“That’s really good news,” Jeremy said. “Thank God for Shawn, eh? So there’s a lot coming? From the insurance?”
“I haven’t had a chance to really think about it yet. But Rebecca thinks there will be. We’ll see.”
“Very glad to hear it. Don’t spend it all in one place. In the meantime, you let us know how we can help.”
Patty nodded. She stared at the Shack with a slight smile on her face, as if she were seeing the place for the first time in decades.
“I used to get so upset when things went wrong here,” she said. “It’s been nice to be somewhere where nothing matters.”
* * *
Shawn’s funeral was held at a church on a leafy street in Patty’s neighbourhood. Jeremy had trouble parking, and had to wedge the Jeep in between two SUVs. He hit the curb faster than he’d intended, spooking two old people walking slow and wearing black. The minister welcomed everyone and read a short prayer that most people mumbled along to. Then Shawn’s brother, a man who looked like he’d been bred solely for the purpose of heavy lifting, got up and made a short speech that made Jeremy think the two men hadn’t had much contact since childhood. Aside from a small joke about them sharing beds as kids whenever cousins came to stay, there was almost nothing to suggest they’d spent any significant time in the same room. Shawn’s mother, who looked as though she ate only spider webs and milkweed pods, was walked onto the stage by Shawn’s brother and an usher, but didn’t say anything. She just stared down at the front pews with a slight smile, as if it were her birthday and she were waiting for cake.
From his seat at the back of the church, Jeremy could see a few people from the Shack scattered around the church, a couple of servers and at least one bartender. There were some regulars in the crowd, too: Phil was sitting in the same back-row pew, though at the opposite end of it from Jeremy. The dishwasher was there, which surprised him. The rest were all grey-haired men and women. He couldn’t see Charlene anywhere. He had texted her the details, but heard nothing back.
A man with a red face stood up at the front holding a few sheets of paper. He was mostly bald, and so tall that it seemed like he had shot up and broken through the fringe of hair around his ears. After getting his papers in the right order, and mouthing a few things to a group of teenage boys who’d been sitting next to him – his kids, Jeremy assumed – he introduced himself as Patty and Shawn’s son.
“Shakespeare,” he began, but then faltered: something his boys were doing had distracted him, and he gave them a helpless glare. “The great writer William Shakespeare said that it is a wise father who knows his own child. My father knew me, I think. I’ve had a lot of challenges in my life, and have had to make a lot of adjustments, but I think I was able to do this because he was an example to me. I am proud to be his son. I thank our Lord for making my father a wise man. And I thank Him for helping me face the many challenges I have. I think I’m a different kind of father than my father was, but that doesn’t mean I’m better, or that he’s worse. Just different.”
The son asked for everyone in the room to join him in a moment of quiet prayer. The minister sitting behind him seemed surprised by this and stood quickly, as if insisting on jurisdiction. He even began, “Thank you, oh Lord . . .” before remembering that the prayer requested was a silent one.
A teenager with an acoustic guitar sang something, and there was tentative applause after he finished, no one being sure if it was okay to clap at a funeral. The boy then accompanied two younger girls in flouncy dresses who sang a duet that Jeremy couldn’t make out a single word of, because both mumbled into the fronts of their dresses. That got more applause in the end, which Jeremy thought was unfair: the boy had been better on his own. He assumed Patty would not say anything. How could anyone keep it together under those circumstances? What person could stand and speak about their dead husband or wife while the heavy evidence of their passing lay right there in front of them? But after the singing and a few more words from the minister, Rebecca stood and helped her sister to the microphone.
“Oh well,” Patty said, looking around the room. She looked even more detached and colourless than when she’d come to the Shack. She seemed to be aging a year for each day she went without her husband. Jeremy looked down the row at Phil, who was staring up at her with a broad smile as if she were his own mother.
“It was lovely to hear all this singing. Shawn always said he couldn’t carry a tune, but every once in a while, if he was in a good mood, he’d start in with that ‘Just a Gigolo’ song.”
