Free A Map of the World by Jane Hamilton

tried to be quiet, but I couldn’t keep from wailing into the extra pillow on the bed.
    “Grammie gave me a new bracelet.” She had half risen up, was resting her head on her fists, elbows bent, staring at me.
    “That’s nice,” I whispered.
    “It’s rhinestones,” she said, “what princesses wear.”
    I had never cried so hard in my life, and Emma didn’t want to notice. It was as if that was how I greeted her every morning, crying. Crying because I didn’t feel I had a right to be in her room anymore, crying because I had inadvertently fouled our own nest.
    The visitation and funeral took place two days after Lizzy’s death, in the evening, at the Presbyterian Church in Prairie Center. Dan loved the small town church where every Sunday he put on his black robe, came through the minister’s door to the pulpit, and took his place at the organ. He only knew how to use eight pedals but he got by. He had donated a life-size cow from the Dairy Shrine for the crèche that went on the lawn at Christmastime, which he kindly stored in his garage during the off-season.
    We were eating at 4:45 when Nellie asked Howard what he was going to wear to the funeral.
    He had just taken a bite of muffin, and when he said, “My navy blue sport coat,” crumbs went flying in all directions.
    “Look at Daddy!” Claire squealed.
    It took a full minute for Nellie to mentally roam through Howard’s wardrobe and come to the worn corduroy sport coat she had purchased for him when he was sixteen.
    “You don’t mean the one you had in high school,” she said, tittering at the absurdity of the suggestion.
    “Yep,” Howard said.
    When she managed to close her mouth, she cleared her throat, braced both hands on the table, threw her head back, stuck her pointed chin out, and from that great height looked down upon him. “Honey,” she declared, “you cannot wear corduroy when it is one hundred degrees.” She straightened up, and with all the vigor of a sergeant strode to her room. She was back again before we could guess her order. “Go buy yourself a suit,” she said, slapping a blank check down on the table. “You ought to own one—and then you’ll have it for occasions like this.”
    Were there going to be more occasions just like this? And could an exceptionally tall and slim person purchase a suit on short notice?
    “Do you know what I could do with the—hundred or so dollars it’s going to cost?” Howard said with no trace of irritation in his voice. “I could get a better—”
    “Don’t be silly. You’ll want a suit when Emma graduates from high school, from college, and gets married.”
    She had no idea what moved her son. He was always silly, wasn’t he? First of all, he was under the impression that he could buy a suit for one hundred dollars, and second, he got up at 4:30 every morning because he longed to get out to the barn and milk animals the size of the Parthenon. Nellie was sure that Howard would soon outgrow his fantasy about the dairy farm, that that dream life of his wasn’t too much different than a boy spending hours moving a tractor around in the sandbox, making his own engine noises. A person could get by without depriving a cow of what was rightfully hers; we could all drink calcium-fortified orange juice and soy milk. My ears burned, my cheeks felt hot when I thought too much about her. I couldn’t forgive her for the way she treated Howard—as if she thought he was begging for candy. Okay, sweetheart, here’s one hundred thousand dollars for your farm. Don’t eat it in one sitting or you’ll get a tummyache . She had the wicked habit of generously giving and then chiding us for not using the money wisely. Sometimes she literally threw cash at us, and other times we felt we would have to get down on our knees and beg to get a nickel out of her. I should have been grateful, inwardly and outwardly, for her occasional spontaneous showers. No matter how much I prepared myself, how well I