Here's the next installment:
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Sure, there was an unreality to burying your wife. For Hot, it
was like sticking his finger in an electrical socket. Repeatedly. ZZZZZTTT.
ZZZZZTTT. On the floor, instant coffee on the floor and blood coming
out of her head. ZZZZZTTT. Zombie
walk through the house, around the yard, calling her name and no reply. ZZZZZTTT. Finally, after triple-dosing
Nyquil and sleeping through the night only to wake up and no one in bed beside him.
ZZZZZTTT. Making coffee for two when
there was only one. ZZZZZTTT. Coming
home from a run and black cars in front of your house and shocked and vexed
faces when you finally walked through the door. ZZZZ. ZZZZ. ZZZZ.
Then there was Amazing
Grace sung by the combined Middle School and High School choirs during the
service. Teary testimonials from Pastor Pastorius, Lottie’s favorite minister,
and eulogies from the deputy mayor, chief of police, head of the Chamber of
Commerce, her sister Pat, and many people Hot hadn’t recognized. Shaking hands
and accepting condolences. After an hour of that the ZZZZZTTT subsided into a muffled NNNNNNN. But then at the cemetery, the coffin was lowered and Hot
was designated to toss in the first shovelful of dirt.
It was back to ZZZZZTTT. He
suddenly went light-headed and fortunately Marco was in back of him and caught
the fainting man.
“Thanks Marco. Sorry. This is…surreal.”
“No problem. This is tough on all of us. Your wife was a great
lady,” said the large sobbing man.
But the surrealism. The lightheadedness. Those were not what Hot
considered grief. A sudden death like that was not yet about grief—that would
come later. No, it was about…no Lottie!
Suddenly he was adrift on still water. And the people. All these people!
“Lottie was the best mayor this town ever had and she will be
sorely missed.” A line repeated so often by so many that Hot began to wonder
what he missed. The political stuff sure kept her busy with meetings and phone
calls and social events. He assumed that it was all just an absorbing hobby for
a woman who required constant stimulation and the company of many others. But
based on the gratitude of so many teary-eyed associates and constituents, Hot
was moved himself by what was clearly a sincere outpouring of grief and appreciation.
Certainly it was a lot better than the usual “Sorry for your loss” and “My
thoughts and prayers” mumbles that generally passed as comfort words at such
gatherings.
Hot’s instinct when confronted with
the harsh and unusual was to cast his mind adrift in his own private place and
let Lottie lead the way through the thicket of human complexity interaction. He
was uncomfortable in crowds, which enervated him. Lottie drew energy from
crowds, especially if speeches were to be made. But now Hot himself was the
center of attention and he knew he had to resist the urge to withdraw and fade
to the flank. He shook their hands and looked them in the eye and just endured
the social pain and discomfort.
There were two viewings the previous
night, the first consisting mainly of townsfolk and the kids and Hot stood next
to Lottie’s open casket and did a lot of nodding and agreeing with the many who
came to pay tribute. The line of well-wishers extended to the street and it
took three patrolmen and sundry volunteers to manage the traffic flow. Hot was
able to establish a rhythm: the handshake, a hug in some instances, an
expression of thanks and, in between mourners, he would sneak a quick glance at
the perfectly quaffed remains of his wife. They did an excellent job of revitalizing
the smooth, strong lines of her face. The long patrician nose, rosy lips and
her skin a glowing alabaster made her seem several years younger than her 55
years. She had on the same bright red dress she wore last January when she was
sworn in for her fourth term. (“She coulda’ been mayor for life if she wanted,”
more than one well-wisher insisted.) She still exuded a certain power, even in
repose, those broad shoulders and ample bosom suggested strength and command.
The magic behind Lottie’s success, however, was not so much intimidation, which
was always latent, but of confidence. As with the voters of West Stemper, Hot
felt that he could do worse than follow the lead of his wife. She always seemed
to know what to do, whether it was weighing the wisdom behind certain zoning
proposals or choosing an appropriate rub for the evening’s pork chops. Many
people loved Lottie because with her in charge, they didn’t have to think or
worry. She’d do all the thinking for them and she was almost always right.
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