Six-Thirty sensed her death wish, and because of it, had been on suicide watch all week. The only problem was, he wanted to die himself. Worse, he suspected she was in the same position—that despite her own deathly desires, she felt beholden to keep him alive. What a mess devotion was.
Just then someone behind them said, “Well, at least Evans got a good day for it,” as if bad weather would have put a damper on the otherwise festive funeral. Six-Thirty looked up to see a strong-jawed skinny man holding a small pad of paper.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the man said to Elizabeth, “but I saw you sitting all by yourself over here and I thought you might be able to help. I’m writing a story about Evans, was wondering if I could ask you a few questions—only if you wouldn’t mind— I mean, I know he was a famous scientist, but that’s all I know. Could you tell me how you knew him? Maybe supply an anecdote? Did you know him long?”
“No,” she said, avoiding his stare.
“No…you…？”
“No, I didn’t know him long. Definitely not long enough.”
“Oh, right,” he said, nodding, “I understand. That’s why you’re over here—not a close friend but still wanted to pay your respects; gotcha. Was he your neighbor? Maybe you could point out his parents. Siblings? Cousins? I’d love to get some background. I’ve heard a lot of things about him; some say he was a real jerk. Can you comment on that? I know he wasn’t married, but did he date?” And when she continued to stare off into the distance, he added, lowering his voice, “By the way, I’m not sure you saw the signs, but dogs aren’t allowed in the cemetery. I mean, not at all. The groundskeeper is supposedly a stickler about this one. Unless, I don’t know, you need a dog, a Seeing Eye dog, because you’re…well, you know—”
“I am.”
The reporter took a step back. “Oh gee, really?” he said apologetically. “You’re— Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that you don’t look—”
“I am,” she repeated.
“And it’s permanent?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, curious. “Disease?”
“Leash.”
He took another step back.
“Well that’s a shame,” he repeated, slightly waving his hand in front of her face to see if she would react. And sure enough. Nothing.
Just off in the distance, a minister appeared.
“Looks like the party’s starting,” he said, telling her what he could see. “People are taking seats, the minister is opening the Bible, and”—he leaned way back to see if more people were coming from the parking lot—“and yet no family. Where’s the family? There’s not a single soul in the front row. So maybe he really was a jerk.” He glanced back to get a response, surprised to see Elizabeth standing. “Lady?” he said. “You don’t have to go all the way over there; people understand a situation like yours.” She ignored him, feeling for her purse. “Well, if you’re really going, you better let me help you.” He reached for her elbow, but the second he touched her arm, Six-Thirty growled. “Geez,” he said. “I was only trying to help.”
“He wasn’t a jerk,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth.
“Oh,” he said, embarrassed. “No. Of course not. I’m sorry. I was only repeating what I’d heard. You know—gossip. I apologize. Although I thought you said you didn’t know him that well.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I think you—”
“I said I didn’t know him long enough,” she quavered.
“That’s what I said,” he replied soothingly, reaching for her elbow again. “You didn’t know him very long.”
“Don’t touch me.” She wrested her elbow from his grip and with Six-Thirty at her side made her way across the uneven lawn, expertly avoiding stone angels and exhausted flowers as only one with twenty-twenty vision can do and, embracing the loneliness of the front row, selected a chair directly opposite his long, black box.
* * *
—
What followed was the usual refrain: the sad looks, the dirty shovel, the boring verse, the preposterous prayers. But when the first clods of dirt hit the coffin, Elizabeth interrupted the minister’s final tribute by announcing, “I need to walk.” And then she turned, and with Six-Thirty, walked away.