repeated in disbelief. “And… a life insurance policy?”
She nodded. “Boy like that, who’d a thought he’d have a care for the end of his life?
Or
have a wife an’ child?”
But it seemed Cory Trow had. “Even his mom never knew he got married,” Bella told me. “His pals knew, though, an’ one o’ their moms called
his
mom last night, dropped the big bombshell on ’er in the middle of her grief.”
I gazed at the windows, wondering if next winter
two
layers of plastic might… but no. Beautifully old-house-atmospheric as they were, the antique windowpanes had the thermal efficiency of tissue paper. And one of these times when I climbed up on top of that washing machine, I was going to break my…
“But wait, there’s more,” Bella pronounced, polishing off the rest of the muffin. “That policy won’t pay if he killed himself, his mom says. Because it’s too soon after he bought it.”
Just then Ellie came in with her own child under one arm and a large ham under the other. Both were suitably wrapped, although from Ellie’s harried look I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a pair of toddler-sized coveralls pulled onto the pork and a sheet of aluminum foil fastened around Leonora.
But I wasn’t finished with Bella. “How does his mother know the insurance policy won’t… ”
“Jake, you’ve got to help me,” Ellie exhaled.
I ignored her for the moment. “How’s she even know so fast that there
is
a policy? The friend wouldn’t have known it and it’s too soon for the insurance company to have—”
But my question was cut off. My father and the dogs came in behind Ellie, each canine competing with the other for who had the most sheer animal energy and which one could demonstrate it most disruptively. Dropping their leashes, my father made his escape, headed for the cellar and his tools while they bounded around, all gummy grins and clicking toenails, greeting us slobberily and demanding to have their breakfast.
“Coffee urn,” Ellie said a little desperately as I got up to feed them. “A sixty-cup coffee urn, a good-size sheet cake, fifty sandwiches, and paper plates. By,” she added in naked appeal, “eleven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
Lee chose that moment to open her mouth wide; at once, most of the unhappy sounds in the world began coming out of it.
“Cream,” Ellie recited, ignoring her daughter’s wails, “and sugar. And lemonade, I suppose, for the children. And… ”
Loud
sounds from Leonora. Simultaneously, a stream of water began leaking from beneath that vintage refrigerator.
“Ellie, what in the
world
… ” I began. But then through the din—Ellie’s husband, George, said that in an emergency you could set Leonora up on the firehouse roof and use her for a siren—I realized: “Cory’s funeral?”
Ellie slid her daughter unceremoniously into the playpen we kept in the kitchen for her. As Leonora’s plump, padded bottom hit the playpen’s cushioned floor, her mouth fell shut with a nearly audible snap.
“Goo-goo,” she uttered happily; she adored the playpen.
“Yes,” Ellie replied. From atop the refrigerator Cat Dancing observed the baby, then leapt down into the playpen beside her.
“Well, not a funeral exactly,” Ellie amended. “A gathering to commemorate his life. Because you can’t very well have a real funeral without a body, and
his
body… ”
Was by now on its way to the state medical examiner’s rooms in Augusta, where it would be autopsied as was usual in nearly all unattended deaths in Maine. “
Prutt,
” said the cross-eyed old feline as the child gripped her tail.
“That cat,” said Bella Diamond balefully, “will suck all the baby’s breath out of her.”
But the cat didn’t; soon Leonora turned to counting her own toes. “One, one, one, one, one,” she said accurately.
Next Bob Arnold came in, surveyed us, and spotted the platter of muffins; since Bella had begun baking them regularly, my kitchen had
She nodded. “Boy like that, who’d a thought he’d have a care for the end of his life?
Or
have a wife an’ child?”
But it seemed Cory Trow had. “Even his mom never knew he got married,” Bella told me. “His pals knew, though, an’ one o’ their moms called
his
mom last night, dropped the big bombshell on ’er in the middle of her grief.”
I gazed at the windows, wondering if next winter
two
layers of plastic might… but no. Beautifully old-house-atmospheric as they were, the antique windowpanes had the thermal efficiency of tissue paper. And one of these times when I climbed up on top of that washing machine, I was going to break my…
“But wait, there’s more,” Bella pronounced, polishing off the rest of the muffin. “That policy won’t pay if he killed himself, his mom says. Because it’s too soon after he bought it.”
Just then Ellie came in with her own child under one arm and a large ham under the other. Both were suitably wrapped, although from Ellie’s harried look I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a pair of toddler-sized coveralls pulled onto the pork and a sheet of aluminum foil fastened around Leonora.
But I wasn’t finished with Bella. “How does his mother know the insurance policy won’t… ”
“Jake, you’ve got to help me,” Ellie exhaled.
I ignored her for the moment. “How’s she even know so fast that there
is
a policy? The friend wouldn’t have known it and it’s too soon for the insurance company to have—”
But my question was cut off. My father and the dogs came in behind Ellie, each canine competing with the other for who had the most sheer animal energy and which one could demonstrate it most disruptively. Dropping their leashes, my father made his escape, headed for the cellar and his tools while they bounded around, all gummy grins and clicking toenails, greeting us slobberily and demanding to have their breakfast.
“Coffee urn,” Ellie said a little desperately as I got up to feed them. “A sixty-cup coffee urn, a good-size sheet cake, fifty sandwiches, and paper plates. By,” she added in naked appeal, “eleven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
Lee chose that moment to open her mouth wide; at once, most of the unhappy sounds in the world began coming out of it.
“Cream,” Ellie recited, ignoring her daughter’s wails, “and sugar. And lemonade, I suppose, for the children. And… ”
Loud
sounds from Leonora. Simultaneously, a stream of water began leaking from beneath that vintage refrigerator.
“Ellie, what in the
world
… ” I began. But then through the din—Ellie’s husband, George, said that in an emergency you could set Leonora up on the firehouse roof and use her for a siren—I realized: “Cory’s funeral?”
Ellie slid her daughter unceremoniously into the playpen we kept in the kitchen for her. As Leonora’s plump, padded bottom hit the playpen’s cushioned floor, her mouth fell shut with a nearly audible snap.
“Goo-goo,” she uttered happily; she adored the playpen.
“Yes,” Ellie replied. From atop the refrigerator Cat Dancing observed the baby, then leapt down into the playpen beside her.
“Well, not a funeral exactly,” Ellie amended. “A gathering to commemorate his life. Because you can’t very well have a real funeral without a body, and
his
body… ”
Was by now on its way to the state medical examiner’s rooms in Augusta, where it would be autopsied as was usual in nearly all unattended deaths in Maine. “
Prutt,
” said the cross-eyed old feline as the child gripped her tail.
“That cat,” said Bella Diamond balefully, “will suck all the baby’s breath out of her.”
But the cat didn’t; soon Leonora turned to counting her own toes. “One, one, one, one, one,” she said accurately.
Next Bob Arnold came in, surveyed us, and spotted the platter of muffins; since Bella had begun baking them regularly, my kitchen had
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