Raindrops ticked against the canopy of the large umbrella in Dario’s hand. Had someone bet him he’d attend Mr. Novak’s funeral someday, he’d have lost all his money. Yet fourteen years later, he accompanied the deceased closest family members, but they were the ones watching the service from the sidelines, away from the crowd. Irena’s fingers in black, leather gloves squeezed his elbow, making him grip the brolly’s handle tighter. She leaned the bouquet of long-stem, white chrysanthemums over her left arm.
Standing to his other side, Ella laced her fingers with his. She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered in his ear. “Thank you for this beautiful dress and the coat and all the other stuff you bought. I love my cell phone, so does Mom, but she won’t admit it.”
“You already thanked me, many times. I love splurging on you guys,” he whispered back. Switching to a family plan with additional two phones had jacked up his phone bill, but he’d sleep sounder knowing they could reach one another in an emergency. “Those cheap prepaid phones you had wouldn’t do.”
Dario took in a small crowd of people clad in black, covered with the mournful umbrellas, gathered around the open grave. An arrangement of white roses and baby breaths stood stark against the polished, dark wood of the casket. Mrs. Novak’s wails drowned the priest’s reading. The man of the cloth ceased his intonations and cast the widow a pitiful glance. She pressed the lacy handkerchief to her lips, her muffled weeps sounding like a begging pooch. The cleric then returned to his task at hand, speeding up his words and flipping through the Bible’s pages in haste.
Dario barked a tight cough to suppress a snort. Not even the priest bought Mrs. Novak’s overly dramatic grief.
Irena squeezed his fingers and caused him to turn to her. She pointed her chin at the tall, balding man walking in front of two robust guys. Black umbrella covered most of his face, but his gait identified him. Judging by the light gray suit, Fred Penne couldn’t find enough decency to wear a full mourning color. Dark, reflective sunglasses on the three men’s faces covered their eyes, but couldn’t hide their malice. The large flower wreath the two bodyguards carted behind Fred made them look like they were going to a parade of a sort, not a funeral.
Dario scanned the parking lot beyond the low wall encircling the consecrated ground. Fred’s shiny rental SUV was the biggest car on the lot. Dario turned to Irena. “Looks like he bought all the flowers in the shop.”
She snorted, then jabbed her elbow in his ribs. “People will talk for days how he bought the monster of all wreaths, but that’s what he does to present himself in the public eye.”
Dario harrumphed. People were fickle, easily fooled by outside appearances. Men like Fred could manipulate them and they wouldn’t see past the money he flashed in their faces, like dangling a carrot on the
stick in front of a donkey. For many, the true malicious nature of such men was impossible to accept or comprehend. Those who tried to expose them were quickly silenced, often kept in contempt for telling lies about the benevolent acts of the philanthropist.
Dario cleared his throat and straightened, passing the umbrella to Irena and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Let people think he was comforting her, rather than hiding her giggles.
“Disgusting.” Ella piped in, but her narrowed gaze, scrunched up nose, and upturned mouth was fixed on Fred hugging Mrs. Novak.
At last, the priest sprinkled holy water over the casket, made a sign of the cross over it, and clapped the Bible closed. He turned and nodded to the two caretakers in their muddied navy-blue coveralls and they sprang into action, lowering the casket into the grave. Mrs. Novak’s laments echoed through the cemetery. Ella leaned closer to Dario and whispered. “Is she for real?”
“It’s hard to tell. Your grandpa wasn’t nice to her, but she loved him regardless.” He tilted his head to the top of Ella’s, raindrops glistened in her hair. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her under the canopy of the umbrella.
“Love shouldn’t hurt.” Ella shook her head in slow motion.
“She was from a different time, honey.” Irena hitched the bouquet of white chrysanthemums up her arm. “To young women of her generation, a husband was everything. They married straight out of the high school and devoted their lives to their families.”
“But Grandma was a teacher.” Ella’s surprise turned her voice to a high pitch.
Irena straightened the collar of Ella’s coat. “Teaching was regarded a woman’s profession.” Irena leaned into him, tilting umbrella over the two heads. “My flowers are getting soaked.”
“Who is that bouquet for?” Dario asked, stepping behind Irena so she could be in the middle. “I thought the flower arrangements were sent directly from the shop.”
“I wanted this one especially for your parents’ grave.”
“Nice of you, babe.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I’m sure they’d love the bouquet, but they were laid to rest on the island, in the serene cemetery surrounded by centuries-old pines. They’d curse us for eternity if we buried them here. Where the dead wouldn’t find any rest from all the traffic on the highway.” He stared into the distance and the relentless coming and going on the roadway. His parents choose wisely, there was no peace here for the living or the departed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I should’ve asked you before I bought them. I’d hate to throw them out and my dad’s grave got plenty already. See.” She pointed with the bouquet. “With that monstrous wreath, the show off brought, the other wreaths are piled up to the top of the tombstone.”
“They could survive for a few days in a vase, couldn’t they?” Ella shook the water beads from the long stem sticking out of the cellophane wrapper. “I think you can close the umbrella now, Mom. The rain is slowing down.”
A smile crept across Dario’s lips, along with the idea and the perfect opportunity to present it.