The Sweetest Revenge Read Free

casket.
    Kate and I had arrived right
before the service, thankfully. Get in, get out, I thought.
    And then the lights dimmed in the
chapel. Candles flickered on either side of the casket. The minister,
wearing dark robes and a shiny golden scarf that hung down on either
side of his chest, approached the podium and microphone. He read from
the book of Psalms, my absolute favorite book. We all bowed our heads
in prayer for the lost Mrs. Richmond.
    I stole a look at the program.
Mrs. Richmond’s son, Keith Richmond, the geezer, was going to do
her eulogy.
    I saw a man not much older than
my thirty-seven-year-old self walk to the podium. This must be a
family friend, I thought. The chapel was quiet. And then he began to
speak.
    “ I was sixteen years old when
my father died,” he said. “I had my driver’s license and I
thought I had the world by the tail.” Chuckles from the audience.
He smiled.
    “ That’s when I learned what
my mother was made of,” he said. Was it possible this was Keith
Richmond? Yes, it was totally possible. Why else would he be talking
about his mother? Mrs. Richmond must have been over forty when she
gave birth to him.
    “ She took over Richmond Timber,
and she taught me everything she knew. I sat by her side in the
office, learning about the business. And her acumen took the company
places it had never been, even when my father ran it.”
    Tears were starting to fill my
eyes. I wasn’t expecting such a loving tribute from Mrs. Richmond’s
son. Not at all.
    “ But that’s not all she
taught me,” he said. “She taught me about the value of education.
She taught me about music and art. She said it was important for me
to be well-rounded. She also taught me about helping others. And
today I am announcing that I am going to establish an endowed
scholarship in her name at the Wellington Institute of Arts and
Sciences, my alma mater.”
    The funeral attendees erupted in
applause then. I pulled a Kleenex from my purse and dabbed my eyes.
    “ I want to celebrate my
mother’s life and her accomplishments today,” Keith Richmond
continued. “I hope you will join me in the reception area outside
after the service.”
    The violinist began to play “Ode
to Joy” as Keith Richmond left the podium. Everyone filed out of
the pews, heading toward the doors. Kate and I stood where we were
until the aisle was free. We followed the crowd around the church to
a spring meadow. Tables were set up with appetizers and punch.
    “ We need to talk to him to let
him know we were here,” Kate said. She was young, but she knew how
it worked.
    We walked to the tables laden
with food and put stuffed mushrooms, prosciutto wrapped cantaloupe,
spanikopita, fried chicken tenders, and chicken salad on our plates.
A young woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen handed us
cold cups of punch at the end of the line.
    I wasn’t very hungry, but I
nibbled at the food on my plate and drank the punch.
    “ He’s over there by the
tree!” Kate whispered intently. “Let’s go talk to him so we can
go.”
    I wondered then if Kate was
already so jaded by her annual fund job that she had been untouched
by the service and the eulogy. But I understood that she had a
boyfriend waiting for her at the beach, that she had given up the
beginning of her spring break to attend this funeral. I did
understand all of that. She was still very young and inexperienced.
    Kate grabbed my arm and led me
through the crowd and stopped right beside Keith Richmond. He was
talking to and elderly man. We waited. Then Keith turned his sad eyes
our way.
    “ Mr. Richmond,” Kate said
extending her hand. “We’re from Wellington. We’re so sorry for
your loss.”
    Keith took her hand and said,
“Thank you.”
    I extended my own chubby hand and
he took it in his hand, not in a handshake; he cradled my hand and
put his other hand over it.
    The tears were still fresh in my
eyes, threatening to fall.
    “ It was a beautiful service and
a