by Dave Cravens
“Wow.”
“Indeed.” Parker swallowed and took a deep breath. She knew she was being unreasonable, but her heart was pounding with fight in it. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just a little –”
“No need to apologize,” Bill tersely interrupted. “Good night, Parker.”
“Wait! Bill—” The phone call went dead. Parker hit herself in the forehead with her cell phone. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”
“Which part?” asked Valerie. “Insulting your one ally in law enforcement or are we still talking about you reading the eulogy?”
Parker put down her phone to look her mother squarely in the eyes. “Oh, I’m going to read the fuck out of that thing. And this time, I’m bringing in the big gun to back me up.”
“And who would that be?”
Parker grinned. “You.”
60.
When Friday night’s funeral arrived…
there was still no sign of Ken Heller’s eulogy. No emails had graced Parker’s inbox, no letter in the mail, not so much as even a sloppily hand-written note on the back of a napkin. Any time Parker had inquired Mendez about it, she simply responded with some muted variation of a soulless apology followed by “he’s still working on it.”
I’ll bet he is. “You tell Mr. Heller to take his sweet ass time.” Parker would cheerfully respond. “I’m sure he wants to get it just right.”
As predicted, word had spread like wildfire throughout town that Parker would be reading Ken’s words to those who attended his murdered wife’s funeral. It fueled a wide range of reckless speculation—would Parker break down and confess to killing Heller in the middle of it? Would Ken Heller drop some kind of truth bomb to reveal any family secrets and crack the case wide open? Was Parker trying to ingratiate herself with Mr. Heller to convince him to drop possible charges against her? Were they having an affair, and did Parker off Karen Heller to have Ken all to herself? Never mind the fact that the two of them had never met—those kinds of details didn’t seem to matter.
If nothing else, the gossip served as free advertising for Karen Heller’s memorial service. Parker’s jaw dropped upon turning the corner in her hated mini-van to arrive at Thompson’s Funeral Home next to the Presbyterian Church a full thirty minutes early. The parking lot was crammed with cars, along with every street curb for as far as the eye could see.
“It’s like the whole fucking town is here!” Parker grumbled.
“Parker, your children are present,” reminded Valerie. She nodded to Maddy, Drew and Ally in the seats behind them.
“It’s like the whole gosh-darn fucking town is here!” Parker corrected herself.
“Does she talk like this around you all the time?” Valerie asked her grandchildren.
“Yup,” agreed Maddy, shifting in her seat.
“Oh no!” Ally gasped.
“Don’t sweat it, Grandma, we know not to say those things.” said Drew.
Parker wasn’t even listening, her eyes constantly scanning for a parking space. “Was Heller really this popular? I thought everyone hated her!”
Valerie smirked. “Oh Parker. They’re not here for Heller. They’re here for you.”
“Well, let’s give ‘em something to talk about.” Parker gunned the gas of her minivan, jerking its occupants back only to immediately slam on the breaks when the Prius ahead of her took one of the few open parking spaces. “Shit! Sorry. I just felt like that moment needed a punctuation.”
Valerie calmly patted her daughter’s arm. “Of course, dear.”
Exactly twenty-seven minutes and eight blocks of walking later, Parker and her family entered a packed Funeral Home with their heads held high -- except for Maddy who pulled awkwardly at the loose fit of her outfit. “I feel like everyone’s watching us!” she whispered.
“That’s because they are,” Valerie calmly whispered back with a smile as she nodded to the few familiar faces out of the sea of eyeballs that tracked her. Always composed, Valerie seemed to thrive on the attention. Having accidently killed her own husband with fantastic sex the night of their honeymoon meant she was no stranger to controversy in the town of Oak Creek.
“Let ‘em watch,” said Parker, smoothing out the crease of her new dress. If she was going to step on a hornet’s nest tonight she was going to do it looking and feeling like a million bucks. “I’m just going to say it, but I look smoking hot in black. I need to wear black more often.”
“Mom!” Drew anxiously pulled at his mother’s skirt.
