Stranger (13 page)

She could have been a sister or a cousin, or just a family friend, but the way Dan’s eyes lit when he saw her told me there was nothing else she could be but his.

“Elle,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey. Hi, Dotty.” Elle gave a small, half smile when Dotty Stewart embraced her.

“My wife,” Dan said to me.

She reached for his hand, and he took it. That gesture seemed more intimate than a kiss.

The three of them left.

Sam hadn’t shown, just as his brother had said he wouldn’t.

My office window had a good view of the parking lot. Dan Stewart and his wife stood next to a dark gray Volvo. He leaned into her, his face pressed into her shoulder and his arms around her waist. She stroked her hand down his back while the other cupped the back of his neck.

It felt prurient to watch them, but I couldn’t look away. Her hand moved down his back in a pattern of three. Three strokes, pause. Three more, pause. I felt soothed, watching, and I wasn’t even upset.

I didn’t expect to feel the prick of envy. The way his face had looked when he’d seen her…I’d never deny wishing sometimes someone looked that way at me. But what if it were her dressed in white and laid in that pine box? How much greater would be his grief if he were faced with the loss of the woman he so clearly adored?

His shoulders heaved a little, and she stroked his back again. I could see her murmuring into his ear. He nodded. She squeezed him, and he pulled back a little. They kissed, there in the parking lot, and at last I turned away.

I’d already had a service planned for later that afternoon, but the Stewarts’ religious requirements meant they needed to bury Mr. Stewart as soon as possible. I got started on setting up the chapel. The rabbi was bringing the small booklets containing the Hebrew prayers, since I didn’t keep them in stock, and compared to some of the other services we had, this one was going to be swift and sparse.

I’d never fumbled so much in arranging the chapel for a service. I dropped the guest register, its crisp white pages bending, and had to get a new one. I scattered pamphlets left over from a recent service all over the floor and had to scramble to scoop them up. Everything took twice as long as it should have, my speed and dexterity thoroughly constipated by my new habit of looking over my shoulder every other minute.

At last I stood and took a deep breath. Sam would be here with his family to honor the passing of his father. Nothing more. Thinking of anything else was ridiculous on my part. In fact, it would be best if I weren’t there at all. He didn’t need such a distraction, and I didn’t need to be at the service. Shelly and Jared could take care of the mourners as they arrived, and the rabbi, who’d just come in to hang up his coat, would handle everything else.

I didn’t really need to be there, but there I stood in my pretty suit, feeling like a fool as one by one the family and friends of Morty Stewart entered the chapel and took their places in the comfortable seats I’d had re-covered in soothing shades of green and mauve. One by one, and none of them Sam.

I shouldn’t have had time to think about it. Not with getting the cars aligned and fitted with the appropriate purple “funeral” flags. Not with packing up the leftover booklets for the rabbi and making sure all the mourners knew where to go. Not with doing my job.

I rode in the front of the hearse as Jared drove. He had a habit of humming under his breath and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. I usually didn’t mind, but today I finally had to reach over and stop the incessant motion of his fingers. He glanced at me.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Sure. Fine. Don’t forget to turn left up there.”

Jared hadn’t made many trips to the Jewish cemetery, but he was very good at his job. He didn’t need me to give him directions. Jared, mild-mannered as he was, didn’t comment on my touchiness again and turned left at my gesture.

At the graveside, those who’d come to pay their last respects gathered around the hole in the earth. Men had labored for days in the past to dig graves; now it was done in half an hour with a backhoe. I didn’t need to be close to the grave or part of the service, here, either, and I held back from the crowd, listening to the rabbi as he recited Psalm 91 and led the way to the grave.

“It’s not fair to bury someone on a day as perfect as this.”

I heard the woman say it as she passed, clutching the arm of an older man, who nodded in agreement. I was glad she hadn’t said it to me. I’d been to a lot of funerals, and they were always better on the days of perfect weather. Rain, gloom and snow only made everything more miserable.

