Steamed by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant Page A

pathetic spread served at the family’s house. Mourners were offered tea and crustless minisandwiches. “Protestant sandwiches,” my mother had declared, by which she meant skimpy offerings. “This isn’t tea with the Queen of England, for God’s sake. They could spring for something more filling.”
     
    “I’m sure Eric would have been thrilled with that idea,” I told his mother. “He was just praising Magellan’s chef the other night. Eric was quite food oriented, as you know. He took me to Essence to see what I thought about his investing there. He talked a lot about the quality of the food at Magellan, and he was hoping Essence would reach that status. So, he’d want you to accept Madeline’s offer. I can’t think of a more fitting way to remember Eric and celebrate his life.”
     
    “Oh, thank you. I knew Eric’s girlfriend would have the answer. Now, my husband, uh, Eric’s father is here. He’d like to speak to you. We’ll see you on Saturday at the funeral home. Ten a.m.” Mrs. Rafferty gave me the name and address, which I reluctantly wrote down. Having resigned myself to attending the funeral of my supposed beloved, I hoped that there wouldn’t be an open casket. Ugh. I’d already seen the poor man dead once. That had been enough.
     
    “Okay, here’s Phil,” she said as she passed the phone to her husband.
     
    “Chloe? Phil Rafferty here.” Eric’s father had a loud, gruff voice and shouted his words through the phone lines. “You must be quite shook up. Awful situation for all of us, but we’ll get through it together. Listen, I’m a bit concerned about Veronica. Has she been bothering you?”
     
    “Veronica? Um, I don’t know much . . .” I started. In fact, what I knew about Veronica was almost nothing. I remembered that she was the bookkeeper at Essence and Magellan, and that was about it.
     
    “That ex-girlfriend of Eric’s is a pain in the neck. Couldn’t get over him when they broke up. Has she been bothering you? Trying to break you up? I’m convinced that girl will show up at the funeral and steal your thunder, so to speak.” Bookkeeper Veronica was welcome to play the bereaved girlfriend. Someone should, maybe, and I was going to have a pretty hard time acting forlorn.
     
    “No, no. I haven’t heard anything from her at all. No trouble whatsoever,” I said truthfully. “Listen, Mr. Rafferty, Eric and I didn’t know each other that well,” I began slowly.
     
    Ignoring what I’d just said, Mr. Rafferty replied, “Eric’s mother and I know how special you were to him. You’re part of this. We’ll all grieve together,” he assured me. Lucky me.
     
    “Well, I need to get going, actually. I have school today. Orientation. I should probably run.”
     
    “You’re so strong. So strong,” Phil repeated. “I can’t believe how well you’re holding up. Looking forward to finally meeting you on Saturday. Better late than never, I guess, huh?”
     
    Relieved to have that unusual call over, I hung up. I couldn’t believe I had to go to this funeral. And what was I going to wear? Every black dress I owned was more appropriate for doing tequila shots than for honoring the dead.
     
    But today I had that damn social work school orientation. Who decided we needed orientation at eight fifteen in the morning? And what the hell were we going to do until four that afternoon? I figured that all the men there would probably be gay, so I didn’t bother dressing up. Jeans, T-shirt, and Keds. Yes, Keds had been over with for years, but I didn’t care. Cheap, easy, went with everything. Hair in ponytail. I grabbed a light jacket and was good to go.
     
    I took a notebook and a pen, and drove the few miles to school only to discover that Tuesday’s orientation sucked as much as I thought it would. I spent two hours in an auditorium listening to a series of progressively more boring speakers. The dean of the school made the mandatory welcome speech, which was about