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there were bound to be quite a few strangers, even after all that time.
Bitter early March, the land still frozen, locked up beneath steel clouds and
day-old snow that was already tarnished with the grime of Utica. The wind hit
Tim's face like cold fire as he ran from the diner to his car. It was then,
while he sat huddled and shivering, waiting for the engine to idle down and
the
heater to generate some feeble warmth, that the idea came to him. He would go
to
Evvy's wake.
Why not? He was curious to see her again, even if she was dead or maybe
because
she was dead, and that was morbid. But on the other hand, her parents would
appreciate the gesture. You can never have too many visitors at a wake. It
was
only about twenty miles away, in Rome. Besides, he had no one to rush home
to,
nor anything better to do with his evening.
That was how far he'd gotten, Tim thought. Twenty-odd miles in twenty-odd
years.
Never mind. He'd seen enough of the world when he was in the army to realize
that upstate New York was the
229
place for him. He came back alive and whole, and settled into a modest but
clean
apartment on the eastern edge of Utica. After a few false starts he had landed
a
decent job at the bottling plant and had been there ever since. Nothing to
crow
about, but it was a life and it did have its occasional moments, although Tim
would be hard-pressed to enumerate many of them. When he wanted female
company
he could always find it. Somebody's neglected wife, or a divorcee on the
wrong
side of thirty, or any of the women at work who were still single because
they
were overweight or ugly or too crushingly dull to snag a mate. Nothing
romantic,
but the years had given Tim a rather functional attitude to sex.
His was just an ordinary life, but he never regretted it or felt sorry for
himself. He liked it the way it was, uncluttered and straightforward, low-key
but comfortable. At least he would never be shipped home in a steel box in
the
cargo hold of a jet plane while strangers drank cocktails overhead. Funny,
how
he'd been to Vietnam and escaped that fate, while Evelyn went to L.A. and
hadn't. Poor Evvy.
Tim polished his dress shoes. He put on his best shirt and tie, and his only
suit. He had second thoughts while driving to the wake, but promptly
dismissed
them. If he felt awkward when he got there he would just take a quick look at
her, mumble some words to the parents, and then leave. That's what he'd
probably
do anyway; no sense in sitting around once his juvenile curiosity had been
satisfied.
But what actually happened was shockingly pathetic. Mr. and Mrs. Grace were
the
only people there when Tim arrived. He felt very odd indeed as he crossed the
room and knelt down at the open casket. For a few moments he was occupied
with
Evvy. She looked lovely still, her face virtually unmarked by the years and
events of her life. The mortician had done a good job, applying no more
makeup
than was absolutely necessary. Even now she retained her girlish good looks,
the
ghostly afterimage of a beauty you never forget once you'd encountered it.
Tim was touched by her haunting appearance, saddened by the fact that her
life
had plummeted to this abrupt end, and he found himself wishing that he had
met
her when they were in high school
230
together. How different everything might be now--for the both of them--if
they
had. It was an idle fantasy, of course, but Tim believed there was a kernel
of
truth in it. Don't all lives have at least one turning point that's flukey or
accidental or capricious? Too bad, too bad ...
At last he stood up and turned to Evvy's parents. Leonard Grace was small and
wiry, with a scattering of white fuzz about his largely bare scalp. His
manner
was bright and alert, though he nodded his head too often, as if to emphasize
his agreeable and understanding nature. Charlotte Grace was plump, with a
moon
face and a distracted air. It took Tim a few minutes to notice that now and
then
she would fade right out of the conversation, like a distant radio signal
drifting in the ether. She had run the family for as long as it had existed,
was
Tim's guess, but now she was probably an Alzheimer's case.
Tim explained that he had been to high school with Evelyn, and her parents
were
very grateful to him for taking the time to come to the wake. He didn't
actually
say that he'd been a friend of their daughter, but they somehow got that idea
and he saw no need to clarify the matter. It was such a sad situation, two
old
people, one of them not quite all there, alone with the dead body of their
only
child.
And hardly anyone came. The calling hours were from seven to nine, and in
that
time perhaps half a dozen people appeared to pay their respects. They were
older
folks, acquaintances of the parents, and none of them stayed more than ten
minutes.
It was amazing, shocking, to Tim, who had expected a rather large turnout. A
lot
of people would have moved away over the years, but there still had to be
plenty
of former friends and classmates of Evelyn's left in Rome, so where were
they?
It was as if nobody wanted to admit knowing her. But why? Just because she'd
been something of a bad girl, running off to California, living a wild,
silly,
rotten life? Because she'd met her squalid death at an age when she should
have [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
there were bound to be quite a few strangers, even after all that time.
