The Wake Trilogy: Gone Part 17

"Ready?" Janie asks. "After you."

Dorothea nods. She walks unsteadily to the hallway.

Cabel smiles as the two approach. He's wearing a dark gray suit and he looks pretty freaking amazing in it. His hair is tamed and still damp, curling up just barely over his collar. "I'm very sorry about your loss, Ms. Hannagan," he says. He offers his arm to her.

Dorothea looks surprised for a minute, but she gathers her wits and takes his arm as he ushers her to the door and outside to the awaiting car. "Thank you," she says with rare dignity.

10:49 a.m.

They arrive at the cemetery early. The grave site is obvious by the pile of dirt, the suspended pine box, and the rabbi and cemetery workers around it. There are several other people standing quietly nearby as well. Cabel pulls the car to the side of the narrow road.

Janie gets out of the car and helps her mother out of the front seat. The three of them walk together as the rabbi comes to greet them.

"Good morning," he says. "I'm Rabbi Ari Greenbaum." He reaches out his hand.

Janie takes it. "I'm Janie Hannagan. This is my mother, Dorothea Hannagan, and my friend, Cabel Strumh.e.l.ler. I am the daughter of the deceased." She's proud she doesn't stutter through it, but she's been practicing in her mind. "Thank you for helping us with this. We . . . none of us is Jewish. Not, really, anyway. I guess." She blushes.

The rabbi smiles warmly, apparently unbothered by the news. He turns and they walk together to the grave site. Rabbi Greenbaum goes over the details of the ceremony and hands each of them a card with Psalm 23 written on it.

Dorothea stares at the words on the card. She looks up at the casket. Glares at it. Her mouth quivers but she remains quiet.

The strangers approach and stand around the grave sitea"several men and a few women as well. "From my congregation," the rabbi explains. "The men prepared your father's body for burial and sat with him through the night, then acted as pallbearers and carried the coffin here."

Janie looks up, grateful. Thinking this is all so very strange, but sort of beautiful, too. How thoughtful of these people to do this, and to take the time to come to the funeral of a stranger.

They stand near the grave and wait. Even the birds are quiet as they approach the heat of the day.

Janie stares into the hole. Sees a thin tree root, freshly cut, its raw, white end sticking out of the dirt. She pictures the casket at the bottom of the pit, under all that heavy dirt, the roots growing and wrapping around it, seizing it, breaking through the casket, seizing the body. She shakes her head to clear it and looks up at the blue sky instead.

Behind her, Janie hears more cars approaching. She turns to look and sees two black and whites. Sergeants Baker, Cobb, and Rabinowitz get out, dressed in uniform. Behind the cop cars is a black sedan and Captain steps out.

Charlie and Megan Strumh.e.l.ler are right behind, still tan from their week at the lake. And then Ethel pulls up with Carrie and Stu. Janie tears up a little. In the distance, a big, brown UPS truck rumbles up the narrow cemetery road. Janie can't believe ita"all these people coming. She looks at Cabe, incredulous. "How did they know?" she whispers. He smiles and shrugs.

It's time.

The rabbi greets the tiny congregation of attendees and speaks for a moment.

And then.

"May he to his resting place in peace," the rabbi says.

Before Janie can think, the cemetery workers lower the casket into the grave and soon everyone is looking down on her father in a box. Next to Janie, Dorothea sniffles loudly and sways. Janie grabs her mother around the shoulders and steadies her as the rabbi begins talking again.

And as Janie absorbs the ebb and flow of the rabbi's words, the musical lilt of the Psalms, a little part of her life suffocates in that pine box in the ground too.

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." Janie is startled from her thoughts by the group around her, all reciting aloud. She hurries to find her place on the handout and reads along.

And then the rabbi asks if anybody wants to share a story about Henry.

Janie stares at the gra.s.s.

After a moment, Cathy, dressed in her standard UPS browns, clears her throat and steps forward. Janie can feel her mother stiffen.

"Who's that?" Dorothea hisses to Janie.

Janie squeezes her mother's shoulder and says nothing.

