“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“You sure as hell are sorry.”
“But the way I wrote it down no way they gonna figure it out.”
“Tell me exactly how you wrote it.”
Daryl grabbed an old seed catalogue from the workbench, tore off a page, and wrote the letters down on it, using a Bic pen.
Quarry took the paper, read through it.
“See, Daddy, it’s gibberish to them, right? You know what it says, right?”
“Course I know what it says,” he snapped. Quarry walked outside and stared at the sky, which was still light, though the lowering sun was coloring the clouds a flaming red like the underbelly of lit charcoals. He didn’t notice that Daryl had followed and was now staring at him with a face that just begged for some sort of praise for thinking of this subterfuge. Thus he would never know it was the same pleading look Quarry had given his mother on her dying day.
Quarry struck a match and burned the paper to a black puff. He watched it drift away, propelled by a slight breeze until it crumbled to earth a few feet away.
“Is it okay, Daddy?” Daryl said nervously.
Quarry pointed to the black puff. “That’s your second strike, boy. One more, it’s all over, son or not.”
He turned and walked off.
CHAPTER 37
THE MAXWELL FAMILY, along with Sean King and a large crowd of mourners, watched as the preacher had his say. He read in a suitably devout tone from the scriptures, and then stepped aside to let folks come forward and touch the flower-draped coffin and have a private word with the deceased. Michelle’s brothers walked up as a single group, followed by others. Later, as the crowd slowly trickled away, Frank Maxwell put his hands on his wife’s coffin and bowed his head.
Michelle stood next to Sean and watched her father. He finally touched his eyes with one hand and, head still down, walked past them and on to his car. Michelle had started to reach out to grip his arm, but at the last second pulled back.
Sean said, “Are you going to go up?”
“Up where?”
“To the coffin? Last respects?”
Michelle stared up at the mahogany box holding her mom. In the background, cemetery workers stood ready to lower it into the ground. The sky was overcast. The rain would be coming soon and they were probably anxious to get on with their work. There were other funerals today; accommodating the dead was very much a full-time occupation, it seemed.
There were few things Michelle Maxwell was afraid of. But she was staring at one of them right now.
“Will you come with me?”
Sean took her arm and they walked together up to the front. She put her hand on top of the coffin, her fingers flicking at some of the flower petals.
“She never liked lilies,” said Michelle.
“What?”
Michelle indicated the flowers on the coffin. “She preferred roses.” As soon as she said the word, she jerked her hand back like she’d been stung.
“Are you okay?”
She stared down at her hand. There was nothing there. She hadn’t been stung or bitten or anything. And lilies didn’t have thorns.
She looked up at him.
“Michelle, are you okay?” he said again.
“I… I don’t know.” She added more firmly, “Let’s get out of here.”