The Fourth Part of Chapter 13: We Will Remember

The wake was a plodding, dull affair; an air of gloom hung over the room, reflecting the cold drizzle that fell outside, and the first frost the previous night. Inside the room, to reflect further on the gloom without, it was quiet, and Belinda and Eunice were talking to each other in hushed voices.

“She’s keeping the baby? Good on her. More power to the woman, I say,” said Belinda, glass of wine in hand.

“I do not like the notion of single motherhood in this situation. She’s not escaping from an abuser, you know.”

“I guess that’s true. Hey, do you think she’ll go looking for other men?”

“Belinda! This is the funeral, and Clarissa’s in mourning! You could show a little respect.”

“Oops, sorry, must be the wine,”

“You have only had one sip,”

“What can I say? I’m a cheap drunk.”

“I wonder what it was. The reverend didn’t say.”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’s an overdose on some sort of drugs. What do you think, sir?”

“Sir” was a man named Alberto, and he informed her as much. Alberto knew James from his previous job as Scotiabank, and arranged to come to the funeral when Jonathan told him the bad news; he, like everyone else, had initially reacted with shock.

“I don’t know, but I believe one of the Ten Commandments says ‘thou shalt not bear false witness.’”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that gossip is evil,”

“We’re not gossiping; we’re speculating. What that commandment says is that telling someone that you heard such-and-such from a friend of a friend is evil. And we’re not doing that. Why is it any of your business anyways?”

Alberto thought, what a bitch.

Eunice thought that Belinda was funny when she was tipsy, but this was making her feel uncomfortable.

“You know what, Belinda? I think you are getting rather…”

“What? You know, I heard from Jacqueline’s friend Cindy that Laura said that she heard from James’s boss Maurice that he was fired, and was shook up about it. She said he was a regular pill-popper. See, I wasn’t just speculating about the drugs,” As Belinda had little actual information to go on, the preceding statement was a flight into conjecture and fancy; Laura did not, in fact know Maurice, but Eunice knew little enough about her, aside from where she lived, that she did not catch this. Belinda was indifferent about the story’s veracity, because it made a good story, and it was in all probability better than the mundane truth that he was laid off, and not addicted to painkillers.

“That is definitely gossip, and I shall pretend not to hear you,”

“Good. I’ll pretend we didn’t just meet, Alberto,” responded Belinda.

How does one remain so bitchy this far into life, wondered Alberto. She looks to be at least forty-four. She’s probably divorced; what man would want to spend all of his days with that? Furthermore, what she said seemed puzzling; during his years of work at Scotiabank, he had never known James to be a pill-popper, although he knew several other people who were, given that the job carried some degree of stress, which had been exacerbated by the financial crisis and credit crunch two years previously. Perhaps James had become a pill-popper after having worked for Maurice for a while.

He seems standoffish, thought Belinda. He’s probably an accountant, or does something else boring with his life. Maybe he collects stamps. That David Vanetti, on the other hand, was quite the man. Tall, handsome, dark, a beautiful smile, he was all she could ask for in a man. Too bad she was drunk when they were last together at his garden party; it was also too bad that he was married. Stop that, Bela, she thought. Think of single men, like…Kevin! Now there’s a man to get into bed with.

“Maybe Clarissa would like some wine,”

“She’s pregnant, Belinda. She isn’t supposed to drink.”

“Oh, right.”

Occasional slips like this are okay, thought Eunice, although she was definitely not pleased with the direction of the conversation. She projected this into the future, and pictured a major falling-out between several of her friends. Mario dislikes her anyways, and Laura and Clarissa were none too pleased when she showed up at the Vanetti’s garden party in June and made an ass of herself by stepping into the peonies, their baby Jason’s fingers and the cat’s tail with her stilettos as she stumbled around the yard, drunk on too many spritzers, all the while making lewd gestures at Mr. Vanetti before she left. She was funny, yes, but at the same time, it was not altogether surprising that she had divorced Kale. Having known James since he had moved onto their street five years ago, she had never thought that he would die so young, or for a cause that she would have thought to beset older people; she hadn’t heard of anybody else who had died of heart problems who were younger than fifty, and this meme about pill-popping was just hearsay from people like Belinda; she didn’t personally know anybody who had died of a heart problem other than a few of her mother’s friends, and they were in their seventies and eighties. No doubt, this was a very strange death for being a heart attack, for normally, when someone in dies in their thirties, it was a car crash, or some other accident; it was still a horrible way to die, though. Did she not know him to the extent that she was completely in the dark about his eating habits? This must be his cause of death, she thought.

She also considered it a rather awkward thing to be discussing, but she was wondering whether Clarissa still wanted to go to her Halloween party. She wanted to go as a slutty witch herself, but was now reconsidering that; she was considering giving the witch costume to Belinda, who she was sure, would appreciate it.

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