"Henry Feingold was my customer, and over the years we became good friends," Cathy says, her voice wavering. "He always had a cup of coffee to offer or a cool drink. And when he found out I like to collect snow globes, he started looking for them when he was buying things for his little Internet shop. He was a really thoughtful man, and I'm going to miss him on my route and . . . I'm grateful to you, Janie, for letting me know that he pa.s.sed on so I could have a chance to say good-bye. And that's it." Cathy steps back to her spot.

"Thank you. Anyone else?"

Cabel nudges Janie. She pokes him back.

And then, and then.

Dorothea says, "I want to say something."

Janie freaks out inside.

The rabbi nods, and Dorothea takes a few unsteady steps to where she can turn around and face the crowd.

What is she going to say? Janie glances at Cabe, sees his eyes are worried too.

Dorothea's thin voice isn't easy to hear in this wide-open s.p.a.ce.

At least, it isn't until she starts yelling.

"Henry was the father of Janie, here. The only man I ever loved. But he left me after I quit school for him, and my parents wouldn't let me back home. He was crazy and a horrible person. He ruined my life, and I'm glad he's dead!" With that, Dorothea fumbles at the zipper of her purse.

"Dear G.o.d," Cabe whispers.

The small crowd is completely shocked into silence. Janie rushes over and guides her mother back to the spot where they were standing. She feels her face boiling and red. Sweat drips down her back. She purposely averts her eyes from the guests. Mortified.

It doesn't help that Dorothea manages to get her purse open and makes only a small effort to hide that she's taking a swig from the flask.

Rabbi Greenbaum hastens to speak.

Cabe rests his hand on the small of Janie's back to comfort her. He looks down at the ground and Janie can see the amused look on his face. She feels like stomping on his foot. And pus.h.i.+ng her mother into the grave hole. Wonders what sort of sitcom that would turn this scene into.

Janie looks up and catches the rabbi's attention. "May I say something?" she asks.

"Of course," Rabbi Greenbaum says, although he looks uncertain.

Janie stays where she's standing and just looks at the casket. "I've known my father for one week," she says. "I've never seen him move, never looked him in the eye. But in that short time, I found out a lot about him. He kept to himself, didn't bother anybody, just lived the life he was given the best way he knew how.

"He wasn't crazy," she continues.

"Was too," Dorothea mutters.

"He wasn't crazy," Janie repeats, ignoring her mother, "he just had an unusual problem that is really hard to explain to anybody who doesn't understand it." Her voice catches. She looks at her mother. "I think, and I'll always believe, that Henry Feingold was a good person. And I am not at all glad he's dead." Janie's lip quivers. It's like the numbness is suddenly wearing off. "I wish I had him back so I could get to know him." Tears trickle down her face.

When it is clear that Janie has said all that she has to say, the rabbi leads Kaddish, a prayer. Then he smiles and beckons Janie to come around the other side of the grave, guiding her to the pile of dirt. Cabel takes Dorothea by the arm and follows. There are several shovels on the ground. They each pick one up.

Janie takes a heaping shovelful of dirt and holds it over the hole in the ground. A trickle of dirt slips off and hits the casket below. She can hardly bear to turn the shovel. The rabbi murmurs something about returning to dust, and finally she turns the shovel over. The thud of the dirt on the wood hurts her stomach.

Dorothea does the same, her arms shaking, and Cabel does it too, and slowly each member of the small crowd takes a shovelful of dirt and releases it into the hole. They continue to fill it.

And that's when Dorothea loses it.

She falls to her knees, almost as if she's just now realized the truth of it. "Henry!" she cries. Her sobs turn to deep shudders. Janie just stands next to her, unable to help. Unwilling to try to stop it.

Such a mess. Janie can see it now, all the guys at the department talking about Janie's mother the drunk, the one who ruined a funeral, the one who f.u.c.ked around and had an illegitimate daughter and isn't fit to do much of anything but be an embarra.s.sment. She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gets more dirt.

It doesn't matter anyway.

When they are finished, the mound of fresh earth tamped off, Janie knows she has to face the guests. Cabel gets Dorothea to the car.

Janie lays her shovel on the ground. She straightens again and Captain is there.

