To Build a Home

8 | The Funeral

Noah sang, "Gloria," from his car seat in the back of Darren's truck. It was loud and repetitive and no longer cute after about five minutes. We had opted out of a car service for the funeral because of how difficult it had been for Darren and Phil to secure the car seat in the truck before Phil had left for the conference. We wouldn't have had time to secure it in the service car anyway, after the suit debacle.

I fidgeted with the tie in the passenger seat, still slightly uncomfortable at the thought of going to my brother's funeral wearing his suit. But Darren assured me no one would notice and it would be over before we knew it.

"It's fine," Darren confirmed from the driver's seat. "You look fine." I stopped fidgeting. As usual, he was patient and kind and, not surprisingly, a really good driver. I hadn't even noticed we were already approaching the funeral home, the two-mile drive a complete daze.

The Windber Funeral Home was probably the first building erected in the small town and was built on an incline. It was a small beige house that had been converted into a funeral home in the 70s. The paint was chipping and the greenery was overgrown, wrapping around the porch and up the walls. It was surrounded by a parking lot that took up most of the property. Theresa's mother and sister waited for us at the entrance, which was in the back at the bottom of the hill. They waved and headed in our direction as we parked the car.

"You sure we can't just stay here until it's over?" I joked.

Darren shook his head at me. He said hello to Linda and Jeanine, kissing them both on the cheek. "It hasn't even started yet and I've already run out of tissues," Linda said. She held up the empty wrapper of travel tissues as evidence and I looked back at the trail of used ones she had accidentally dropped on her way to the car, crumpled up white balls on the pavement scattered in a crooked path.

I unstrapped Noah from the car seat as he kicked his legs and scrunched his face. He was getting crankier by the minute. He resisted as I tried to lift him out of the seat, squirming and saying, "No, no, no, no, no." I felt the same way.

"Please, Noah. Not now," I pleaded. I handed him the plastic car he had dropped on the floor of the truck and it distracted him long enough for me to get him out of the seat. I was learning that parenthood was all about distraction. Once he was in my arms and on my hip, I noticed he felt warm. "Hey, Linda. Do you think he's starting to get a fever?" I asked.

Linda was a retired school teacher and Theresa had followed in her footsteps. If anyone knew the difference between a sick kid and an overtired kid, it was Linda. She put the back of her hand against his forehead and then the other on his cheek. "He's fine. He just looks a little worked up. Let me take him." I handed Noah to his grandmother. It was the first time she was able to look at him since the accident, so I was comforted by her cooing.

Inside the main room, friends and family were already lined up to view the caskets and share condolences. There were rows of white flower arrangements along the walls. "We better get in place," Darren said as he guided us off to the side of the caskets, where we would wait and shake the hands of everyone who came to say goodbye to Phil and Theresa.

"Why don't you two go take a look before we get started," Linda said. "We already had our moment with them."

I wanted to apologize for being late, but instead, I walked behind Darren to the front. I could feel everyone's eyes on us, from the line of people waiting to shake hands along the wall of flowers to those sitting in the middle of the room in the rows of chairs until the line got shorter. I could see Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Bryan, and Mrs. Harrison with their husbands and other people I didn't recognize. Maybe they were from Theresa's side of the family or members of the community that were paying their respects.