“I know,” the old lady said. “When I think how many minutes of my life I’ve spent putting on lipstick!”
“I read once that the average woman spends seventy-two days shaving her legs over the course of a lifetime,” Audra said. “And—”
Graham cleared his throat and made a little motion with his head toward the front of the chapel. Both women fell silent, although nothing had happened yet. No minister had appeared. The coffin was there, closed. The octagonal maple coffin with brass trimmings—it reminded Graham intensely of Audra’s earring box.
Audra leaned back across Graham and said, “Speaking of lipstick—”
And so it was that even on this day, the day they buried Elspeth, Graham had to listen while Audra talked to strangers about tuna breath. He supposed there was a life lesson in there somewhere. He just didn’t know what it was.
—
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that no one came to Elspeth’s funeral—at least two dozen corporate types, presumably colleagues, were there—but almost literally no one came to the wake. All the corporate types had pulled out their phones and checked their email as soon as the service was over, and then all of them slipped away. Even the old lady who’d given Audra the breath mint, and Graham had pegged her as the type who would almost certainly stay, especially if refreshments were involved.
But the only people who followed Graham and Audra to the tiny room in the back of the funeral parlor were the minister and an elderly man in a heathery purple sweater.
The minister had wild curly gray hair and eyeglasses with pink-tinted lenses. He looked like someone you’d meet at a Grateful Dead concert. He had delivered a strange, second-person eulogy so generic that it sounded like a horoscope. (“You were reliable, hardworking, kind, and considerate. You were a quiet person who liked to be alone.”)
Now he stood next to the buffet eating a sandwich.
“Virginia ham,” he said to Audra, who stood next to him.
“American cheese,” Audra responded carefully, evidently thinking the minister was some sort of eccentric. (Or, alternatively, she may have thought he was attempting to play a word game—she loved word games.)
“No,” the minister said. “I meant, this sandwich is made with Virginia ham. I can tell from just one bite. That’s how many wakes I’ve been to.”
“Is that so?” Audra said in a pleased voice. “I’m that way about doughnuts. I could eat the teeniest crumb and tell you exactly what kind of doughnut it came from because one summer in high school I worked at Dunkin’ Donuts. And at the end of the summer, the manager took me aside and said, ‘It’s my policy to let employees eat as many doughnuts as they like because I’ve found they get tired of eating doughnuts all the time pretty quick. But you never got tired!’ I felt so self-conscious! I thought, Well, you awful, awful man. See if I ever clean behind the spiral mixer again!” Suddenly she looked contrite and laid her hand on the minister’s arm. “I’m sorry—I guess that wasn’t a very Christian thing to say.”
“Well, it wasn’t very Christian of the manager to point out how many doughnuts you’d eaten,” the minister said.
“No, indeed,” Audra said, immediately cheerful again. “Now, tell me, were you and Elspeth close?”
The minister reached for another sandwich. “Who?”
Graham sighed and turned away. The old man in the purple sweater was right behind him. “Mr. Cavanaugh?” he said. “I’m Ronald Perkins.”
“Yes, of course.” Graham shook hands with him, and Audra left the minister’s side and joined them. She was wearing a Mexican sundress, and even though it was plain black with no sparkles or embroidery of any kind, there was something about the drawstring neckline and flowing sleeves that struck Graham as inappropriately festive.
“How nice to meet you,” she said to Mr. Perkins. “Were you and Elspeth close?”
“I was the one who hired Elspeth originally,” Mr. Perkins said. Graham saw that Mr. Perkins must be approaching eighty—his hair was a baby-fine white and he had the pointy coat-hanger shoulders old men get. “I had the greatest respect for her, but I didn’t know her very well personally.”
“Oh,” Audra said in a disappointed tone.
“However,” Mr. Perkins continued. “I am the executor of Elspeth’s estate. I was going to call you, Mr. Cavanaugh, but then I thought I might see you here today. Elspeth left you a bequest.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and then held it at arm’s length so he could read it. “?‘In light of our previous relationship, I would like my former husband, Graham Cavanaugh, to choose one item from among my personal effects to keep.’?”
“That’s it?” Audra said.
Mr. Perkins nodded. “Yes, just one item.”
“No,” Audra said. “I mean, that’s all she said about him?”
“I believe so,” Mr. Perkins said. “There is no further mention of Graham in the will.”
“That is so typical of Elspeth,” Audra said. “Now we have no way of knowing whether she meant, you know, ‘In light of how great our love was,’ or ‘In light of what a low-down dirty dog he was.’?”
“Audra,” Graham said gently, although he was thinking the same thing.
“Oh, well, now,” Mr. Perkins said. “I don’t imagine she would have left him anything at all if she disliked him.”
(Which just proved that he really hadn’t known Elspeth at all, Graham thought.)
“But didn’t you write the will?” Audra persisted. “Weren’t you there when she said that? How did she sound? Did she say it like she was still in love with him, or like she couldn’t stand him?”
“She worded the document herself,” Mr. Perkins said. He sounded very relieved to be able to say that. He turned to Graham. “Perhaps we could meet at Elspeth’s apartment one evening this week? I would like to handle this soon, so that we can dispose of the estate.”
“Of course,” Graham said. “Whenever is most convenient for you.”
Mr. Perkins handed him a business card, and Graham put it in the breast pocket of his suit.
“So you’re saying Graham can go to her apartment and choose absolutely anything he takes a fancy to?” Audra said. “Or is it, like, all the good stuff goes to someone else and then whatever Graham doesn’t take gets hauled away by the Salvation Army?”
“No, no,” Mr. Perkins said. “He can come and choose his bequest before anything else is disposed of.”
“Choose from the whole apartment?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Well, cool,” Audra said so abruptly Mr. Perkins blinked.
After that, there really seemed to be nothing to do. Graham wandered over to the buffet, but the minister had eaten most of the ham sandwiches, leaving only the cheese ones, which looked thick and dry, like they would stick to your teeth. There was a tray of carrot sticks growing warped, and two platters of cookies. It reminded Graham of a church day camp he’d gone to as a child where they watered down the apple juice.