Free The Birthday Lunch by Joan Clark Page B

are decisions to follow up, decisions that have been set out in the will. “Lily didn’t have a will,” Hal says.
    “Mom didn’t have a will?”
    “She never thought she would need one. So soon.” This is all Hal can manage before he is waylaid by grief. Matt reaches for his father’s hand. “It’s okay, Dad,” he says. “It’s okay.”Claudia drags the vinyl chair to the sofa and takes her father’s other hand.
    “Sorry, Dad. I should have seen to it that she made a will.” Matt says and once again the guilt moves in. As the lawyer in the family, he should have made sure that his mother made a will. “Don’t you worry, Dad. We will manage without one.”
    Isolated on the opposite side of the room, Laverne feels a spurt of indignation: Why didn’t her sister make a will? Yes, Lily was a procrastinator, but together with Hal, she was co-owner of this house. Also, she inherited their father’s collection of antiquarian books: early editions of Mark Twain, Alexandre Dumas and Charles Dickens including
The Pickwick Papers
and
David Copperfield
, which Hal took to the store for display and later sold. Hal isn’t a reader and without a will, the antiquarian books will no doubt end up in Better Old Than New. Excluded from the huddle of comfort, Laverne carries her mug into the kitchen and pours the coffee down the sink. Leaning against the counter she stares at the tacky bird clock hanging on the wall above the telephone and waits until the minute hand moves from the song sparrow to the purple martin before returning to the living room.
    Startled—they have not noticed her absence—the three of them look up. Claudia brings the wooden chair close to the sofa and invites Laverne to join them. “No thank you,” she says. “My intention was to welcome Matthew and now that he is here, I’ll leave you to make the arrangements. I’m tired.” Laverne
is
tired. Grief has exhausted her, weakened her defenses, and she feels less vulnerable when she is alone.
    Once the back-stairs door closes, Claudia lights two cigarettes, one for her father, the other for herself.
    “What’s got into Laverne?” Hal says.
    “Auntie’s always been a loner, Dad,” Claudia says.
    “Even so, at a time like this, she shouldn’t be downstairs alone. She should be with us.”
    “Maybe she doesn’t want any part in making the arrangements,” Claudia says and looks at her brother. “You and I will look after whatever has to be done.”
    “But I’ll have a say in the matter,” Hal says.
    “Of course, Dad.”
    Matt asks where she is now: not Mom, not Lily but
she
.
    “She’s at the undertaker’s,” Claudia says. “Alyward’s Funeral Home.”
    “Well, she can’t stay there.”
    “Of course not,” Hal says. “She’ll be buried in Kirk Hill. Years ago I bought a plot for three in the cemetery.”
    “Why for three?” Matt says.
    “Laverne has no family besides Lily and I bought it for your mother’s peace of mind.”
    Matt is relieved to have one decision made. “Okay, so what about the funeral?”
    “You know your mother was an atheist. She wouldn’t want a funeral.” Hal rubs his eyes. “Another thing, no viewing. Lily had no time for viewings.”
    Claudia remembers her mother’s scathing opinion on the subject of open caskets, which she dismissed as grotesque.
    “Lily would want to be cremated,” Hal says.
    “Are you sure, Dad?”
    “Of course I’m sure.” Hal looks at his daughter. “Your mother and I didn’t stop talking when you left home. There are a lot of things about your mother and me that you don’t know.” Hal means this kindly and is upset by the tears welling in his daughter’s eyes. He reaches for her hand. Hal knows that if Lily were here, she would tell him to stop being grumpy. Excusing himself, Hal boosts himself off the sofa and shuffles into the purple spare room where he can be alone.
    Claudia retrieves the list with
Body
written on top and shows it to her brother. “We