“Don’t pull on my dress, Drew. What do you need?” Parker looked down at her son, whose face had turned an ashen grey. “Drew?”
“G-g-ghost!” Drew pointed to a dark adjoining corridor, where a small, hunched figure stood alone watching him.
Maddy smacked her brother in the chest with the back of her hand. “That’s no ghost, dummy. Ghosts don’t wear glasses.”
Parker traced the outline of Drew’s “apparition” with her eyes. In the muted light, the old man projected an unearthly vibe. Is that Ken Heller? Parker started for the man when the Silver Fox stepped into her path.
“Good!” greeted Fox sternly. “You made it. We were beginning to wonder.”
Parker peeked over Fox’s broad shoulders to watch as the dark figure was ushered into an adjoining room by a grey-haired woman in church robes. The door shut behind them. “Yeah, parking was a bitch. Was that Ken? I need to speak with him.” said Parker.
Fox looked back over her own shoulder. “After the service,” assured Fox. She presented a small white envelope. “Mr. Heller asked me to give this to you.”
Parker carefully took the envelope from Fox’s bony fingers. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the weight of it. “So, it does exist,” she said to Fox. “Good. I’ll give it the once over before going on stage.”
“Stage?”
“Sorry, you know what I mean.” Parker cringed at her own Freudian slip. She couldn’t help but to think of this entire funeral as some macabre sideshow.
The soft, vibrato of an electric organ suddenly began to fill the room.
“The service is going to start soon,” said Fox. “You and your family have reserved seats in the front row.”
“Reserved?” Of course, sitting me in the back wouldn’t nearly be the same spectacle, would it? Now I’m certain this is all for show. Parker did her best to feign gratitude. “Thank you.”
Parker led her family into the parlor up a narrow aisle separating two overcrowded sections of folding chairs that seated all walks of Oak Creek citizenry. With the number of people who stood shoulder to shoulder along the walls, Parker wondered if Heller’s casket might be more comfortable. Just as Fox had said, five seats remained open in the front row, with an additional open seat on the opposite aisle. Parker and her family quietly sat down.
A door on the wall behind the casket opened up to reveal the old man Drew had pointed out earlier, who followed the grey-haired woman in robes. The old man glanced at Parker for a brief moment and then stared at the floor as he slowly shuffled to the last remaining empty chair up front.
So, that is Ken Heller, she thought, leaning forward for a better look at him. After sitting, Ken’s eyes never left the floor.
The robed woman stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphone.
“Good evening,” she started. “We are gathered here in this time of great sorrow—”
Yup, yup, keep talking, lady.
Parker quietly opened the white envelope Fox had given to her. If she could read through all of it before the pastor was finished, she’d be able to edit out any landmines in her head before having to ‘go live.’
Parker slipped the paper out of the envelope without looking, but something felt weird about it. It felt smooth and glossy, like a “—goddamn greeting card?” she whispered to herself angrily. Parker looked down at the folded Hallmark card in her hand that featured a picture of a kitten dangling from a string of yarn. Parker’s face flushed red as she opened the card t
o read the large printed words exclaim “Hang in there!”
Parker shot a look over to Ken Heller, who continued to only stare at the ground. Are you fucking kidding me right now, Ken Heller?
“What’s wrong?” whispered Valerie, leaning in to her daughter.
Parker handed her mother the card, who grimaced in confusion.
“—and we all know Karen would have liked that very much,” said the pastor. She outstretched her arm to Parker. “Now, I’m told we have some very special words prepared in Karen’s honor. Ms. Monroe?”
Parker froze.
61.
I knew it! This whole thing was a goddamn setup!
Parker clenched her fist and took a deep breath.
I knew it was, Mom knew it was, even Bill knew it was, and yet I was hoping Ken Heller had some fucking class unlike his bitch of a dead wife!
Parker tried to hide her own grin as she reached for her purse.
Luckily—
Parker pulled out a folded piece of paper.
--I planned ahead with my own prepared speech. And Ken? This one is going to be the talk of the town for generations to come!