Many of the headstones had pebbles placed on top of them. I studied the names carved into the stone as I waited for the service to end so I could herd everyone back into their cars and help them on their way. Many of them would be heading back to Mrs. Stewart’s house to sit shiva, the seven-day mourning period, and I had directions and an explanation for the funeral attendees in my neat navy blue folder.

A figure in black eased itself into my peripheral vision, but didn’t join the rest of the people gathered around the grave. A man. He spoke along with the rabbi. I didn’t know what the words meant—
“Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei rabbah,”
but I recognized the murmur of “amen.”

I turned. It was Sam. He wore a white shirt open at the throat and unfettered by a tie, and his black suit lacked a formal cut, but he’d shaved and slicked his hair back from his forehead.

The diamond in his ear winked in the sunshine. He stared straight ahead, mouth moving along with the prayers.

I didn’t speak. He didn’t look at me. The service ended and I attended to the business of making sure everyone knew where they were meant to go.

The argument started as the mourners began filing into their cars. I’d collected all the funeral flags and passed out instructions regarding what was meant to happen after the funeral and was about to close the door of the Stewarts’ car when Dan boiled out of the driver’s seat.

He, unlike his brother, hadn’t shaved, and his hair was rumpled. His suit jacket bore a ragged tear on the left breast pocket, part of traditional Jewish mourning custom for a parent. He was followed almost at once by his wife, whose hand he shrugged off.

“Danny, calm down,” Sam said from behind me. “I already told Ma I’m taking my car. I’ll meet you back at the house.”

Caught in the middle, I took two hasty steps back. Dan didn’t look at me, but Sam did. So did Dan’s wife. She reached for Dan again, this time snagging his sleeve and holding him from moving forward.

“Why bother, man?” Dan swiped a hand through his hair, then flung it out in a gesture of disgust. “Why even bother?”

Sam’s lean features settled into icy distance. “Because Ma wants me to.”

“Since when do you do what anyone wants you to do?”

Sam looked at his brother without flinching. “Apparently, since Dad died.”

“Dan,” Elle murmured. “C’mon. He’ll meet us back at the house. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Dan said through gritted teeth, but with another glare at his brother he ducked back into the driver’s seat of his car.

Elle looked at Sam with an expression I couldn’t interpret, and Sam looked back as blankly. Then she got in the car and shut the door, and they pulled away.

Nobody likes to linger in a cemetery. Everyone had gone, and I needed to leave, too. I had other services to oversee. I was already going to be cutting it close. Jared waved at me from his seat behind the wheel and I gave him a nod, but I didn’t head for the hearse just yet.

“You’d better get going.” Sam jerked his chin toward Jared. “He’s waiting.”

“Yes. I know.”

The distance between us wasn’t vast. Might even have been considered close by someone who didn’t know we’d once spent a couple hours fucking each other to oblivion. I couldn’t forget that, once, I’d been close enough to count his eyelashes.

“My brother’s going to kick my ass,” Sam said conversationally.

“I’m sorry. The death of a loved one’s always difficult—”

Sam shook his head, and the slicked-back hair feathered forward over his forehead. “That would be a nice excuse, but it’s not really about my dad dying.”

“So…what are you going to do?”

He smiled. “Apparently, I’m going to get my ass kicked.”

“Good luck with that,” I told him, and backed up a step.

“Hey.” He took one forward. “Grace, about last night—”

I held up a hand. “Like I said. The death of a loved one is always difficult. People do crazy things. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried. Well. I’m a little worried, but not because I kissed you.” Sam made as though to reach for me, but caught only empty air. It was enough to stop me, though. “Just worried I might not get another chance.”

I turned my back then, despite the leap of my heart. Because of it, in fact. “My condolences on the loss of your father, Sam. You’d better get going, and I’m going to be late.”

“Grace!”

I didn’t turn, just kept walking toward Jared and the hearse. I could see Jared inside, bopping his fingers on the wheel again, mouthing along to some song. He must have turned on the radio. Without a body in the back, we often cranked up the tunes.

“I want to see you again!”

