The Last Day For Rob Rhino

by Kathleen O'Donnell

  “Claire? Are you there?”

  “I’ve got to hang up. You’re three hours behind me. Call the cemetery director. We’ll talk about everything else later.” Claire gave a protesting Andrew the contact information and watched the minivan circle the crowded parking lot in vain. She waited a few seconds for Andrew to finish writing down the numbers. “Okay? Got it? I really have to go.”

  She started to hang up when Andrew said, “Claire?”

  “What?”

  “Liam made a mistake. But he loved you more than anything. You know he did.”

  The memory of Liam’s love sliced through her.

  She dropped the phone into its cradle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She pushed the blinking light to see what would happen. To her anesthetized surprise a recorded voice said, “You have three messages.”

  Annabelle’s voice said, “Claire, your cell phone is dead. I don’t think you’ve plugged it in.”

  Could she get on with it without the lecture?

  “Anyway, call me when you get this.”

  Then Jordan. “Mother, nice job with the cell phone. In case you’re interested I found out more stuff about your new best friend—Rob Rhino. Or is it Uncle Rob now? Call me.”

  Annabelle again. “Claire. Hey, I talked to Conchita at the house today. I didn’t know you were going to leave Dad’s ashes in Pennsylvania. I mean, well, I knew you were talking with his wacko family, trying to make nice, maybe have a memorial. But leave him there? I think Conchita heard that wrong. Lost in translation and all. Call me, please. It’s not too late to book that Hawaii thing. I really think you need it.”

  Claire picked up the phone and dialed. Before it rang she hung up. She didn’t need Annabelle’s permission. No reason to feel guilty.

  Claire yanked the phone out of its cradle, dialed out again. She’d call Jordan. Talk to him about it. Before she punched in all the numbers she slammed down the receiver. Why bother? He’d make smartass trash talk and side with Annabelle. She didn’t need the drama.

  Liam was her husband. She could do what she pleased with his ashes. Besides it’s not like there was a lot of time to talk to Annabelle about it before she left. It was too late anyway. She’d made all the arrangements. Liam was going to be buried in this town, with his viper’s nest of a family, in the university cemetery. It’s what she wanted. Kids be damned.

  ****

  How many pills had she taken? Vodka nips? The jackhammer in her brain broke through about five feet of concrete. Had she fallen asleep? Her lips caked with she didn’t want to know what. The parking lot was jammed with cars. The cheap clock on the nightstand clicked. One minute past midnight, too late to hike two blocks for food.

  She lay back down on the slippery bedspread. It made her head hurt to think about Annabelle. Best not to. She remembered Jordan called and left a message too. He’d said something about Rob Rhino. He’d found out more information about Rob Rhino the porn king. She remembered the red car... was it following her? What had he said about his wife’s family? His wife had family in this town. His wife was dead.

  Curiosity revived her. It was too late to call. No, it wasn’t. Not with the time difference. She grabbed the phone and dialed Jordan’s home phone. Maybe Steven the ingrate wouldn’t answer the house phone.

  “Hello?” Maura answered.

  “Maura? It’s Claire.” Claire was always happy to talk to Maura.

  “Claire? Is everything okay?” Maura’s voice purred.

  “Yes.” What was that on her lips? Claire licked her fingers and wiped her mouth. “Is Jordan around?” Claire rifled around the bottom of her purse for some Advil. A pharmacy in there but no Advil.

  “No, he and Steven left late this afternoon. They closed on that house today. So they went on a long weekend trip to celebrate.”

  “They did what?” She stopped rifling, elbow deep in her Kelly bag.

  “Oh... ah... you know, didn’t you... they closed on that house they made an offer on. They’d been looking at it for months. I—”

  “Well, that’s odd. Why’d they do that? Are they opening some kind of business? It’s a commercial property?” She plopped down on the bed, toppled the bag.

  “Claire, you better talk to Jordan when he gets back. I’ll tell him you called. You take care.”