Bitter early March, the land still frozen, locked up beneath steel clouds and
day-old snow that was already tarnished with the grime of Utica. The wind hit
Tim's face like cold fire as he ran from the diner to his car. It was then,
while he sat huddled and shivering, waiting for the engine to idle down and
the
heater to generate some feeble warmth, that the idea came to him. He would go
to
Evvy's wake.
Why not? He was curious to see her again, even if she was dead or maybe
because
she was dead, and that was morbid. But on the other hand, her parents would
appreciate the gesture. You can never have too many visitors at a wake. It
was
only about twenty miles away, in Rome. Besides, he had no one to rush home
to,
nor anything better to do with his evening.
That was how far he'd gotten, Tim thought. Twenty-odd miles in twenty-odd
years.
Never mind. He'd seen enough of the world when he was in the army to realize
that upstate New York was the
229
place for him. He came back alive and whole, and settled into a modest but
clean
apartment on the eastern edge of Utica. After a few false starts he had landed
a
decent job at the bottling plant and had been there ever since. Nothing to
crow
about, but it was a life and it did have its occasional moments, although Tim
would be hard-pressed to enumerate many of them. When he wanted female
company
he could always find it. Somebody's neglected wife, or a divorcee on the
wrong
side of thirty, or any of the women at work who were still single because
they
were overweight or ugly or too crushingly dull to snag a mate. Nothing
romantic,
but the years had given Tim a rather functional attitude to sex.
His was just an ordinary life, but he never regretted it or felt sorry for
himself. He liked it the way it was, uncluttered and straightforward, low-key
but comfortable. At least he would never be shipped home in a steel box in
the
cargo hold of a jet plane while strangers drank cocktails overhead. Funny,
how
he'd been to Vietnam and escaped that fate, while Evelyn went to L.A. and
hadn't. Poor Evvy.
Tim polished his dress shoes. He put on his best shirt and tie, and his only
suit. He had second thoughts while driving to the wake, but promptly
dismissed
them. If he felt awkward when he got there he would just take a quick look at
her, mumble some words to the parents, and then leave. That's what he'd
probably
do anyway; no sense in sitting around once his juvenile curiosity had been
satisfied.
But what actually happened was shockingly pathetic. Mr. and Mrs. Grace were
the
only people there when Tim arrived. He felt very odd indeed as he crossed the
room and knelt down at the open casket. For a few moments he was occupied
with
Evvy. She looked lovely still, her face virtually unmarked by the years and
events of her life. The mortician had done a good job, applying no more
makeup
than was absolutely necessary. Even now she retained her girlish good looks,
the
ghostly afterimage of a beauty you never forget once you'd encountered it.
Tim was touched by her haunting appearance, saddened by the fact that her
life
had plummeted to this abrupt end, and he found himself wishing that he had
met
her when they were in high school
230
together. How different everything might be now--for the both of them--if
they
had. It was an idle fantasy, of course, but Tim believed there was a kernel
of
truth in it. Don't all lives have at least one turning point that's flukey or
accidental or capricious? Too bad, too bad ...
At last he stood up and turned to Evvy's parents. Leonard Grace was small and
wiry, with a scattering of white fuzz about his largely bare scalp. His
manner
was bright and alert, though he nodded his head too often, as if to emphasize
his agreeable and understanding nature. Charlotte Grace was plump, with a
moon
face and a distracted air. It took Tim a few minutes to notice that now and
then
she would fade right out of the conversation, like a distant radio signal
drifting in the ether. She had run the family for as long as it had existed,
was
Tim's guess, but now she was probably an Alzheimer's case.
Tim explained that he had been to high school with Evelyn, and her parents
were
very grateful to him for taking the time to come to the wake. He didn't
actually
say that he'd been a friend of their daughter, but they somehow got that idea
and he saw no need to clarify the matter. It was such a sad situation, two
old
people, one of them not quite all there, alone with the dead body of their
only
child.
And hardly anyone came. The calling hours were from seven to nine, and in
that
time perhaps half a dozen people appeared to pay their respects. They were
older
folks, acquaintances of the parents, and none of them stayed more than ten
minutes.
It was amazing, shocking, to Tim, who had expected a rather large turnout. A
lot
of people would have moved away over the years, but there still had to be
plenty
of former friends and classmates of Evelyn's left in Rome, so where were
they?
It was as if nobody wanted to admit knowing her. But why? Just because she'd
been something of a bad girl, running off to California, living a wild,
silly,
rotten life? Because she'd met her squalid death at an age when she should
have [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]