A couple of people nodded in recognition.
“Imagine my Shawn as a gigolo – he wouldn’t have made much money, that’s for sure.”
People laughed.
“He drove me crazy sometimes with that song. I always said, I don’t remember marrying a gigolo. I’d know if I did! Imagine Shawn as a gigolo! He wouldn’t have made much money at it, that’s for sure.”
There was less laughter the second time. Someone ahead of Jeremy made a sympathetic noise. Patty looked down at the body of her husband for the first time since she’d started speaking. The awkward smile she had on shivered a little and dissolved as she looked at the lifeless face that had been her companion for decades. Rebecca seemed ready to bring her sister back to her seat, but she quickly recovered.
“I was a teacher for almost 40 years, and if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that you have to roll with whatever gets thrown at you. You never know what kind of nonsense you’re going to have to deal with on Monday morning, so just take a deep breath, wear a smile, and make sure you have some white wine in the fridge at home.”
A small group of women, likely peers from Patty’s teaching days, gave a communal chuckle. Someone clapped.
“Losing my Shawn like this, it’s the worst possible thing, but I am just going to have to roll with it, like everything else. What else can I do?”
The question didn’t sound rhetorical: she wanted an answer, and the silence that followed seemed to demand one. She leaned away from the microphone instead of stepping back, so Rebecca put her hands on her sister’s shoulders and guided her to her seat. A few other people spoke, but only briefly. A man who’d worked in Shawn’s office told a story about the two of them attending a conference in Montreal decades before, getting lost, and going AWOL for half the day. He said it was one of the most fun days of his life. Someone else, a family friend, spoke about how Shawn took up hiking late in life, and how everyone was surprised at how dedicated he was to it. Shawn never made a big thing out of whatever he was doing, the friend said. He wasn’t the type who showed off his new car, or forced you to look at pictures of his grandkids all the time. “Most people didn’t even know he had grandkids.” Jeremy saw Patty’s son bow his head a little at this. “Shawn didn’t brag, but you knew he was proud of all these things, anyway. And the thing he was proudest of was his marriage to Patty. A lot of people have trouble with their marriages here and there, everybody, but he and Patty were always just so solid. It was an inspiration.”
There was some applause. The minister said something, and people began moving in the aisles.
“That was pretty painless,” Jeremy said to Phil after the coffin had been carried out, with Patty and her sister and everyone else drawn up the aisle in its wake. People were milling around in the lobby, not sure what to do next. “I’m impressed she got through it all in one piece.”
Phil shook his head in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone handle herself so well. She’s so strong.”
“Cheers to that. Let’s see what they’ve got for coffee.”
The basement of the church was warm and dry, everything was carpeted, and the food and drinks laid out on a group of long tables looked half-decent. Jeremy bypassed the sandwiches, not wanting to eat in such close proximity to death, and poured himself a coffee, which was – happily, surprisingly – hot and fresh. Stern-looking elderly
ladies stood nearby to replenish the trays and refill the pots. One noticed the basket of creams was nearly empty, and disappeared to find more without a word. “I should get them working for me,” Jeremy said to no one in particular. There was swing music coming from somewhere. It felt like intermission at a concert or a school play. He looked around to see where Patty was, and spotted her standing near the entrance with a large knot of people around her, as if she were a visiting celebrity. Right next to her was Phil, standing close enough to link arms.
Jeremy wandered through the crowd, smiling and nodding at all the old folks in black, few of whom smiled back. He introduced himself to Rebecca, and thanked her for letting him know what had happened. She was standing a little ways away from the crowd around her sister.
“I feel like I am at one of these every month now,” she said. “I don’t even put my black dress away. I’m seeing people here that I only ever see at funerals, and it’s like we’re friends. When my husband died, we were all still young enough that we didn’t know what to do. It’s like it’s become a part-time job now. We’re professionals.”
“It’s good, though, being able to say goodbye all together like this.”
“I didn’t say it was bad.”
“Let me get you a coffee. On the house.”
