air conditioner again. But Janya got right to the point.
“In my country, there is a mourning period after cremation. Ten, sometimes many more, days of fasting, and on the last, we have a feast and offer the food to the gods in the name of the departed. The next day the priests absolve the family, and we resume our regular lives.”
“Don’t tell me you expect us to do that for Herb? We aren’t even related to the man.”
“Not that, exactly.”
“And besides, don’t they burn the widow with her husband’s body in your country? I mean, are these funeral customs we want to follow?”
“Suttee was a cultural, not a religious, custom, and it has been outlawed for nearly two hundred years. Besides, some say it was brought to India by Europeans.”
“Not the best of imports.”
Janya got to her feet, brushing off the back of jeans worn with a long embroidered tunic. “The exact ritual is less important than that there is a ritual. Mr. Krause lived a long, useful life—”
“We don’t know that, do we?”
“We can guess. And he was kind to us. He always had a smile for me.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Would you feel better if we just forgot him? Or if we marked this day together at his house?”
Tracy thought of all the reading she needed to do. Then she thought about the guilt she would feel if she said no. “When?”
“Three. I have already talked to Alice. Wanda I will leave to you.”
“You know, I don’t think she’s as obnoxious as she comes across.”
“There are many people in the world like that.”
Tracy just hoped Janya wasn’t including her in their number.
Saturdays were never good at the Dancing Shrimp. Businessmen and ladies who lunch were replaced by tables of screaming toddlers and young families straight from the beach without money for a decent tip. Wanda understood that—remembered, in fact, when her own children had shared the more economical super-size platters of shrimp and fries, and when every leftover at the table went home in a doggie bag.
Today, though, she had little patience for cleaning up spills, moving booster chairs or finding quieter tables for old ladies who didn’t want to listen to babies screech. Worst of all, she was afraid she might be turning into one of the latter herself.
The moment she could, she left for home, promising herself a hot shower and a cold beer. Instead she found a note from Tracy about the gathering at Herb’s.
“Five minutes?” She kicked a pointy-toed pump against her own door. She could skip it, sure, but what would they say about her if she wasn’t there?
She had just enough time to throw on a clean dress and slide her steaming, aching feet into sandals. Smelling like fried fish, and sticky with perspiration and the remnants of a preschooler’s soft drink, she headed straight to Herb’s.
The others were already assembled. By the time she joined them in the living room she was hotter still, out of sorts, and sorry she had come.
“I thought the man didn’t want a funeral,” she said, fanning herself with her hand.
“It’s a memorial service.” Tracy nodded at Janya. “Janya thought we needed one.”
Janya was wearing one of those long scarves that wrapped around and around and fell into some kind of a skirt. Wanda couldn’t remember what it was called, but this one was light blue, almost silver. Her hair was parted and knotted at her nape, and her forehead sported a red dot. Wanda thought she looked like some princess out of an exotic fairy tale.
“I only thought he deserved to have someone thinking of him today,” Janya said.
“Well, it ought to be his family,” Wanda said. “Not a bunch of strange women.”
“Stranger than most,” Tracy agreed.
Tracy was wearing a flowered dress with a high neck and long skirt. The back was low, and her shoulders were bared by the cut of the bodice. Wanda thought she looked like a Hollywood starlet out on a photo shoot.
Now Wanda felt even older and greasier. Even Alice looked as if she’d freshly showered and put on a little makeup. She was wearing a dress that didn’t even snap up the front. It had a waist and everything.
“Is somebody going to read a prayer or something inspirational?” Wanda asked.
“I’m turning this over to Janya,” Tracy said.
“I’m a Christian.” Wanda nodded to emphasize her words. “I can’t be part of any heathen death rituals.”
Janya gazed up at her. “I thought we could each tell a memory we have of Herb. Will that