Captain embraces Janie. Holds her. "You did well," she says. "I'm so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Janie says, tears flowing fresh again. This isn't the first time Janie's cried on Captain's shoulder. "I'm so embarra.s.sed."

"Don't be." Captain's voice is firma"it's a command. For Janie, it's nice to have somebody else running the show for a moment, at least. A relief. Captain pats Janie's back. "Will you be sitting s.h.i.+vah?"

Janie pulls away to look at her. "I don't think so. What's that, again?"

Captain smiles. "It's a time of mourning. It's usually a week, but whatever you decide."

Janie shakes her head. "We . . . I don't . . . I didn't even know I was half-Jewish until last week. We don't practice or anything."

Captain nods. Takes her hand. "Come by my office when you're ready. No hurry, okay? I think we need to have a talk."

Janie nods. "Yeah, we do."

Captain squeezes Janie's hand and Janie greets the guys from the department. Janie wants to try to explain, apologize for her mother's behavior, but the guys don't let her get a word in about it. They offer condolences and by the end, they're making Janie laugh. Just like always.

It feels good.

Cathy remains by the grave until the guys have left, and then she approaches Janie. "Thank you for the note."

"He'd be glad to know you came, I think," Janie says.

"I dropped off a couple more boxes. They're sitting outside on his step. You want me to return to sender?"

Janie thinks for a moment. "Nah," she says. "I'll take care of it. I'll probably have something that needs to go out tomorrow, then, so . . ." Janie doesn't want to explain here. She'll have all the time in the world to talk to Cathy next week.

"Just request a pickup like you did last time on the Internet, okay? I'll be sure to get them." Cathy looks at her watch. "I got to get back to work. You take care. I'm real sorry."

"I think you knew him best of anyone, Cathy. I'm sorry too."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks." Cathy looks down. She turns and walks to her truck.

Charlie and Megan embrace Janie in a group hug. "You gonna be all right, kiddo?" Charlie asks.

"Sure, she is," Megan says. "She's tough as nails. But we're here for you if you need us, right?"

Janie nods gratefully, thanking them.

And then Carrie and Stu are there, offering comfort. Stu's wearing the same s.h.i.+rt and outdated tie that he wore to the senior prom, and it makes Janie smile, remembering. So much has happened since then.

"I can't believe how many people came," Janie says. "Thank you. It means a lot."

Carrie grabs Janie's hand and squeezes it. "Of course we'd come, you idiot."

Janie smiles and squeezes back. "Hey," she says, "where's your ring?" and then she stops, worried.

Carrie grins and grabs Stu's hand with her free one. "No worries. We decided that we weren't quite ready for that, so I gave it back. He's keeping it safe, aren't you, honey?"

"Very," Stu says. "Thing was freaking expensive."

Janie grins. "I'm glad you guys are doing okay. Thanks again for coming, and Carriea"thanks for all you did."

"Most entertaining funeral I've ever been to," Carrie says.

Stu and Carrie wave good-bye and walk through the gra.s.s to Ethel, swinging hands. Janie watches them go. "Yeah," she says. "Way to go, Carebear."

Janie goes over to the strangers who remain in a small group, talking quietly. "Thank you very much for all you've done," Janie says.

One speaks for all of them. "No thanks necessary. It's an honor to care for the bodies of the deceased. Our sincerest condolences, my dear."

"Ia"thanks. Er . . ." Janie blushes. She looks around and spies the rabbi. Goes to say good-bye. Afterward, seeing no one else, Janie makes her way to the car.

"Not one single flower!" Dorothea is saying. "What kind of funeral is that?"

Cabel pats the woman on the hand. "Jews don't believe in cutting down a living thing to honor the dead, Ms. Hannagan. They don't do cut flowers."

Janie closes the door and leans her head back on the seat. It's nicely cool inside. "How d'you know that, Cabe?" she asks. "Ask-a-rabbi-dot-com?"

Cabel lifts his chin slightly and puts the car into drive. "Maybe."

4:15 p.m.

When there's a knock at the screen door, Janie rouses herself from a nap on the couch, her mother safely tucked away in her room. She fluffs her hair and grabs her gla.s.ses.

It's Rabinowitz.

"Hi. Come in," Janie says, surprised.