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by Jason Bennett
Chapter 7
On the afternoon of Olivia’s funeral, St. Mary’s was one of the most beautiful churches I’d ever seen. To this day, I’ve never been back there, because I knew it could never look that beautiful again. I’m not sure if my state of mind made the church into something it wasn’t, or if the parish’s beauty boosted my emotions. In the long run, it doesn’t matter what caused what.
I cried the minute I walked through the front door, past the Greek columns that lined the church’s façade.
The church’s ceiling was vaulted, and rows of windows lined both sides of the room, starting about 15 feet up the wall, and extending to the ceiling line. The result was a wealth of natural light illuminating the white walls and flooding the room’s interior.
Arrangements of white flowers filled the front of the sanctuary, and rows of them angled up the steps to the life-sized crucifix that hung on the back wall. Olivia’s casket sat at the foot of the steps, reflections off its jet-black finish providing the illusion of polka dots. Giant bouquets of red roses flanked the casket. A beautiful 8x10 inch black and white photograph of Olivia in a plain silver frame sat on top. In the photo, she laughed. That was the Olivia I knew.
I walked half way down the main aisle, looking left and right at the mostly filled pews. I sat on the left side of the aisle.
A priest walked to the casket to say a prayer. I hadn’t been to church since I was 14, so the awkwardness of this moment, for me, outweighed my grief. I actually took a bit of comfort in looking around me, watching others – some kneeling, some not, some closing their eyes, some looking around aimlessly. I realized that this moment was personal for everyone. It wasn’t about me at all, and the prayer allowed me to become myself.
I shut my eyes and listened to the priest.
His prayer ended fairly quickly and I opened my eyes. I realized I had been thinking about Dianne. What if it had been she who died? I knew that we all had to go sometime, and that it was useless to want to live forever or to want anyone else to live forever, but was it wrong to want your time here, on this plane, to be as pleasurable as possible? I didn’t know.
Jerry Case walked to the front of the casket. He moved deliberately, almost sluggishly. This was hardly the Jerry I knew. He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it. I noticed that his tie, the same one he had been wearing this morning when we spoke, was loosened and not quite straight. It had been a long day for him.
“Losing my only daughter,” he said, “was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to go through. IS the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to go through. For those parents who have lost a child, I know I don’t have to explain. And for those of you who are not parents, or are lucky enough to never have gone through this kind of a tragedy, I don’t think I can explain.”
I looked around at the crowd. Most of the baseball team was there, as well as many of the team’s biggest fans.
I saw the mayor, a former business associate of Jerry Case, sitting in the back row, and the president of a local college – a college to which Jerry Case had, in the past, made generous financial donations – sitting next to him.
Augie Zupec sat by himself, across the aisle from the mayor. Crammed into a brown suit, Augie looked uncomfortable. I almost found him comical.
“Olivia was a wonderful girl, a wonderful person, who will be missed by many people, but remembered fondly by all of you, I’m sure.” Jerry paused a second, removed a handkerchief from his pocked, and wiped his nose. "She had an infectious laugh, and an admirable way of enlivening a room,” he went on, “that made any occasion a special one.
“I know she would want us to be happy, at this moment, to find the strength within ourselves to realize that she’s not gone, as long as we remember her.”
Jerry’s eulogy lasted approximately 15 minutes, and its sentiment ended softly, like a symphonic movement that challenges its listener to understand its final chords. I sat quietly as people slowly rose from their seats, some exiting the church immediately, some making their ways to offer Jerry their condolences.
Again, Dianne came to my mind. I saw her hair – that halo of fine hairs I had seen just earlier that afternoon at the coffee shop. Was it just her? There had to be other women with traits just as endearing. I just didn’t know any – yet.
I stood up and wandered out of the nearly empty building.
Most of the crowd had gone. I walked towards the parking lot, around the corner and across the street. While wondering where Donnie had been, my attention was grabbed by a high pitched giggle.
I looked down the street to see Colby Akers leaning against a late-model green Ford pickup, laughing and talking with Trish. They both smiled and joked, inching dangerously close together.
Colby’s athletic frame and rugged features looked imposing even from half a block away. It was no wonder Olivia had fallen for him. He was the kind of guy who frustrated bookworms like me. He was stupid, conceited, and self-centered, but at the same time, infinitely talented and handsome: a combination that usually ended up attracting any woman he wanted.
Partially hidden by a large pine tree, I couldn’t hear their words, but I could hear their voices. Colby said something, eliciting another peal of laughter from Trish, and her body convulsed in a flirty jerk as she reached out and pretended to slap him on the chest in mock disgust.
“Wow,” I said under my breath with no one around to hear. “And I actually thought I had a chance.”
I walked to my jeep.
“Ozzie!” I heard Donnie’s voice as I was rolling down my window. He jogged up to me. “I’m sorry I missed the funeral. How was it?”
“Shitty,” I said. “It was a funeral.”
“I understand,” Donnie consoled me. “I got held up at the station.”
“How’s the interview with Ellison going?”
“It’s going. Listen, you look like you could use a drink.”
“I could use more than one, but I really want to go home.”
“Okay, then, how about tomorrow night?”
“I have a date.”
Donnie stopped and looked at me. He grinned slowly and pointed at me. “A date? Could it be that you ‘re actually doing the right thing, and moving forward?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my head beginning to throb even more. “I asked that Trish girl out, but I don’t think she’s really interested in me, and I’m not sure if I’m really interested in her, either. Maybe I am, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” Donnie asked. “You asked her out, didn’t you?”
The glare from his watch momentarily distracted me before I could answer him. “Yes,” I eventually said, “I asked her out, but I’m just not sure about it. I probably should go out with her just to see if I’m ready or not, but I mean, I just went to a good friend’s funeral. What if I die tomorrow? Will I ever be really close to someone again? We’re all going to die, you know.”
“Yeah, we are,” Donnie looked down. My mood worsened.
“I just saw her – Trish – talking to Colby Akers. They looked as if they were on a date. Why would she be interested in me, anyway?”
“Just don’t rule anything out, okay Ozzie?”
“I know, I shouldn’t. You’re right. It’s probably healthy for me to try to move on, but it’s not easy.”
“What is?” he correctly questioned.
It made me stop and think. What was easy?
“I don’t know,” I finally answered. “I don’t know.”
I was tired of thinking about it, and ironically, there was a ballgame tonight. A game that the team already had dedicated to Olivia’s memory.
“Are you coming to the game?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Donnie replied. “I have a lot of work left to do at the station, and frankly, it isn’t looking good with Ellison.”
I had known it wouldn’t. My mind went back to the evening when he and his goons had beaten me up. He had told me he was out of town, but I hadn’t taken him very seriously. Maybe I should have told Donnie about that detail. But no, he would have had the same reaction. And, he would have had the resources to check the alibi out. Better I hadn’t told him, I guess.
But now I was worried. If Ellison – or his goons – hadn’t done this to Olivia, who had?
I remembered the feeling I’d had earlier: I knew there had been something wrong with it. Something about the picture I found had rubbed me the wrong way, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
I realized I had been silent for too long.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, then.”
“Be careful,” Donnie said as he slowly turned to walk away from me. He sensed my unease, and knew me well enough to predict my actions. “Don’t get yourself into any trouble.”
“No sweat,” I said. “Just going to the ballgame."
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