Page 82 of Happy Wife

Chapter32

Ten days after

I’m sitting at the vanity in my bathroom in a director’s chair and a hairstylist and a makeup artist are moving around me. Two navy dresses hang from the shower, yet to be decided on. I always thought moments of glam like this were reserved for happy occasions. Like weddings, or movie premieres. But instead it’s for my husband’s funeral.

I watch them transform me from the epic disaster of a human that I have been for the past week—something vaguely akin to a bridge troll that barely sleeps, gobbles wine, and lashes out at the townspeople—into something resembling a tasteful painting that would be titledMourning Wife.Subtle jewelry, subtle makeup, subtle nude heels.

Everything about me is subtle. I’ve been reshaped into something more palatable for polite company. In this getup, you can’t even see the axe-wound-size grief in the middle of my chest or my raging paranoia.

I come down to the kitchen to find Beau and Este waiting for me. I beg them to ride in the limo with me. I can’t bear to show up alone. My mom is trapped at sea. Este laughed when I told her. It wasn’t mean. She was delighted to learn someone else’s family is as fucked up as hers. I make a mental note to ask her about that someday, realizing we’ve never talked much about the past. I wonder ifwe will now. Would there be a “before Will” or “after Will” time stamp on all of our shared memories?

The limo ride is awkward. What do you talk about on the way to a funeral? Beau notices and squeezes my shoulder twice as we pull in front of the church.

Autumn has coordinated the funeral so well that our limo arrives directly in front of the limo carrying Constance, Mia, Fritz, and Gianna. She walks purposefully down the church stairs toward us, making her best attempt to look both somber and stately.

“Great. You’re all here. Fritz, Gianna, Este, and Beau, go ahead and go in. Most of our attendees are seated. I’m going to hold the family just another minute.”

I recognize a congresswoman and her detail standing by. Autumn politely ushers them inside and signals to us to ascend the stairs.

I feel like my feet are stuck on the sidewalk as a wave of dread washes over me. The thought of making this walk with Constance, of all people, is too much for me to bear.

Maybe she’ll burst into flames as she crosses the threshold of the church.

Mia must sense it because she slips her hand into mine and her other hand into Constance’s. It’s such a generous gesture. And if I had been able to shed a single tear since Ardell told me Will was dead, I might cry now, too. Fortunately for the spectators who have come out to bear witness to this affair, my tear ducts are fused shut. It’s for the best—no one likes a messy widow.

The three of us walk in as the organ gently pipes some epic drudgery of somber music. It’s so bleak it’s almost funny. I feel like I am going to have to fight off a fit of laughter, the kind that comes only when you know for absolute certainty that you cannot laugh. I can’t look at Mia, or Constance, even though I think they, too, are realizing this is utterly ridiculous.

We walk up the aisle, generally trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. I’m almost completely undone when I get to the front of the church and Mia squeezes my hand. I pull myself together as we lay the wreath by Will’s urn.

His urn.

The picture I chose of him is a carefree one. That’s why Constance and Gianna hate it. He’s sitting in the captain’s chair onthe boat, his hair is in need of a trim, sunglasses are slung around his neck on a neoprene lanyard. His crooked smile is so quintessentially him. I love that picture. And here it is staring back at me in front of what must be twelve hundred people.

My Will. How did it come to this?

Autumn ducks in and shuffles us to our seats before I can really let the emotions sink in. I barely listen to the funeral as people talk, and eventually Fritz bellows from the pulpit like a preacher. As the eulogy concludes, Fritz gets a little choked up talking about how he and Will were brothers. They met at the University of Florida after Will’s dad died. And Fritz’s family took Will in. I feel like there might be one story in all of this about Will, but Fritz goes on to say how the Hall family was responsible for them both getting through law school and then Fritz’s father handed over his firm to them. Fritz’s ego paints him as the hero of Will’s story, helping to set Will up for a better life all built on Fritz’s back.

I stare at the tile floor, wishing desperately that I could give Constance and Gianna the I-told-you-so glare they so deserve.

Pompous ass. You were right, ladies. That was far better than me talking about my husband.

The organ blast of the recessional almost launches me out of my seat. I follow Constance and Mia out of the church and into the blast of Florida sunshine, where I see Marcus. He makes his way over to me, and I freeze. I’m not sure if I should talk to him here or not.

“Nora, it was a beautiful service.” He leans in to hug me. I only half hug him back. And as I pull away, his hand lingers on the small of my back.

That’s where Will used to put his hand.

“Thank you for coming, Marcus. I should…” I gesture to the limo, feeling guilty for blowing him off so quickly. I take a breath. “Seriously, though. Thank you. And I’m sorry I screamed at you the other night. I’m still polishing my grieving widow manners.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You get a pass for as long as you need it.”

“You’re a good friend. I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“Ah, you’d do the same for me if the shoe was on the other foot.”

“Let’s hope we never have to find out.” I scan the crowd and stop when I see Detective Ardell staring up at Marcus and me. I feel “caught.” I step back from Marcus, and Ardell notices it.

“Nora,” Autumn calls from the waiting car.

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