Page 3

As the minister continues, Holt glares up and down at the coffin. As a set of pulleys lower it into the earth, it begins to rock back and forth gently.

Holt leans against a maroon sedan with trails of wispy smoke emanating from the cigarette dangling between his fingers as a subtle drizzle coats his windshield. He stares blankly at the rows of headstones poking out of the marginally thick grass, his eyes only tapering when the wind kicks at a yellow rope threaded through metal stakes that separates the driveway from the grass. Holt turns to the left to see Judy emerge from a small group of mourners, and as she draws closer, he drops the cigarette and kicks it out. He pulls open the passenger door for her.

Holt takes a seat behind the wheel and checks the line of cars stretching out in his rearview mirror. He starts the car and pulls out into the lane, advancing forward slowly as the silence continues between the two of them. Judy continues looking out the window, even as Holt occasionally looks over at her. He pulls up to the gate, snaps on his left turn signal, pulls out into the street, and once he straightens out, he exhales hard through his nose. "Wake’s at noon tomorrow?" He asks, futility hanging in his voice. "Yes." Holt briefly looks to his left to see a high school to which he points.

"We’re settin’ up shop Monday."

"That’s good."

"Any reason we picked tomorrow?"

"Too much in one day. Besides… Rhonda’s in from Minnesota, so she’s gonna spend the weekend… might as well make it an all-nighter."

"Well… Bourdon’s on the school Saturday and Sunday."

"That’s great."

Holt, again, exhales with his mouth closed. Judy faces forward, leaning toward him slightly as she speaks.

"Something on your mind?"

"God damn… burial vault. What the hell’s the point of a coffin if you’re just gonna put it in a concrete box anyway?"

"…I don’t know."

"The coffin’s easier to move… so why don’t we just rent the damn thing until they’re ready to bury him? If they’re gonna take it out of ground anyway…"

"…I don’t know…"

"I’ll tell you what; I’m calling the cemetery as soon as I get home."

Judy glances at her husband briefly, and then returns her attention to nothing in particular.

"…look, somewhere in what you’re saying I can hear you trying to make a point, so cut through the bullshit and tell me straight." 

Holt pinches the phone to his shoulder and lifts a cigarette off a desk lit by a single lamp.

"Okay… alright, you’re telling me it’s illegal, I’m glad I finally got a straight answer out of you. I’m still telling you the price is ridiculous… alright… alright… stop. Stop. Stop. You’re telling me a hollow concrete box costs a grand. I own a construction company, and I can build one for a tenth of that… oh don’t give me that shit about how it’s not regulation, you tell me the fuckin’ dimensions and I’ll build it myself. Oh really? Then why don’t you give me their number, and I’ll deal with them directly."

He takes up a pen and begins writing on a legal pad, keeping the cigarette perched between his lips. "And they supply for Delaware County? Why would I want to give them your name, you’ve been so helpful… oh, and you have a blessed day too. Unbelievable…" He slams the phone down on the receiver, taps his cigarette into a half-full ash try, rips the pad off the desk, and walks into the next room. Judy is curled up in a ball on the dowdy couch, wrapped in a ratty blanket as she blankly stares at the TV.

He sits down next to her, unable to keep himself from swatting the pad into his vacant hand. "Who was that?" She asks, not moving anything but her mouth. "Cemetery sexton, or whatever he called himself… this fuckin’ burial vault thing is pissing me off. Unbelievable." He takes another long drag from the cigarette and blows the smoke out quickly. She stays quiet, keeping her eyes fixed on the buzzing TV as the sound of a gameshow hums in the background.

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