He brought her a cup, and she said she was sorry she had not yet visited the Shack – her sister was always going on about it, and she’d always meant to. He promised her a tour of the kitchen. “I’ve always been curious about what goes on back there,” she said. “Do I want to know?”
“It’s like a Wilderness Safari tour: you have to keep the windows up and your hands inside the car.”
He said hello to the staffers who had stuck around, including the dishwasher, whose name Jeremy struggled in vain to remember. After he had crossed the room twice, he found himself back near the crowd around Patty, waiting for an opportunity to pay his respects – he kept hoping she might spot him there and break out of the pack herself. Someone touched him on the elbow, and he turned to find Charlene standing next to him and smiling. Just behind her was Kyle, looking far less happy. Before he could say anything, she moved in to give him a hug. It was the closest they’d been to each other since the night of his birthday, more than a year ago. The smell of her hair was instantly familiar. He told her he was glad to see her.
“I wasn’t sure you would be,” she said.
He shrugged this off and reached around her to shake Kyle’s hand.
“How’re you holding up, buddy?”
“What does that mean?” Kyle shot back.
“Nothing at all. Hey: the coffee’s not bad here, considering. You should try it.”
He hoped Kyle would move off to sample the food tables for a while, leaving them alone to talk. Instead, he rooted himself in place like a bodyguard, arms folded and scanning the room with suspicious eyes, looking for potential trouble.
“This is so sad,” Charlene said.
“It could be worse – the food looks good. People seem to be enjoying it.”
“I mean about Patty.”
“Oh no, that’s awful. Just unbelievable. It happened out at the cottage, too – did you hear that? I’m starting to regret buying it. It’s like it’s cursed or something.” He looked at Kyle when he said it.
“How is everybody?” Charlene asked quickly. “How’s Tyler? Is he here?”
“Tyler is Tyler – you know. He’s back at work, at least. With a damaged wing.”
Kyle shifted around, looking uncomfortable. “We should get going,” he said to Charlene.
She ignored him. “Have you talked to Patty yet? I tried, but there were a lot of people.”
“She was in last week, and was asking about you. She’s a tough one, isn’t she? Why don’t you come by the Shack tonight? We’re having a sort of informal wake. Nothing depressing, just a few people coming by for a drink. You should come.”
“You’re going to the bar?” Kyle asked Charlene. His voice was tense.
“You’re welcome too, there, buddy. The more the merrier.”
“I don’t know,” Charlene said. “I might.”
“There’s a chill room now, if that helps.”
Charlene smiled. “Are you serious? You finally did it?”
“Are you crazy? It’s all a chill room, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Charlene,” Kyle said.
“Come for one drink, at least. On the house. Seriously.”
“I don’t know about tonight,” Kyle said.
“Why not?” Jeremy asked, unable to hide his annoyance. “Someone we know died, we’re at a funeral, maybe it would be nice to relax a little after. It’s not like this happens every week. I promise there’ll be no swimming involved.”
Kyle’s body visibly tightened. He announced that he was leaving, then turned and moved quickly through the room. As he was about to go through the door, a woman from the church stopped him to let him know there was plenty of food left if he was hungry. The response she got seemed to surprise and confuse her.
Jeremy apologized to Charlene. “I’m sorry, that was me being shitty. Was he your ride?”
“It’s fine. We’re not together,” she said. There was a note of finality in her voice.
“What do you mean? How did you get here?”
“I mean, we’re not together-together. I’ve been staying with my mother.”
She told him she’d moved out of their apartment weeks ago. She and Kyle had been fighting so much lately, which was not that unusual, except that they had begun to say things to each other that were so toxic and harmful, it felt like a mere technicality that they were not physically assaulting each other. She convinced him they needed a break, and so she moved into her mother’s apartment, and had been sleeping on a fold-out couch – her old room was now the TV room, and had no room left in it for a bed. She had asked Kyle to come with her to the funeral because she didn’t want to be alone and wasn’t sure if anyone from the Shack would talk to her, but other than that, they’d hardly seen each other.