  “Maura, is everything okay with you and Jordan?”

  “Claire, you really need to talk to Jordan. Good night.”

  What in the world was going on? She never did trust Steven. Not from the start. A long weekend? They bought a house? Maybe Annabelle knew what the hell was going on. She scowled at the phone in her hand and put it back in its cradle.

  Enough was enough. This was too much. Time to call it a day. She took out her pills and took one with a glass of water, pulled off her clothes and jumped in for a quick shower before she crawled under the scratchy thin blanket of the bed. She needed her rest. There was another endless day ahead of her. Maybe in the morning she’d find she’d hallucinated the whole thing.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Traffic was a bitch.

  Unexpected in a town that had horse and buggy hitching posts on its sidewalks. Claire couldn’t believe the number of cars headed toward the university. The parking lot at her hotel had cleared out but from the looks of things they were all going to the same place. Good thing she’d left early. She’d hoped to dash through the drive thru for coffee but no chance. Not with the congestion.

  It took twice as long as she’d planned to get to the chapel. Groups milled in and around the cemetery. They were everywhere. She hadn’t considered parking until she saw there wasn’t any. It was a few minutes after ten. If she had to search for parking no telling how late she’d be. She was about to start sweating when she saw Joe waving her down like a windmill. He rotated in front of the only empty parking spot. She pulled into it.

  He opened her car door. “I saved it for you.”

  “How nice.” Claire got out and they walked to the chapel. “This place is a zoo.”

  “I should’ve told you yesterday it’s our annual Trustee Week,” Joe said. “This weekend kicks off festivities for our trustees, donors, and alumni. It’s our chance to thank them, keep in touch. We like to stay connected.”

  She bet they did—to their wallets. “Must be why my hotel is packed.”

  “Yes, the university grounds swarm. There’re tours, speaking events, banquets, concerts, you name it.”

  Claire looked around distracted.

  “Speaking of, the dean wants to meet you this morning. He’d love to announce your generosity at the Dean’s Council banquet tomorrow night. Nothing would please us more than if you’d attend as our guest of honor. However, given the circumstances surrounding your gift, we’d certainly understand if—”

  “Can I think about it? We have a lot of details to—”

  “Of course. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to my office.”

  Joe’s office was what she’d imagined. It was, as far as Claire could tell, the only inviting area in the chapel, carpeted with a worn oriental rug in warm colors, the book-lined walls painted a deep terra cotta. Joe offered her one of the four chairs around the small table.

  Evelyn came in with a tray of coffee and cinnamon rolls. Thank you Jesus.

  “Help yourselves.” Evelyn smiled, backed out of the room.

  Joe reached across the table to pour coffee. Claire thought she’d gnaw through his arm to get to the rolls. They sat, drank, and chewed. Claire watched the tourists tramp around the cemetery through Joe’s office window while she ate.

  Joe wiped his mouth with his napkin, “Your attorney phoned. The funds are transferred. We’ll close the deal with the property owner in the next few days and start clearing the land.”

  “How long will that take?” Claire asked.

  “Not long. As you’ve seen there’s not much there. We’ll clear what little there is and lay sod
. We’re going to have some lag time nonetheless.”

  “Lag time?”

  “Yes. The mausoleum needs to be shipped and assembled.”

  “Assembled?”

  “Yes. It’s prefabricated.”

  “Prefabricated? Like a... like a mobile home?”

  The trailer park for the dead.

  “Well yes, simply put. You don’t have to go that route. You can go custom but that can take months. Prefab is the quickest.”

  “Prefab it is then. How much lag time are we talking about?”

  How long can it take to make a trailer with some drawers to cram ashes in?

  “The last time I—”

  Before Joe could finish his sentence a flash of bright green caught Claire’s eye. What the— She smacked her coffee cup down on the table with a splash and a rattle and leaned forward to get closer to the window. Several people were weaving in and out of the headstones.

