After a responsive reading of Psalm 23 the minister called upon Tag Franklin to deliver the eulogy. Tag was the young man who had attended Alison’s mother, and he bore little resemblance to his sister. He was taller, had a more muscular build, and the shock of hair that fell across his brow was light brown. With his wide-set eyes, a straight nose, and very white teeth he looked as if he could have come straight out of a Lands End catalog.
He began with the usual fond remembrances of a shared childhood, occasional pranks, and even a few funny stories that elicited amused chuckles. But then his tone grew sharper, even accusatory when he directed his gaze at his father and said, “I wish I could say that my sister’s brief life was happy and untroubled, but instead of receiving the unconditional love and support she desperately needed she encountered only selfishness. When she needed a warm embrace she got a cold shoulder, when she needed encouragement she got criticism, and when she most needed fatherly approval to sustain her she discovered that attention had been withdrawn and directed to another. Her beauty, her shining spirit, her intelligence, all went unnoticed and unappreciated.”
Shocked, Lucy glanced at her daughter and saw with some surprise that Zoe was nodding along in agreement, brushing away a tear.
Then they were on their feet, singing the final hymn, “We Will Gather at the River.” Lucy finally got a clear view of Alison’s mother, Eudora, who was a tiny, very thin woman. Due to a puffy bouffant hairstyle, her head seemed much too large for her emaciated body. She was leaning heavily on her son and the other man, presumably her husband, Jon Clare. Unlike the hale and hearty Tag, Jon Clare was a lanky, weedy sort, with a narrow head, thinning hair, and long arms and legs.
“Do you want to go to the reception?” Lucy asked her daughter, who was stuffing a wad of damp tissues into her purse. “We could skip it. With all these people I don’t think we’ll be missed.”
“Oh, no. I want to tell her folks how kind she was to me. You know, when I had that flu last month and missed some classes she offered to go over her notes with me.” Zoe sniffed. “She didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“Okay,” said Lucy as the usher released them from their pew, allowing them to join the stream of mourners leaving the church. She had been relieved when the pastor announced the interment of the ashes would be private, unsure of how Zoe would react to the grim business of seeing an entire human being reduced to a mere pile of dust. But, like most everyone at the funeral, she was somewhat curious and eager to see the interior of the Franklin mansion.
Shore Road was already lined with parked cars when Lucy and Zoe arrived, but it was a mild day and it was pleasant walking along the rocky bluff overlooking the ocean. Far below, the surf crashed against the rocks, sending up sprays of sparkling water.
The family was not yet present, still occupied with the burial, which loosened the usual sense of restraint felt by the gathered friends and neighbors. People were greeting each other with warm hugs, chattering vivaciously and helping themselves to the generous catered buffet. Zoe went straight to the reception line, which was already forming, while Lucy accepted a small cocktail sherry from the tray offered by a waiter in a crisply starched white shirt. She was making her way through the throng to the corner where her friends Sue and Rachel were standing, when a hush fell on the crowd and Ed and Mireille Franklin entered.
Ed held up his hand in greeting and said, “Thank you all for coming. The support of so many friends and neighbors means the world to me and Mireille.”
Mireille, who was standing by his side, was remarkably pretty, very young, and extremely pregnant. She didn’t speak but bestowed a sad little smile on her assembled guests.
“There is something I feel I must say,” continued Ed. “My son, Tag, is no doubt deeply grieving the loss of his sister and that is completely understandable. However, I want to make it clear that Alison was a much loved daughter and both Mireille and I are devastated by this tragic turn of events. It was just this time last year when Alison had her biking accident, and unfortunately became dependent upon prescription painkillers. Mireille was a rock in those dark days and got Alison into rehab, but as often happens, recovery wasn’t a simple process and wasn’t as successful or complete as we hoped and it seems that Alison began using illegal opioids. These drugs are insidious, terribly hard to beat, and the dealers are relentless.” He paused and swallowed hard. “Sometimes all the love in the world just isn’t enough. Thank you for your patience.”
“Nice comeback,” said Sue, who had appeared at Lucy’s side, along with Rachel. They were both holding glasses of sherry.
“I can see why he felt he had to say something,” said Lucy, noticing that Tag wasn’t present, and neither was his mother or stepfather.
“Do you believe him—Ed?” asked Sue, sounding somewhat skeptical. “It doesn’t sound realistic to me—the trophy wife doting on the stepdaughter.”
“I guess we have to give him the benefit of the doubt,” said Lucy.
“Family members often have very different memories of important family events,” said Rachel. “A brother and a sister, for example, might have very different interpretations of a particular birthday party. The brother might remember eating cake while the sister was upset because there was no ice cream.”
“Alison’s brother wasn’t talking about ice cream,” said Sue. “He seemed really angry about the way his father treated Alison.”
“Or maybe he’s projecting his own feelings toward his father and the new, young wife who displaced his mother,” said Rachel.
They watched as