“Yikes, a fold-out couch.”
“Have you seen that documentary about the killer whale that goes crazy and kills its trainer? There’s this whole thing about the tiny pens they keep them in. That’s me right now.”
Jeremy wondered if he should invite her to stay at his house, but had no idea how such an invitation would be received.
“So, a break? That’s it?”
Reluctantly, she admitted it was maybe more. “He keeps saying he wants to work on things, but all I can think about when I’m with him now is how good it would be to hit him really hard. Like, in the face.” She burst out laughing. “Sorry. I was just picturing it.”
Jeremy made a shocked noise.
“I’ve been feeling so shitty since I heard about Shawn,” she said. “I wanted to call Patty, or at least call you, but I thought you’d all be mad at me.”
“Not a chance.”
She smiled. “That’s a lie. You always lie to make people feel better. I didn’t even really notice it until after I left.”
“I don’t think I lie.”
“It’s not a criticism, I’m just saying you do. It’s sort of sweet, in a weird way. Anyway, I know I was a total bitch to you, leaving like that. I’m sorry.”
He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. “Everyone goes into the ditch once in a while.”
“You’re lying again.”
“No, that one’s true. You can set your clock by it. Some people go in and never come out.”
They stood and watched Patty smiling and chatting with the people surrounding her. They all seemed more sombre than the widow. Jeremy laughed when the dishwasher finally broke through the crowd to shake Patty’s hand. She smiled and accepted his presumably kind words, and only let her confusion show after he’d moved off.
“There was something else,” Charlene said, not looking at Jeremy. “It’s really embarrassing, but I want you to know. You know the day I quit? When I called in so late?”
“You don’t have to say sorry for that. Water under the bridge.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” She stopped and looked through the crowd in the direction in which Kyle had disappeared. “I was late because I wasn’t calling from home.”
“Where were you calling from?”
“Someone else’s home.”
She watched his face and waited for the meaning of her words to sink in. It finally did.
“It was someone I’d known a long time ago, and ran into totally by accident. His name’s Jesse.”
“Jesse. Okay.”
“Kyle knows. I don’t actually feel bad about it. I felt rotten at the time, but I think I was just embarrassed.”
“It happens. Obviously.”
“I wasn’t embarrassed about that,” she said. “Or not exactly.” She screwed up her face. “It’s because I slept in. We slept in. He told me we had to get up early, but we slept in. And then I had to hide in the bedroom while he got his daughter ready for daycare. She didn’t know I was there, and he didn’t want her to know. So I had to hide until he left with her. I’ve never felt so . . . gross. Like I was this dirty thing that could not be seen.”
“Interesting.”
She laughed. “Interesting?”
“I opened my mouth and said a word. That was the one that came out.” He paused. “Come tonight. You should be there.”
“I’ll try. I need to go home first.”
“Home?”
“My mother’s.”
“Right. Try to come.”
He was about to say something else when a huge crash made them both jump. There was chaos and devastation at the food table: one of the elderly church volunteers had burned her arm on the big coffee pot and knocked it over, shattering it and spilling it contents. A steaming brown slick was spreading quickly across the floor in all directions. Another volunteer was trying to get her upright, and in her efforts managed to knock over another pot, instantly ruining two trays of sandwiches. The men and women standing nearby weren’t sure what to do with themselves – the service had made them passive and reflective. They backed away from the spreading lake of coffee, while a few of the smaller kids edged up right to it, daring the mess to spoil their good shoes. The injured woman, who looked like she was about to pass out, was guided across the room to the exit and out to the ladies’ room. Right away, Jeremy walked through the crowd to the centre of the mess and asked where the mop was. He told the one church volunteer who was left to gather together the unspoiled sandwiches on a single tray, like survivors of a flood. She went slowly, trying to put like with like – egg salad with egg salad, tuna with tuna. As he sloshed the mop through the lake of coffee, Charlene brought out a fresh pot.
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