  “Claire, is anything—”

  She put her hand up. Joe stopped talking. She kept her eyes glued to the ground. They darted back and forth fast, she felt like a lizard stalking a fly. Several seconds passed. There. She saw them again. The bright green clogs. She wasn’t imagining things. She zeroed in and went upward. Good God in heaven.

  Rob Rhino.

  Claire leapt out of the chair and ran out of the office, Joe on her heels.

  “Claire, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be right back. I’m fine. Stay here. I just saw someone.” She ran out the chapel door toward where she’d seen Rob Rhino. The crush of visitors blocked her charge and her vision. Every few steps she dipped up and down to see if she could spot him. Where’d he go?

  She blurted “Excuse me. Pardon me” to a few startled tourists as she pushed past them, a bald nut on a mission. About to bolt off the pathway she spotted him.

  “What are you doing here? You’re following me, aren’t you?” Claire said breathless.

  He lifted his big head up, his eyes opened wide in surprise. “Hey, Claire Corrigan. What are you doing here?”

  He moseyed out from behind a grave toward her his hula girl shirt swaying across his hanging belly. The same one from the day before. It looked like her hotel bedspread.

  Claire, flustered and frightened, said, “I asked you first.”

  He stood close to her. “It’s cool. No worries. Are you okay?”

  Claire’s hands were balled into fists. “No. Just tell me why you’re following me.”

  “Hey now, I’m not following you.” He laughed.

  “What are you doing here?” she said her voice an attack. She jumped up and down, a pissed pogo stick.

  “Okay, okay, calm down. You’re going to blow a gasket or something.” He reached out and patted her arm. “Is the cemetery only open to you?”

  “What?” She yanked her arm away. “No, of course not.”

  “Okay then.”

  “It’s a strange coincidence don’t you think?” She shook. “And I don’t believe in coincidences. I need to sit down.” Before she fell down.

  Rob Rhino led her to a stone bench. “Should I see if there’s some water somewhere?”

  “No, I’m fine. I just... never mind.” She sat, put her head down toward her knees and held it with both hands. After a minute or so of deep breathing she collected herself. Sitting next to Rob she saw his badly dyed hair was clean and his rank odor gone.

  “My wife Gloria is buried there.” He pointed toward a headstone across the path, set several feet away from a cluster of other graves, underneath the peaceful sanctuary of a leafy shade tree. A lone and lonely monument.

  His blurted pronouncement made Claire feel kind of bad. She worked her expression, keeping it neutral, didn’t want him catching on she already knew Gloria sang with the angels. “Oh I’m sorry. I—”

  “It’s cool, no worries. It’s been years.” He looked out across the cemetery, his gray eyes filled. “I come here when I’m in town. It’s a beautiful place. Reminds me of her. Everywhere you look, beauty.”

  Claire felt her own eyes fill, moved by his unexpected simple sentiment. “Yes, this place is spectacular.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m making funeral arrangements for my husband.”

  “Oh sad.” He shook his head, eyes darkened.

  “Umm... yeah.”

  “Hey, didn’t you say your husband died a year ago?”

  “You remembered? Yes, he did. It’s a long story.”

  “You are a weird one, Claire Corrigan.”

  “I’m weird? Well, here’s a newsflash—”

  The red Corvette revved up alongside the path, blackened windows rolled up tight. Before Claire could inquire about its driver Rob jumped up.

  “Gotta fly, Claire Corrigan. You take care.”

  She breathed exhaust as they peeled away. Claire stood. People tromping by eyed her with suspicion. She remembered Joe waited for her and took two steps in the chapel’s direction but changed her mind. She was right there after all. So close. Might as well pay her respects. Or something like that. After jostling through a few alumni, she crossed the path, lowered her head in front of Gloria’s headstone.

  Faithful Husband Father Soldier—Louis David Barnes—1824–1898

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joe paced in the front of the chapel. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. I just saw someone I never in a million years expected to see.”