Parker proudly stood up and nodded to the pastor. Before she could take a step toward the podium, Ken Heller also rose from his chair. Parker froze – again.
Without a word, Ken slowly shuffled across the aisle toward Parker, never once taking his eyes off the floor. Parker stared in awe at the man, whose head barely reached her shoulder. He lifted his hand, which held two pieces of paper with typing on them, folded cleanly in half. Ken lifted his glistening red eyes and tried smiling at Parker. He gingerly grabbed her wrist to guide her hand to accept the paper, and then clasped it as if to shake it with a strange gratitude.
Parker’s anger flushed away, not sure of what to make of the man before her. She wanted to believe the hope she saw in Ken’s eyes was genuine.
Lips trembling, Ken nodded to Parker and then slowly turned to shuffle back to his seat.
Parker’s heart raced as she opened the folded papers and scanned the few first sentences. It was definitely a eulogy absent any overly cute cat photographs. She weighed her own speech in her left hand which she’d written the previous night after several glasses of wine and knew it to be fucking gold. She weighed Ken’s speech in her right hand.
Parker took a deep breath and approached the podium. She quickly looked over the audience, noting any faces she recognized. Silver Fox sat in the first row next to Ken. Julie and Glory sat near the back on the edge of their seats. GI Joe stood in the back, near President Holly and a few other PTA moms and Baby Face. Even Man-Child showed, sitting near the middle aisle. Parker found it strange that Principal Mendez was nowhere to be found, nor her supposed boyfriend, Sheriff Bill, or the music teacher who had been Karen’s music partner for so long.
“Ms. Monroe?” the pastor cleared her throat, as if to cue Parker to move on.
Parker nodded to the pastor with a smile. “Yes, of course.” She delicately placed Ken’s speech on the podium and pressed down with her fingers to flatten out the crease.
Okay, Ken. Game on.
“Hello. My name is Parker Monroe, and I am reading on behalf of Ken Heller,” she explained. Parker nodded toward the widower, who continued to stare at the floor.
The air suddenly felt heavy, as Parker looked down at Ken’s words. She began.
“Many of you knew Karen Marjorie Heller as the Vice Principal of Oak Creek Elementary. She carried this title for over a third of her life, and nothing made her prouder. Karen took her job very seriously, as she knew the profound impact it had in shaping the young minds of our town, our great state of California, and ultimately, our future. It is no secret that Karen’s passion for education instilled in her a stubborn confidence. Because of this, some might have found Karen difficult to work with or relate to.”
Parker paused. Most people found it difficult to work with or relate to, she corrected silently in her mind. Stop it, Parker! Just read the damn thing.
“I knew a different Karen. A loving, gentle and very private woman I would call my wife for nearly fifty years. I knew the diligent student I would date as a teenager. I knew the precocious piano player I fell in love with at my first recital at the Methodist Church when I was ten.
I remember waiting my turn to go on stage at that recital. My eyes were transfixed on this beautiful girl in a periwinkle dress playing Chopin. Her long and soft brown hair was twisted into a perfect French braid with a red bow to accent it. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Karen tickled those ivories like no one I had ever seen before. Like I only I could dream of doing. Any girl who could play like that, and was so pretty, well, I just had to meet her. But as fate should have it, when my turn came to go on stage, my nerves got the best of me. My fingers trembled, then fumbled, and I butchered Mozart’s sonata in a most spectacular fashion. I rushed off the stage in tears. I was nothing short of – humiliated.”
Parker nearly choked on her last word. She took a moment to stare at Ken, whose eyes were closed now. He breathed shallowly, as if any effort beyond that might cause him to crumble.
Parker swallowed and continued.
“To my surprise, after the recital was over, I was approached by this young, bright, blue-eyed girl with a smile bright as the sun. A smile the instantly faded upon seeing my red eyes and nose. This angel before me introduced herself as Karen and put her hand on my shoulder.
‘Don’t worry’ she told me. ‘You weren’t that good, but you weren’t that bad, either.’ I can—” Parker paused again. The words on the page appeared to blur for a second. She refocused. “I can work with that.”
