Print

      It had been, Ben thinks, not a bad service. A few friends and family members, a soft rain that came and went, and the rich full smell of the earth so recently dug up and returned. The grass could have been a little greener, the sky a little fairer, but those were minor quibbles. The small crowd drifts down the slope to the cars parked in a neat black row, colleagues of his father’s shaking his hand and expressing their condolences. He smiles warmly, trying to remember any of their names. There is supposed to be some manner of post-funereal gathering at his brother’s house, and he thinks of ways to avoid it. His brother, Joe, stands next to him. Leans in to Ben.

“Don’t even think of skipping this,” his brother says quietly. “You need to come. It’s for Dad.”

Ben looks at him. He tries to see the athlete, the brawler who’d once bare-knuckled his way halfway through a visiting Scottish football club. Now, though, he sees the focused lawyer and agent, dark silk bespoke suit from a secret New York City wrapping the result of one woman’s making.  

“Come on, Ben,” Joe says. “Regina’s expecting us straight away.” Regina. Platinum-blonde sister-in-law forged in the fires of Hell. Just now nearing the frontmost limousine, talking with of one of their father’s friends, holding her hands and then she leans and kisses the other’s cheek and says something in quiet tones. The older woman says thank you and gives Regina a small warm hug. Flawless, thinks Ben. Almost like she cares.

“Hey, look, I have to get to the airport,” he says, watching his brother’s wife enter the rear of the long car, gray-suited driver closing the door. “Have a plane to catch, some college professor to meet. Need to get back to work.” The limo pulls quietly away from the curb. Ben’s lying, but he’d rather lie than have to spend time pretending to get along with Regina. “Shouldn’t you have gone with her?” Points to the car as it rounds a curve and disappears from view.

“No, I’ll go in the other limo with you,” Joe says. “Right? What the hell, Ben,” says Joe. “What’s going on. You can’t spend a few hours at the house? Huh? Can’t take care of your obligations?” Though he hasn’t been on a soccer pitch in years, he still has the athletic build and closes in to Ben, bumping chests. “Come on,” he whispers. “We need to do this. Regina’s got everything ready. Come on.” Pleading.

Ben looks straight into his brother’s eyes. He doesn’t have any appointments, but the thought of having to deal with his sister-in-law is almost more than he can bear. But he is a good son, if not a good brother, and he considers that maybe Joe is being so insistent because he can’t stand the idea of hosting this reception with Regina any more than Ben can. “Okay,” he says. “I can book a different flight.” And the tension disappears and the two bump again, shoulders this time, as they turn and continue down the hill.

“There’s some other stuff, too,” says Joe, “Things that Dad left, that we need to go through.”

“Hey, look, I’m all set. I told you that a long time ago.”