Page 70 of Just Friends

“Your boyfriend is a tall drink of water,” Kelsey said, watching Weasel walk away. An unexpected possessiveness rose in Rebecca and made her pause.

“What does he do?” Janet asked.

“He’s a Police Detective,” she said, not bothering to correct the boyfriend part. Rebecca didn’t mind them thinking of him as her boyfriend. Weasel was a head taller than most of the others; it wasn’t difficult to tell where he was in the room. He’d kicked two teenage boys off the couch, and she watched him stride toward the funeral home’s office. Weasel moved with absolute confidence in who he was and what he was capable of.

The women’s eyes bugged out. “That sounds dangerous,” Janet said.

“That sounds hot,” Kelsey said.

Rebecca leveled a look at her. “Try not to throw yourself at him.”

Kelsey scoffed. “I didn’t mean to insinuate… “

Janet left to claim a seat next to Margaret.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied letting Kelsey take her hand. She squeezed it and let go. “Just know that when he walks out the door wearing a bulletproof vest to go to work, I call it sobering.”

Kelsey stared wide-eyed, mouth open.

Weasel returned to her side and took her hand. “It’s time.”

Rebecca wanted to turn and run out the door, but she nodded instead.

Twenty-Four

Weasel noted Rebecca’s tight jaw and Kelsey,flush with embarrassment. Something had transpired between the two women; there was no time to figure it out. She appeared to be a flight risk, so he interlaced their fingers.

“Would you like to be the first one in?” Giving him a look that said everything he needed to know. Rebecca didn’t want to be here at all.

Except for a handful of professions, most people don’t routinely see corpses. When they do it’s someone all cleaned, painted up, and typically in better condition than what he came across in the line of duty. That’s not to suggest the entire viewing tradition wasn’t unsettling. Most family members were unprepared for even the spruced-up version of reality. Weasel stuffed a wad of tissues into the pockets of his jacket and was fit to console. However, despite the sniffling from those surrounding them, there were no tears. She stared into the casket.

Aunt Janet rearranged the pocket square in the dead man’s suit coat. “He looks so good.”

“We…Harlan helped with the suit. I couldn’t find dads.”

“Lovely job,” Janet said patting his shoulder, then ran her palm down his bicep squeezing. Weasel stepped behind Rebecca, discreetly shrugging Janet’s hand off. The minute he let go, Rebecca reached like he was leaving.

“Not going,” he whispered. “I’m tall; I can stand behind you, so Margaret can have room.” The elderly woman shuffled in heading their direction.

Margaret smiled up at Weasel. “You’re the young man who got me a seat.” She moved beside Rebecca. The elderly woman leaned over the casket peering down. “Oh good, they trimmed his nose hair,” Margaret announced. Laughter burst from Rebecca, and she brought a hand to her mouth. “What?” Margaret asked. “The last time I saw him, it looked like a gray hedge hanging out of there.”

Janet now laughed and shushed Margaret and giggles rose through the crowd at the coffin. Rebecca turned and placed her head on his chest trying to suppress her mirth; he folded his arms around her and ignored Janet watching them. Rebecca glanced up. “She’s not wrong.” Her smile warmed his heart.

“You want to sit down?” Weasel asked. Rebecca nodded, and when he moved to walk Rebecca to a seat, Margaret spoke up again. “Hold on, sonny,” she said. He turned back as Margaret grabbed onto his elbow.

Once he had the women seated, he sat next to Rebecca. “Do you need something to drink? Anything I can get you?”

“A coffee with a splash of cream,” Margaret replied. Rebecca covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. Weasel looked at Rebecca with a shrug.

The lobby of the recently redecorated White Oak Funeral Home was now empty, except a few individuals milling about. With bright white wainscot paneling on the lower half of the wall, the top part was painted a nice light yellow. Columns lined the corridor of the long rectangle room with the same glowing white. The new carpeting was a neutral taupe designed to cover dirt, stains, and hold up under the traffic flow. On one side of the open area sat the chapel, administrative offices, and a door labeled private with a keypad entry. On the other side were two viewing rooms, the rear exit, and the kitchen. The staff, all in dark suits and sporting somber facial expressions, looked his way; he nodded in greeting on the way to the kitchen. There, he found a full pot of fresh coffee waiting. He poured the old woman a cup and hoped he got the splash of cream right.

???

The following day Rebecca rested at a table in the funeral home’s kitchen surrounded by her friends. Weasel kept shoving food in her face thatshe had no interest in. Dalton and Cindy stopped by and were introduced to their friends, although Ben and Dan already knew Dalton.

A steady stream of blurry people filled her day with both sweet stories about her dad and enough meaningless platitudes that left her ready to kill. If one more person told her thathe was in a “better place,” she’d lose her ever-loving mind. The room her dad was in smelled of lilies; she hated the scent. There were thousands of those nauseating fragrant flowers. Every freaking arrangement contained a stupid lily.

Was it time go home yet?

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