Parker swallowed her breath before continuing.
“Karen took me on as her pet project and gave me pointers about performing. She helped me to visualize myself playing confidently before every recital from then on. We became fast friends, and eventually attended the same middle school, where I found myself struggling and falling behind in math. Once again, Karen came to the rescue. She’d look at my homework and no matter how atrocious my logic and arithmetic would be, she would always tell me the same thing: ‘I can work with that.’
The phrase would become a code that Karen would adhere to all her life. No matter who you were, where you came from or how good or bad at something you were, Karen was eager to help you become better. She’d work with whatever you gave her and help you improve upon it. But to do that, Karen would refuse anything but your best effort. She would challenge you. Push you. She’d drive you crazy sometimes. But in the end, after all the fights, the tears and whatever followed, you would have learned something about yourself. Sometimes it was something about yourself that you never knew was there, or even thought was possible. And you’d be better for it. A better person.
It is only fitting, that after years of dating my one true love, when I finally presented her a modest diamond ring during a sunset walk on Redondo Beach, that she gave me a most familiar answer: ‘I can work with that.’”
Parker had to squint again. Why are the words so blurry?
“Karen went on to work in education. First, as a teacher, but it was soon clear to the district that she had potential for more. She was put on the fast track to become assistant principle at Oak Creek, a track that was derailed for a time when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”
Oh hell.
“Even after losing both breasts and all of her hair from the radiation and chemotherapy, she never once complained. Not once. After discovering her treatments made it impossible for her to bear children, she refused to blame anyone. She simply chose to deal with whatever hand life had dealt her. ‘God never gives you anything you can’t handle’ she’d say. ‘I can work with that.’”
I’m a terrible person.
“Karen took several years off from being Vice Principal to come to terms with her cancer and the fallout of never starting a family of our own. Karen considered adopting, and even taking early retirement and not returning to
education. But in the end, her calling to help children reach their potential won her heart back. I had my concerns regarding the stress returning to work would have on her. But it was my turn to be supportive and tell her: ‘I can work with that.’ So, she returned to the very same job as assistant principal to the very same school she’d loved for so long.”
The things I said to her!
“So,” Parker tried to choke back her tears. “So, —if Karen were here today, she’d want us all to remember one thing: that we are all capable of more. We are all capable of becoming better. But to become better, whether it’s a better pianist, a better teacher, a better athlete, or a better person – we must all strive to do and be our best – right now. Remember that, live that, and you will have honored Karen’s memory.” Parker’s voice trailed off. She held her forehead and trembled.
The paper that contained Ken’s speech was now sopping wet, the printer ink running and blotting up. Parker looked up. Her eyes met with Ken’s again. His quivering lips parted to mouth the words: “Thank you.”
Then Parker felt the warm hands of Valerie gently grab her shoulders and lead her away from the podium. Parker found her seat again as the organ music began to play.
62.
After the service, as attendees gathered in various rooms to share stories of remembrance…
Parker was asked by the pastor to follow her to a private study. Parker found herself sitting alone on a couch before a fireplace, trying to decipher the muffled roar of the clamor outside. After fifteen minutes or so, a small door behind a wooden desk opened with a soft creek. The small frame of Ken Heller shuffled through, his beady eyes smiling at Parker in a peculiar way. It took him a long stretch to reach the armchair across from her, where he rested his bones with a weary sigh.
“Long day,” he said in a tiny voice. He cleared his throat, as if to shake the dust off vocal cords that hadn’t been used in ages. “Longer week.”
Parker sized Mr. Heller up from his winged tipped shoes to his balding white head. He didn’t strike her as a particularly rigid man, comfortably slumped in the cushions of his seat, nor did his eyes carry any hint that could rival the fire that often raged in his late wife. He exuded an air of calm about him, the kind that took a lifetime to cultivate. Perhaps from dealing with Karen on a daily basis. Regardless, Parker thought it best to begin their meeting with the expected pleasantries before diving into a game of a thousand questions. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Heller.”