I stopped, then, and turned, grateful the rest of the crowd had already gone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I shook my head. “Not a good time for this discussion.”

“I’ll call you!”

“No, Sam!” I was almost to the hearse when I stopped this time. “No. Don’t.”

He shook his head to get his hair off his forehead, and the sun again caught his earring. It caught his smile, too, which was twice as shiny as the diamond. “I’m going to call you.”

I shook my head again, but said nothing this time. Arguing would be undignified. I went around the front of the hearse and got in the passenger side. Jared looked up as I slid into my seat. He reached to turn down the music, but I stopped him.

“Leave it. I like this song.”

Jared gave me a look. “You do?”

Since we’d often teased each other about musical preferences, I knew he could tell I wasn’t being truthful, but I just wanted to get out of there. “Sure. Emo is my new favorite flavor.”

Jared laughed and cast a curious glance out the window, where Sam was loping away over the grass-covered hill toward the parking lot. “Does that guy know where he’s going?”

“Does anybody?”

Jared laughed and revved up the car. “Deep, Grace. Very deep.”

I let him think I was being flip, but as I watched out the window for Sam’s car to drive away, I wondered the same thing.

I made it through the Stewarts’ service and the one later in the afternoon, but then was finished for the day. I needed coffee. Shelly usually made it, not as strong as I liked to drink it but good enough to get me through the midafternoon lag.

The day had seemed interminable, probably because of my lack of sleep and the amount of paperwork I had to do. I was yawning when she poked her head in again, this time with a plate of cookies.

“I baked. Want one?”

“Sure.”

She brought the plate to my desk. “Chocolate peanut-butter chip.”

“God.” I bit into one. “Sooooo good.”

Shelly beamed. “I got the recipe from my baking magazine. I think I’m going to try pecan roll next. With cream-cheese filling. What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to have to buy new pants if you keep this up.”

She giggled. Shelly was really a sweet girl, even if she was prone to attacks of excitability and easily made to cry. She ate a cookie, too, but looked as though she was analyzing it rather than enjoying it.

“I think next time I’ll use white chocolate chips, instead.”

I finished my cookie. “These are great. Why mess with perfection?”

Shelly shrugged. “How do you know it’s perfection unless you try something else that might be better?”

“The same could be said for more than cookies,” I said.

Shelly snagged another cookie and broke it into pieces to eat each one slowly. “Like men?”

I sat back in my chair. Shelly had had the same quiet boyfriend since she started working for me. Duane Emerich had taken over his family’s farm and had, according to Shelly, been hinting at marriage. Whether or not Shelly herself wanted to get married I didn’t know, but she hadn’t shown up with a ring on her finger yet.

“Depends,” I answered.

“On what?”

“On the man?” I took another cookie but only nibbled it. Savoring it. “What’s up, Shelly?”

She shrugged prettily. “Nothing. Just thinking about living on a farm for the rest of my life, that’s all.”

The idea held absolutely no appeal for me, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “Thinking about Duane, you mean. He’s a good guy.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But…”

I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “But…?”

Shelly looked up at me. “Well, he’s…a little…”

Duane was a little of a lot of things, none of which I wanted to give an opinion about.

“He’s a good guy, Shelly.”

“With shit on his shoes,” she said.

I don’t know which shocked me more, the fact she’d criticized him or the fact she’d cursed. I didn’t know what to say and shoved more cookie into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to think of something. Shelly sighed again.

“You go out with lots of different guys, don’t you, Grace?”

I chewed and swallowed and sipped coffee to clear my mouth. “Not that many.”

“I’ve been going out with Duane since we were sophomores in high school.” She looked at me. “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know.”

“I know.” Shelly shrugged again. “But he’s just so…good.”

“Good isn’t something to sneeze at,” I told her.

“By good I mean boring,” Shelly said.

“Boring isn’t so good.”

We laughed.

“I just don’t know what to think. We do the same things all the time. Go to the movies. Eat pizza on Sunday nights. I can tell you exactly what he’ll get me for my birthday. I can tell you what color shirt he’ll wear on Thursday.”