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CHAPTER 12

The grasp, though gentle as a woman’s hand, was not to be resisted.

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

Although attendance was considerably less than at the funeral home the night before, the church in Cotton Grove was standing room only by the time services started. Fortunately, Miss Emily and I had arrived early enough to get seats on the aisle.

The front left pew was occupied by the honorary pallbearers, the school’s cheerleading squad dressed in their red-and-gold winter uniforms—long-sleeved jerseys, short skirts, and flesh-colored tights. Joy Medlin led them in on crutches, her pretty face so pinched with pain that I found myself thinking that this is what she would look like at forty when the first flush of youth was gone for good. Her face was a reminder of how narrowly she herself had escaped death only two months ago.

“Lucky to be alive,” everyone said of the four teens who had not died in that car wreck. I wondered if the parents of the brain-damaged child still in a coma felt that way.

At three o’clock precisely, Duck Aldcroft and his assistant entered and closed the lid on Mallory’s coffin. There were audible sniffs and sobs from the girls.

Moments later, the minister gave us the signal and we all rose as her parents and family were escorted down the aisle and seated in the right front pews. They were still somber-faced and grieving, but time had begun to do its work. Sarah looked resigned today and Malcolm’s shoulders were straight as he sat down beside her and put his arm around her. Of the three of them, Charlie was now the one who seemed to be suffering most, as if it had only just fully sunk in that his sister was gone for good. I noticed that he left a small space between himself and Malcolm. No comfort for him there.

Mercifully, the service was short and formal. No tearful tributes from her friends, no failed attempts to make us smile by recounting humorous things Mallory once said or did, no popular songs to make her parents remember how she sang along with them.

A final prayer, then the coffin began its sad journey back down the aisle to the cemetery on the edge of Cotton Grove. The cheerleaders walked two by two out to the waiting cars, and then the family, followed by a general exodus of the rest of us.

When we got outside, we did not linger to talk. A chill rain had begun to fall, a rain that froze as soon as it hit the concrete walkways. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and neither had Miss Emily.

“Do you want to go to the cemetery?” I asked.

She shook her small head decisively. “No, let’s go home.”

Once in the car with the heater running, though, we had to wait to get out of the parking lot because precedence went to those cars that would follow the slow-moving hearse out to the cemetery.

Like me, Dwight’s mother had noticed the lack of warmth between Charlie and Malcolm and she commented on it while we waited. “I wonder if it’s not because he looks so much like Jeff. There was always such a rivalry between those two boys when they were in school—over basketball, over Sarah.”

“Before my time,” I said, watching my wipers push wet ice granules off the windshield. “Dwight says that he had more natural ability than Malcolm but that Malcolm worked harder.”

“True. Malcolm was always more focused, while it was easy come, easy go with Jeff. He had a sweet personality, though, and could charm his way out of trouble, whereas poor Malcolm never got away with anything, especially with that father of his. Shelton Johnson was a bully when we were in school together and he bullied Malcolm until Malcolm finally stood up to him about marrying Sarah. Malcolm had to struggle to make Bs. Jeff could have made straight As, but Cs were enough to let him play ball. Even then, he wouldn’t work hard enough to make the starting lineup. I wasn’t one bit surprised when I heard he’d fallen off that roof and killed himself. Everything came so easy for him, I’m sure he didn’t think twice about the possible consequences of stringing lights in the dark on a steep roof. Sometimes I used to think that the only reason he went after Sarah was because he knew Malcolm wanted her so badly and he was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Only human if you think about it. Malcolm’s family was solid middle class. Jeff’s daddy was a roofer. Malcolm was bound for Carolina and a white-collar life; Jeff was going to have his own truck and a hammer.”

“But if they were best friends—?”

“Best friends? Certainly they hung out together, but looking back on it, I have to wonder if it wasn’t a case of ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ They may have liked each other at the start, but once Sarah came into it…”

“And she chose Jeff,” I said. “That had to’ve hurt Malcolm.”

Miss Emily shook her head. “I don’t know if it was a matter of choosing Jeff or just that he was here and Malcolm was in Chapel Hill and Jeff sure could charm a smile out of a stone statue. Couldn’t charm his way out of marriage, though, once Sarah came up pregnant.”

“Did he want to?”

“Not really. To do him credit, I think he liked being married and he was certainly proud as a peacock when Charlie was born.” She smiled. “He even gave me a cigar.”

I laughed and put the car in gear as the last of the funeral procession left the parking lot. “I bet you smoked it, too.”

She cut her bright eyes at me. “I didn’t inhale, though.”

Once out of the church parking lot, I drove a few blocks, then turned onto a street that was a shortcut over to the road home. I cornered just a little too sharply and felt the car fishtail. Luckily, there were no other cars near.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s slicker than I realized.”

“I’m in no hurry,” she said mildly.

Considering that she’s gotten more than one speeding ticket the way she floors her old trademark TR, I bit back the remark I could have made and said, “Tell me about Mallory. I keep hearing how perfect she was, and yet

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