there to say after all? The usual BS: “I know how you feel” or the ultimate in New Age sympathy-speak, “I feel your pain.”
Hal turned the frame facedown on the sofa cushion. “I imagine the grieving never stops. A parent never gets over the loss of a child.”
I stared at him while dabbing at my nose with his napkin, surprised by his sensitivity. “No, you never do. That’s why all this has hit me so hard. As if finding Katie’s body obligates me somehow to find out who killed her.”
“I suspect they’ll discover it was an accident.”
“I don’t think so, Hal. Lieutenant Rutherford told Connie that Katie had been shot with some sort of small-caliber pistol.”
Hal sat silently for a moment, then swiveled his body in my direction. “Sure you’re all right?”
I blew my nose and crumpled the napkin in my fist. I offered it to him on an open palm. “I don’t suppose you want this back?”
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “I don’t think so.” He stood and offered me his hand. I took it, surprised at the firmness of the grip and the roughness of the skin. He pulled me to my feet. “Better?”
I nodded and tucked the napkin into my sleeve. “Well, if I’m going to play at Jessica Fletcher, Ubiquitous Small-Town Snoop, I think I’d better start outside with the boyfriend.”
Hal pushed aside the sliding glass door to the patio, motioned me through ahead of him, then followed me out onto a low wooden deck with three steps leading down to the lawn and to a garden just beyond. Near a wall where espaliered spring roses climbed, heavy with white, honey-scented blossoms, the pallbearers clustered. They drank beer from tall glasses and looked as if they would be much more comfortable had someone given them permission to loosen their ties, unbutton their shirt collars, and drink straight out of the can.
“Hey, fellas!”
The pallbearers turned their heads in our direction. Chip and his friends wore a variety of hairstyles butwere uniform in age, height, and present facial expression, which was something akin to annoyance at being interrupted.
“I’d like you to meet Hannah Ives. You might remember her husband, Paul. He grew up on the farm between the old Nichols and Baxter places.” Two of the former players rudely wandered away at this point, so I was introduced to someone named Spike, to Bill Taylor, whom I already knew from Ellie’s store, and to David Wilson, a handsome man in a Leif Ericson sort of way, sporting the most distracting pair of stark white eyebrows. Hal left to fetch me another glass of wine from a bartender at a table set out under a wistaria arbor while the Wildcats and I stood around, awkwardly staring at one another.
I was trying to think of a clever way to break the ice when Chip stepped forward. “I wanted to thank you. I understand you found Katie’s body.” Of all the things I’d imagined he’d say, I certainly hadn’t expected a thank-you. He set his beer glass, half full, on a small, round table that held a tray with six or seven empty ones. “You can’t imagine how relieved I was to know what happened to her after all these years of wondering.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, meeting his steady gaze.
“It was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m married now, with three kids.”
“I think I saw them today at St. Philip’s.”
“You did. They’ve gone on home to Baltimore with Sandra. I’ve been criticized for bringing them soyoung, but I don’t pay much attention to narrow-minded people like that. Funerals are a part of life, a celebration of having lived. I don’t believe we should shield our children from life, do you, Mrs. Ives?”
I didn’t know what to say to such an earnest declaration, so I changed the subject, picking my words carefully, particularly since the wine was beginning to make significant inroads caused by my sending it down into a stomach empty of all but a large Kalamata olive and a few pitiful bits of fruit and cheese.
Hal turned the frame facedown on the sofa cushion. “I imagine the grieving never stops. A parent never gets over the loss of a child.”
I stared at him while dabbing at my nose with his napkin, surprised by his sensitivity. “No, you never do. That’s why all this has hit me so hard. As if finding Katie’s body obligates me somehow to find out who killed her.”
“I suspect they’ll discover it was an accident.”
“I don’t think so, Hal. Lieutenant Rutherford told Connie that Katie had been shot with some sort of small-caliber pistol.”
Hal sat silently for a moment, then swiveled his body in my direction. “Sure you’re all right?”
I blew my nose and crumpled the napkin in my fist. I offered it to him on an open palm. “I don’t suppose you want this back?”
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “I don’t think so.” He stood and offered me his hand. I took it, surprised at the firmness of the grip and the roughness of the skin. He pulled me to my feet. “Better?”
I nodded and tucked the napkin into my sleeve. “Well, if I’m going to play at Jessica Fletcher, Ubiquitous Small-Town Snoop, I think I’d better start outside with the boyfriend.”
Hal pushed aside the sliding glass door to the patio, motioned me through ahead of him, then followed me out onto a low wooden deck with three steps leading down to the lawn and to a garden just beyond. Near a wall where espaliered spring roses climbed, heavy with white, honey-scented blossoms, the pallbearers clustered. They drank beer from tall glasses and looked as if they would be much more comfortable had someone given them permission to loosen their ties, unbutton their shirt collars, and drink straight out of the can.
“Hey, fellas!”
The pallbearers turned their heads in our direction. Chip and his friends wore a variety of hairstyles butwere uniform in age, height, and present facial expression, which was something akin to annoyance at being interrupted.
“I’d like you to meet Hannah Ives. You might remember her husband, Paul. He grew up on the farm between the old Nichols and Baxter places.” Two of the former players rudely wandered away at this point, so I was introduced to someone named Spike, to Bill Taylor, whom I already knew from Ellie’s store, and to David Wilson, a handsome man in a Leif Ericson sort of way, sporting the most distracting pair of stark white eyebrows. Hal left to fetch me another glass of wine from a bartender at a table set out under a wistaria arbor while the Wildcats and I stood around, awkwardly staring at one another.
I was trying to think of a clever way to break the ice when Chip stepped forward. “I wanted to thank you. I understand you found Katie’s body.” Of all the things I’d imagined he’d say, I certainly hadn’t expected a thank-you. He set his beer glass, half full, on a small, round table that held a tray with six or seven empty ones. “You can’t imagine how relieved I was to know what happened to her after all these years of wondering.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, meeting his steady gaze.
“It was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m married now, with three kids.”
“I think I saw them today at St. Philip’s.”
“You did. They’ve gone on home to Baltimore with Sandra. I’ve been criticized for bringing them soyoung, but I don’t pay much attention to narrow-minded people like that. Funerals are a part of life, a celebration of having lived. I don’t believe we should shield our children from life, do you, Mrs. Ives?”
I didn’t know what to say to such an earnest declaration, so I changed the subject, picking my words carefully, particularly since the wine was beginning to make significant inroads caused by my sending it down into a stomach empty of all but a large Kalamata olive and a few pitiful bits of fruit and cheese.
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