  Claire zipped back to the office, Joe followed.

  “Really?” Joe said. “It’s a small world isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  Bet ole Joe’d be shocked to find out who Claire slummed around with. She felt the heat of a blush climb up her neck at the thought of it.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Can we talk about the mausoleum?”

  “Certainly.”

  Claire took her seat, leaned down into her Kelly bag, dug for buried treasure.

  Joe took out a legal pad, held his Mont Blanc poised over it. “Let’s start with the correct spelling of Liam’s name. As you’d like it to appear on the crypt.”

  “Do you have a directory?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A directory.” Claire leaned forward. “A list of names. Everyone buried here.”

  Joe sat up straighter in his mission-style chair, peered down his considerable nose. “Well, yes. Is there someone in particular I can—”

  “No. It’s…” Claire wished she was quicker on her feet—or seat. “I guess with all the history I thought it’d be interesting to scroll through some of the names. See if I recognize any historical ones. You know since I’ve got time to kill.”

  Joe rearranged his mouth like he’d eaten something disagreeable. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  What was it to him anyway?

  “We’re happy to oblige certainly.” Joe must’ve remembered she was worth five million dollars. “We do have a computerized directory. You’re more than welcome to peruse.”

  “How would—”

  “Our office is yours.” He grinned like a ghoul. “Before you leave Evelyn can direct you to the volunteer desk. It’s free more than half the time. She’ll show you how to access the database.”

  ****

  “Three weeks? Why three weeks?” Grace said.

  “Because it’s going to take that long to ship and assemble the mausoleum,” Claire said.

  “I think it’s premature to set a date for a service when the whole family isn’t sold on the idea.” Elizabeth pursed her lips, though it was tough to be sure. Hard to guess her age. She looked more like Grace’s sister than her daughter. Identical bad perms.

  “What idea?” Joe said.

  “The family crypt,” Claire said.

  “Ahhh... well, are there any questions I can answer for you?” Joe looked back and forth between Grace and Elizabeth. Their early arrival interrupted Joe an
d Claire’s meeting.

  “It’s for the family to decide.” Elizabeth reared back like Joe’d goosed her.

  Clearly right at home on the corner of Awkward and None of Your Business Joe pressed on. “Claire has a beautiful spot picked out and a top-of-the-line mausoleum on its way.”

  Before Elizabeth could put Joe in his place, Grace said, “Elizabeth, your father is already in this cemetery. What difference does it make to you if we move him a few feet? If you feel strongly about it, you don’t have to participate. You and William can go someplace else in the hereafter.”

  Alarmed, Claire hadn’t thought of that. “Elizabeth, why don’t you think it over? Like Joe said we’ve got three weeks.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms over her flat chest like a two-year-old. “Liam hated me. I never did anything to him. He was jealous of me. He didn’t even come to my wedding. Why should I do this for him? I know you’re bald and all—”

  “Claire had an excellent idea. Why don’t you think it over?” Joe got off the bench and cast a withering look at Elizabeth. “I’m going to make a call and—”

  Elizabeth cut Joe off like an unsightly growth. “All Liam did was lord his money over us. This is more of the same. Why would I want to be in a place after I’m dead that I couldn’t afford when I was alive?” Elizabeth said bitter and terse. “Liam was Mr. Moneybags but too cheap to send his own mother Christmas or birthday presents. It broke her heart.”

  Claire glanced at Grace, looking at her lap. Liam sent her Christmas and birthday presents every year, despite their rift, over Claire’s protests. Expensive ones.

  Speaking of moneybags.

  “Interesting, Elizabeth, your father was able to afford a plot here.” Claire sharpened her claws. “Unless I’m missing something, Emmet wasn’t a donor or a trustee.”

  Grace sucked air in Hindenburg gulps. “What are you—”

  Elizabeth’s head swirled. “What’s wrong Mother? What’s she talking about?”