Funeral with a View Read Free Page A

being with him more.”
    She took my face in her
hands, looking me straight in the eyes. “Rick, listen to me. No. No way. I like
Bill. As a friend. Last night was a whim, a fantasy realized by way too
much alcohol. I don’t know what came over me. Booze? The opportunity to
experiment some? I won’t lie. It was hot, but I care about you, not Bill. Not in that way. I have no desire to be with him like that ever again. When
you and I are together, it’s fantastic. I never had the spark with him that I
have with you.”
    “So we’re good then?”
    She smiled at me, her expression
softening, then attempted the worst impression of all time. “Good? Of course.
Absolutely. Better than good. We’re going to be A-okay good. Totally good. Off
the charts good.”
    “Is that supposed to be
me?” I laughed. “I think I’ll need some coffee to cleanse my palette of that
awful performance. Want some?”
    “Yes, jerk. I’d love
some.”
    Okay. A-okay. Totally
okay. Off the charts okay.
    I liked the sound of
that.

CHAPTER 4
     
     
     
     
     
    Bill’s late.
    He was at the wake last
night—big and handsome as ever—but as of this morning, with less than an hour
to go before everyone heads out to the cemetery, he’s nowhere to be seen .
    As my best and oldest
friend, the duty falls to him to eulogize me. Or should I say honor? Just kidding.
I don’t think that highly of myself.
    From my perch near the
ceiling, I see my mother. She’s seated next to Catherine. My daughter, Celeste,
is absent at the moment. She’s most likely outside with her twin cousins,
Catherine’s sister’s kids. I’d go out and see her if I could.
    Death is nothing like I’d
imagined. While I’d always expected a big, black nothing, I’d entertained
notions of unearthly white lights, harps, comforting music, St. Peter, and an all-powerful
creator sitting on a majestic throne ushering me in to join the flock. Instead,
I’m stuck in the here and now.
    To go one step further, I
can’t travel very far from my body. I feel … tethered to it. Try to wander too
far and my whole existence becomes a thick, fuzzy static before I’m pulled back
to my empty shell.
    This phenomenon started
before the funeral parlor. Shortly after being pulled away from my dead body, I
found myself hovering over it in the morgue. But I wasn’t alone. Catherine was
there, identifying my remains. Talk about unpleasant. There was nothing I
wanted more than the ability to manifest myself and absorb her suffering for
her. I would have done it in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t to be. I’ve never felt
so helpless. With the completion of that heart-wrenching scene, I was tugged
along to the mortician’s magic workshop.
    For some reason I’m
following my lifeless body like a lost puppy dog that has suddenly grown
attached to an attentive stranger. Maybe it’s got something to do with being
laid to rest. I’m not here to haunt anybody. If I were, it would be that beer
truck driver.
    It’s frustrating, not
being able to go to the window and observe my daughter. I’m frozen in an undetermined
radius, an ethereal planet caught in the gravitational pull of a body whose
life vacated it a week ago.
    Shit. I hope this
condition doesn’t persist after I’m buried. I don’t want to be a ghoul haunting
the damn cemetery.
    But I shouldn’t think of
those things now. It’s likely to drive me insane.
    Instead, I think I’ll go
see my mother.
    As I float toward her, I hear
the familiar sentiments being thrown around between people sitting in the
parlor gallery, the audience of my family’s theater of mourning.
    “... those flowers from
his office are so lovely …”
    “… too young … he was
much too young …”
    “… what a crappy way to
go … getting hit by a beer truck of all things ...”
    “... honey, don’t pick
your nose. Use a tissue …”
    “... who’s going to pick
up the slack at work now that Rick’s gone?”
    “… did you see Sandy at
the wake? So