A Shadow on the Doorstep

"Thanks for waiting," I said to my friend Pauline, as I parked the stang in the parking lot of the funeral home, and climbed out.

"Good timing," she said. "I was just about to head back home."

"You don't mind going in again?" I asked. Pauline shook her head. I grinned, a dumb joke popping into my head, the way it always does in times of stress. "You could always walk back in and say, 'I had so much fun the first time, I just had to do it again!'"

Pauline shook her head and smiled. So did Corb, when I told that to him, later on.

"How are things going in there?" I asked.

"It's so sad," she said, shaking her head. "His mother is so upset. She just broke down crying at one point, and couldn't stop for about five minutes. I waited until she composed herself to go over."

We walked into the funeral parlor, past the sympathetic silent slightly-smiling person who held the door open for us. I walked over to sign the book. I flipped through it, first, to see who had come before. "Do you see anyone we know?" asked Pauline.

I pointed to Mary-Beth, who had gone in with Pauline the first time. I pointed to her signature, sheer sarcasm. "Oh, look. Mary-Beth was here!"

"Ha ha."

The person standing before the coffin rose from a kneeling position and moved away. It was my turn. I took a deep breath. "Well. Here goes nothing."

I moved forward, and knelt in front of the coffin.
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