Page 114 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“Mom?”

I looked up. My son was standing in the doorway. My heart smiled. Kevin was more man than boy now. I wanted to tell him he looked every bit as handsome as his father, but, of course, I knew better than to spark his insecurities with high praise.

I kicked it down a notch. “Thanks for wearing a tie. Dad would like that.”

I stood up and gave him a hug. He smelled of weed, but I didn’t comment on that either. So much for sending my sister Lizzie to supervise the kids.

“The circus is in town,” he said.

I have yet to master teen speak. “What circus?”

“The one that’s following us to Dad’s funeral. Cop cars, fire trucks, motorcycles, and a shitload of paparazzi. Why do they have to stalk us like that all the time?”

“I know how you feel, but today is not aboutus, Kevin. This is about Dad. He was a revered member of this community. People are grief-stricken by his loss,” I said, parroting some of the hokum that would soon flow trippingly from my tongue to a packed house at St. Cecelia’s.

“Mom, I know. But why are we having afuneral? There’s no body.”

“Sweetie, you don’t need a body to have a funeral. It’s a ceremony to honor the dead.”

“Dad’s not dead. He’s missing.”

“Excellent point,” I said. “I stand corrected. A funeral is a ceremony to honor the departed.”

“But, Mom...”

“No buts, Kev. He may not be dead, but you can’t tell me he’s not departed.”

“Fine. You win. Again.” An impish grin spread across his face the way it does every time he wants to make me laugh. “You realize, of course, that if I marry a lawyer, I stand a good chance of living out my entire life without ever winning an argument.”

He got the laugh. And it was genuine.

“Kevin, you have to remember that we’re not the only ones who are losing Dad. He had hundreds of friends, coworkers, and patients he helped over the years. Thisfuneralwill give them a chance to say goodbye as well.”

He looked over at the pile of papers on the table. “Are you still writing the eulogy?”

“Rewriting, editing, tweaking, second-guessing. You know me. I want it to be perfect.”

“When did you start writing it?”

“A couple of days ago.”

He looked surprised. “Really? Even though it’s been two weeks.”

Itreferred to the night the police went from search and rescue to looking for Alex’s body.

“Two weeks ago, I was still hoping for a miracle. I decided it would be bad juju to even think about a eulogy. So, I waited another ten days. I finally went to see Father Connelly, and he suggested that a funeral Mass would at least give us a sense of closure. So, I didn’t start writing till a few days ago.”

“If I tell you something about Katie, will you promise not to yell at her? Otherwise, she’ll know I told you, and she’ll come up with new ways to torture me.”

Kevin and I had a running deal. He loved to rat on his sister, but only if I promised not to give him up.

“My lips are sealed,” I said. “What did she do this time?”

“She hacked into Dad’s computer and read the eulogy he wrote for you.”

I’m a lawyer and a politician. I’m well trained in the art of never letting the other guy know how clueless you are.

“Really?” I said, pulling out my go-to neutral response.

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