A woman—the pastor’s wife, Margot thought—climbed the steps to the platform. Curtains had been concealed at the edges of the stage. She pulled them in, one side at a time, the thick red fabric rattling its runners as it moved. Heavy shadows fell over the smooth wood caskets as the first side was closed. Then the second side was pulled in, tugged to where the two met in the floor’s center, fully hiding the back half of the stage. And that, Margot understood, would likely be the last time she ever saw her parents.
The pastor braced his hands on the lectern and released a long, slow breath. “The Palmers have arranged for refreshments in the hall and would like to invite all present to join them there. Thank you.”
A soft murmur rose from those gathered—not exactly conversation, but a mingling of sighs and single-word acknowledgments. Bags and jackets rustled as the guests stood and flooded into the aisles. Margot, feeling caught, rose as well. Bodies bumped her sides and back. The swell pressed her along the church’s length, and she only managed to break free at the doors.
When she looked behind herself, the church was empty. Even the pastor and his wife had left through a side exit. In the distance, the dark red curtains seemed to absorb the growing shadows. A wall of crimson, cutting her off from the last of her family.
Cold wind caught at Margot’s jacket, and she pulled it tighter around her chest. A spit of rain, funneled under the doorway’s arch, hit just below her eye. She swiped it aside with the back of her hand.
The guests moved away in loose clusters. Some stomped feet, a few others pulled out umbrellas in defense against the steel-gray sky and its threatening rain. Indistinguishable conversations rose.
There was a new emotion around the guests. Not joy—they were still maintaining the softly muted reverence that accompanied a funeral—but some kind of tension had eased.
Relief. Margot ran her tongue across chapped and cold lips. The guests were grateful to be away from the church. Away from the caskets. She was struck with the sudden idea that no one had volunteered to give a speech because not a single one of them wanted to stand any nearer to the bodies.