it. The gladiolus had always repelled her just as they had her father, but she minded them less because they were dead than that they had always been such a symbol of death itself. She remembered shuddering at her wedding when she saw those frilly spears, so unnaturally tall, standing on the altar. Between two rows of headstones she saw Leonard Fogarty running the hand mower, the skin of his flat head pale white beneath the stubble of his brush cut. He would be pleased when he turned and saw her, would come running over with his awkward gait, smiling all over his face, calling “Hi Hi Hi.” She remembered him on her wedding day, too, and the sound he had made, like a calling bird: oooooooh, as she came out of the house in her pale cream dress, the color of eggnog.
The cemetery was a beautiful place, although she had had enough of the accoutrements of death during the past week to last her a lifetime. It shamed her to know that she was thinking of a new life as well; not the one inside her, but the one around her. They all were. Even Mr. O’Neal had been happy at John Scanlan’s wake, although he had done his best to hide it. The family had taken the heaviest, most expensive bronze casket he had for what he knew would be the largest funeral he would handle all year. The Scanlan family had printed up a thousand holy cards in anticipation of the crowd. When all of the nuns from Margaret’s convent entered at once, Mark had turned to Tommy and whispered, “Call and get more cards.”
“Get the sewing machines converted quick for blouses and table runners,” Tommy whispered back, and Connie, overhearing, had had to stifle a laugh. Tommy turned and grinned at her, and then, very softly, he ran his hand over the down of her upper arm. She had shivered and then slowly smiled.
For part of the evening she had found herself alone in one corner with her sister-in-law Gail, who had never become accustomed to the lively air of Catholic funerary rites, particularly the position of the departed at the front of the room like a table centerpiece. Nevertheless she had tried to join in. “He looks good, doesn’t he?” Gail had said to Connie.
“He looks dead, Gail.”
“You two are certainly taking this hard,” Gail said. “Tommy has seemed so moody. It wasn’t like him to snap at Mother the way he did.”
Connie sighed. “He loved his father,” she said, thinking of how little nuance the sentence contained.
“Yes,” said Gail piously, adjusting the lapels of her black suit. She looked down at Connie’s belly, draped in black wool. “Aren’t you hot?”
“It’s the only black maternity dress I have,” Connie said. “Tomorrow I’ll have to wear a blue one.”
Gail looked down at her hands in her lap and twisted her wedding ring. “We’re going to adopt a baby,” she said.
“That’s wonderful, Gail,” said Connie, feeling a surge of pity for her sister-in-law, her hair so carefully barretted back, her fingers turning, turning her ring. “That’s great. You’ll love it. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world, being a mother.” She wondered what it was about this situation that made her say so many things that sounded right but felt suspect. She was afraid that if she stayed here much longer, among the liverish pink and pale green brocades, she would find herself, like the head of the carpenters union now standing behind her, talking of what a good man John Scanlan was, and how much he loved his sons.
“We couldn’t have done it while he was alive,” Gail said, her voice still lowered as though she was afraid her father-in-law would hear. It was a testimonial to John Scanlan’s vivid personality that even Connie, who had no illusions about death, had looked up several times during the evening and momentarily expected him to leap from his prone position and throttle someone who had done him dirty over the years.
“How do you feel about all this?” Gail said suddenly, in what sounded like an accusatory tone.
“Do you mean am I glad he’s dead?” Connie asked, and without waiting for an answer she went on, “Not really. I thought I would be, but I think it will probably upset things more than it will help them. And it will be hard to be happy at the wedding on Saturday. But I’m glad for you about the baby.”
“Mark