Free Light of Day by Jamie M. Saul Page B

were standing outside of himself when he called the morgue: “You’ll have to make arrangements with a licensed funeral home, Dr. Owens…” When he called his father: “Harry Weber’s made all the arrangements. The Collier Funeral Home in Gilbert is going to fly Danny to New York tomorrow. You don’t have to do a thing. It’s all been arranged…” When Jack called Lois to ask her to go to New York with him tonight, she told him she’d arrange everything. Stan Miller said he’d already arranged for Jack’s grades to be postponed. His friends asked if they could help with any of the arrangements. And later, sitting in the living room with Mr. Collier of the eponymous funeral home, Jack was told that all arrangements had been made.
    Collier was a man of hushed and muted tones, earnest and controlled, from his deep blue suit and dark maroon tie to the modulated timbre in his voice, inoffensive, restrained and solicitous. A compelling presence, inviting a painless passivity while he “arranged everything.”
    Surely there was some comfort to be taken, surely that’s what Collier thought he was offering, what everyone thought they were offering. But what was being arranged? Danny was dead. He was lying alone and cold on a slab in the morgue and Jack had to get him out. But there was no urgency in Collier’s voice, and this was so very urgent. There were only good manners, funereal decorum. It was just another procedure, like Hopewell’s investigation, the coroner’s autopsy. Just another job to do and be done with. But nothing was getting done.
    â€œI want Danny out of the morgue,” Jack insisted.
    â€œIt’s all arranged,” Collier said, his voice calm, unctuous, annoying.
    â€œI don’t think you understand.”
    â€œWe understand fully.”
    â€œNot if you’re sitting around making arrangements . I want my son—”
    â€œYour son,” Collier said gently, “has been resting in our home”—he looked at his watch—“since eleven-fifteen this morning. I’ll call my office right now for a confirmation.” He reached for his cell phone. “Yes,” Collier told Jack, and placed the phone back in his pocket, “Danny is in our care.” He made a satisfied adjustment to his tie.
    In our care…
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    â€œBe assured, Dr. Owens, your mother’s in our care.”
    She had been sick a long time. There’d been time to prepare. Time to explain.
    â€œIs Granma going to die?” Danny asked.
    â€œShe died today.”
    â€œIs Granpa sad?”
    â€œVery sad.”
    â€œAre you very sad, Daddy?”
    â€œYes, I’m very sad.”
    â€œI’m very sad, too. Does she hurt?”
    â€œNot anymore.”
    â€œCousin Philip said I’ll never see Granma again.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhere did she go, Daddy? In the ground?”
    â€œTry to think that Granma’s gone on a journey far away, for a long time.”
    â€œLike Mummy?” Danny asked. “Mummy’s gone away for a long time.”
    â€œA different kind of going away. It’s like Granma’s taking a long rest. It’s like sleeping in a very peaceful place. That’s why people say ‘rest in peace’ when someone dies.”
    â€œWill I die when I go to sleep?” Danny asked.
    â€œNo. Little boys don’t die in their sleep.”
    â€œOnly old people, right?”
    â€œThat’s right. Only old people.”
    At the funeral, large and splendid, relatives and friends, men who were made rich by Jack’s father’s inventions and who, in turn, had made Jack’s father rich, stood three and four deep at the graveside and listened to the eulogies. Women whose homes and lives were made beautiful by Jack’s mother’s interiors, women whose committees his mother had chaired, whose societies his mother had joined, whose