Recapitulation: Barry aided Jenna in a grave robbery. Jenna bolted and Barry ruined a funeral in the ensuing chase. After receiving a month’s suspension, Barry has decided to throw in with Jenna, at least for one job, in order to avoid being blackmailed for his earlier role as accomplice. After hearing Jenna’s barebones plan for robbing a wealthy (dead) dowager, Barry creates a more detailed plan of his own, in anticipation of the incipient funeral.
They held each other’s hands like they pioneered it, showy and proud, yet restrained and a bit humble, so as not to flaunt it, even as they needed to flaunt it. Barry felt like he was escorting a dribble glass, so copious were Jenna’s tears. Just as fake as a dribble glass, just as many holes in the story.
The Hall’s lofted ceilings tended to make everyone seem shorter. Earthy tones draped the hall, light coffee walls, walnut trim, oaken pews with dark brown padding. Several doors opened up into the Hall, multiple entries and exits into these all-too-brief reminders of the recent deceased. Never dead, for just as this Hall would continue to exist long after these honored guests had come and gone, so too would the recent deceased function in some fashion, whether as a memory or something more. Into this paradigm, clothed in sedate black, Barry and Jenna entered, posing as those that belonged.
“And how is this going to help us tomorrow?” Jenna clamped Barry’s hand, her fingers trying to squeeze the life out of his. His large hand dwarfed hers, so the overall effect resembled that of a child holding her father’s hand.
“We need to learn the layout and the procedures here, and this just happens to be in the same hall. This is going to be our dry run.”
“I could use a drink, all these kids. They’re going to screw it up.”
“Nonsense, now smile honey, but not too much.” They walked forward, as a youngish woman, closer to Barry’s age than Jenna’s, approached them. She wore a dark veil, smart black gloves, daubing tears away with a handkerchief. Her stiletto heels scraped against the carpet, threatening to unthread it with each pass.
“Hello, I’m Willa, Jimmy’s mother.” She held out her left hand, fluttering like an irregular heartbeat.
“Hello, we’re the Parkinsons, Harper and Mabel. We met Jimmy at the hospital when our son Michael, well.” Barry took the hand, trailed off his words.
“I’m sorry, I never saw you there, although David and I, we didn’t notice much, beyond our Jimmy.”
“It’s alright, we don’t have to talk about it, I know how you feel.” Jenna wiped her eye with her index finger, an exaggerated tap against her face. “There were so many nights, so many nights, oh.Mickey.”
“Michael.” Barry nudged her.
“Michael. Oh God.” Jenna folded towards Barry, wept into his shoulder, clawing at his suit jacket, outdated and threadbare, the perfect jacket for a father who’s spent a year’s wages on his progeriatric son.
Barry stroked Jenna’s hair, looking off into the distance. Then, as if waking from a dream, he focused on Willa, as if she’d just resolved from a fog that lifted. “These children, Jimmy’s classmates?”
Willa nodded. “Did Michael ever go to school?”
Barry shook his head. “We just, we couldn’t, the children, they.” Another well-meaning start to an evaporated thought that would never coalesce.
“It was so hard to teach the kids that Jimmy wasn’t a bad kid. Even though he loved to play tricks. I’m sure he had to have tried some on you.” Willa turned about, watched the children coming to grips with the situation, only to fail. “Worst trick of all, he kept telling all of them he’d outlive them all. Even stuck in his hospital bed, when they’d come to visit, we’d peel back the mask, he’d tell the closest person to get closer, and he’d whisper ‘I’ll outlive you all.’ Some of them believed it. After a while, even though we knew it would never happen, we started believing him. And now, and now. Excuse me.” Willa moved towards the short casket, the casket cut in half, some magic trick half-executed and whole in poor taste.
They migrated towards the rear of the Hall. Still ensconced within the crook of Barry’s arm, Jenna half-whispered to Barry.
“If you’re trying to make me give up, its going to take more than a simple funeral.”
“You’ve never been to a funeral have you. You just go to the burials, once they’ve exhausted themselves, once they’ve worn out their emotions. You have no problem dealing with the dead, but the living, whole different issue. And we’re going to go up there and pay our respects to that poor little kid.”
“Hell no. You saw that picture.”
“He’s no longer alive. What are you afraid of? Who knows, you might see something you like.”
When she emerged from the crook, Jenna could have been flushed from intoxication, blushing from embarrassment, raging and furious, sobbing like a child older than his years. “Fine, lead the way.” And they walked hand in hand down the aisle to confront the target of their dry run, Jimmy Engles, age eleventy-seven.
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