was leaning in, listening to an older woman, but Phil stared straight at us. Marty twisted his body, cocked sideways, his hip lifted off the chair, which gave him the comfort of not accidentally making eye contact with Phil. “Yeah. I offered to bring her favorite dress, for her to be buried in. A short black number. With the coffin, who would have known she was showing some leg?” His mouth quirked up, a half smile. “And I know that somewhere, it would have made her laugh. They said no.” Thus the pink dress, I thought. Marty continued. “Tried to pay for the funeral. Said no to that, too, said they’d arranged everything, and when I contacted some other funeral