Hudson House [Now available for the Kindle]

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Before the coffin was sealed and taken to the church for the final rites, the immediate family was allowed to view the deceased once more.

Eric stood center in front of Steve and their father, dad's hands cupping their shoulders-a macabre family picture, forever absent the matriarch. The woman who would never stand among them again, never mind smile in a family portrait, laid before them in a wooden box the color of cherry, with fluffy white fabric puffed around her body.

Eric's mother didn't resemble the woman he had called "Mom" for eleven years. Her face appeared different, recognizable but changed. Eric wouldn't pinpoint the reason until many hours later: make-up covered her face, which made it greasy and false. His mother had never worn so much make-up in life. The red splotches in her cheeks resembled swirls of blood. This illusion of life reminded Eric of the blood puddle on the kitchen floor.

As during her "viewing," Eric's mother breathed slowly and steadily-a gentle rise and fall that only he noticed.

His father choked back a few tears. "She was a wonderful woman, an amazing mother to both of you, and a caring wife. I loved her so much. So much."

He squeezed Eric's shoulder; the padding in his suit crumpled. His mother kept breathing. He wanted to be somewhere else.

"I never imagined this," his father said. "We were supposed to grow old together. This wasn't supposed to happen. I love you, Laura." After another stifling of tears, he told his sons to say goodbye.

Steve nudged Eric toward the coffin. The kneeling thing had been taken away. The flowers that had surrounded the casket last night had been removed, shipped off to the church. The arrangement of white roses that draped over the lower portion of the coffin remained. The flowers smelled of vinegar.

Eric stepped to the edge of the coffin. He fingered the piece of his mother's scalp in his pocket. He couldn't take it out and drop it on her. His father would say something. Hell, Steve might even grab it, want to know what it was, maybe throw it out. He could drop the piece of her head into the hole when they buried her.

"I'm sorry," he said. His father started crying. His hand shook on Eric's shoulder. This wasn't supposed to happen. "I'm sorry," Eric repeated. He started to turn back but Steve nudged him again. Without seeking confirmation, he knew what he was supposed to do, for his father.

Eric leaned forward, over his mother's slowly breathing body, and kissed her blood-red cheek. Contrary to the image of blood, her flesh cooled his lips, like kissing a frozen slab of meat.

His brother pushed him to the side and kissed their mother's forehead where no red makeup had been applied. Then his father told them to wait outside. Steve and Eric walked out of the room and listened to their father cry over his lost wife. Steve went outside to smoke. Eric waited and listened.

Sometime later, Eric's father came out, shoulders hunched, eyes red again, tie crooked.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

The church service went on forever. Eric's suit made his armpits sweat and his pants wedged his underwear into his butt crack. He tried unsuccessfully to remove the wedgie by tugging at his pant legs but stopped when Steve gave him a warning stare. Like this was his fault.

Behind him, Tommy nodded.

His mother's casket-completely closed and sealed now-sat in the main aisle that led to the altar. The roses had been moved to the center of the coffin. Was her head toward the altar or her feet?