could even be pretty sure who my pallbearers would have been... .
I yanked myself back to the here-and-now. There was something sickly self-indulgent about reviewing my own funeral.
The ceremony continued about like I'd expected. We listened to two singers plow through two old standards, "Amazing Grace" and "What a Friend We Have in Jesus." Since I can sing myself, the performances were interesting, but no more than that. No one here in Shakespeare knew that I used to sing at weddings and funerals in my little hometown, and that was just fine with me. I was better than the woman who sang "Amazing Grace," but my range wasn't as good as the girl who performed second.
I sighed and recrossed my legs. Janet kept her gaze fixed properly on the singers, and Becca examined her cuticles and removed a fragment of thread from the setting of her diamond dinner ring.
I might have known Joel McCorkindale would not let the occasion pass with a simple eulogy, if he'd decided there was a point to be made. To no one's surprise, he based his sermon on the passage in Thessalonians where Paul warns us that the day of Lord will come like a thief in the night.
The preacher made more of a meal of it than I'd expected. His point was that someone had usurped God's rights in taking Deedra's life. I found myself growing stern and affronted. He was taking away the focus of the funeral from Deedra, who was actually the dead person, and focusing on the man who'd killed her.
To my alarm, the people in the congregation who were used to his style of preaching began to agree audibly with his points. Every now and then a man or a woman would raise hands above head and say, "Amen! Praise the Lord!"
I turned my head slightly to check out Janet's reaction. Her eyes were about to pop out of her head, and she gave them a significant roll when she saw me match her own astonishment. I had never been in a church where it was the norm for the congregation to speak out loud, and by Janet's facial expression, neither had she. Becca, on the other hand, was smiling slightly, as if the whole thing was performance art staged for her benefit.
I could tell the men and women who ordinarily attended this church were very comfortable with this, this... audience participation. But I was horribly embarrassed, and when I saw Lacey leaning forward in her seat, hands clasped above her head, tears rolling down her face, I almost got up and left. I never talked to God myself, having gotten out of the inclination for faith after that summer in Memphis; but if I did have such a conversation, I knew it would be in private and no one around me would know. In fact, I promised myself that.
Janet and I were so glad when the service was over that it was all we could do not to bolt from the church. Becca seemed intrigued with the whole experience.
"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" she asked, but not in a voice low enough to suit me. We were still close to the other mourners, who were scattering to climb into their cars for the drive to the cemetery.
Janet shook her head silently.
"Who knows what'll happen at the gravesite," Becca said in happy anticipation.
"You'll have to catch a ride with Carlton," I said, nodding toward my neighbor who was just coming out of the church. "I'm going home." I started down the sidewalk. Janet trotted after me.
"Hold up, Lily!" she said. "I don't think I'll go to the cemetery either. That service kind of shook me up. I guess Methodists are too repressed for something that emotionally ... open."
" 'Open,' " I snarled, and kept on walking. "I didn't like that."
"You mean the church? The people?"
I nodded.
"Well, I wasn't raised that way either, but it seemed to make them feel better," Janet commented cautiously. "I don't know, it might have been kind of comforting."
I shuddered.
"Listen, what are you going to do now?"
"Call the hospital."
"About what?"
"Joe C."
"Oh, yeah, he had a fire last night, didn't he?"
I nodded. "See you later," I told Janet. I forced myself to add, "Thanks for going with me."
Janet looked happier. "You're welcome. Thanks for letting me use your driveway." She got into her red Toyota and started it up, waving at me as she backed out.
The street was filled with cars pulling away from