Missing Persons by Clare O'Donohue Read Free Book Online

standing by the coffin with Frank’s parents for more than two hours, greeting person after person, many of whom knew that Frank and I had been at each other’s throats for months.
    “This is just so horrible for you,” she said. “You must feel so bad about all the things you said about him.”
    “I wouldn’t say that.”
    “Don’t be like that, Kate. Frank was a great guy. He was just going through a weird time. An early midlife crisis. You guys would have worked things out. We all thought so.”
    There it was—the rewrite I’d been hearing variations of all evening. Just two weeks ago, Lucy had described Frank as the most pathetic waste of space she’d ever seen. It was such a harsh statement that I’d actually come to his defense. And now Frank was a great guy, and this pesky divorce was just a bump in the road that he and I would have laughed about on our fiftieth wedding anniversary.
    Nearly every one of my female friends made some statement to that effect. Frank was great, and we had been great together. Always looking to be unique, Frank’s sister took a different route. She told me that in a way I was lucky. I was already used to his being gone, so his death wouldn’t be as hard on me as it would have been if we’d stayed together.
    Frank’s male friends skipped the whole affair/separation issue. Instead, they were obsessed with finding out about Frank’s medical history, wondering who would be next. I told each one in turn that as far as I knew he had been healthy, but if they were looking for recent information, I wasn’t the one to ask.
    About halfway through the evening, it spread around our friends that “she” was there. Everyone looked, but no one, not even Neal, went over to talk to her. If his parents had noticed her, they didn’t acknowledge it. They just stood next to me telling each mourner that Frank was a great artist and how proud they were of his talent. If Frank had been alive to hear his parents, the shock probably would have killed him.
    “Which one is she?” my sister, Ellen, whispered to me, pointing a less than discreet finger toward Vera and Susan.
    “The one with the short hair.”
    “She’s old.”
    “I don’t think so. I think she just doesn’t dye her hair.”
    “You are way prettier.”
    “And yet he chose to be with her,” I reminded Ellen. “I guess he wasn’t superficial.”
    “I’m going to tell her to go. She’s upsetting you.”
    I grabbed her arm. “Ellen, she’s sitting at the back of the room, not speaking to anyone. Leave her alone. I don’t want to draw attention to her or to this whole mess.”
    “You are much nicer than I am.”
    It was a typical Ellen insult. By wrapping it in a compliment, she had deniability in case I got upset. But I knew what she meant. She meant I was weak. I had let my husband walk all over me, and my in-laws, and now his mistress. I’d heard all of it from her before. She meant well, but she didn’t get it.
    It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to draw attention to Vera. I also kind of respected what she was doing. She sat quietly in the back corner of the room, talking to Susan and glancing miserably toward Frank’s coffin. It had to be hard being in a room full of people who knew Frank in a way she never would. People who didn’t want to know her, who didn’t see her loss, just the makings of an awkward social situation. She wasn’t wanted and she didn’t belong. But she stayed. And probably Frank hadn’t yet screwed up, hadn’t disappointed, hadn’t lied or broken a promise or shut down emotionally. The Frank she knew was perfect, and he’d always be perfect. Looking over at her I did sort of admire her. But since I knew the real Frank, mostly I thought she was an idiot.
    “Hey, there.” Andres was suddenly at my side. He hugged me tightly, and I leaned into his shoulder. “This sucks, doesn’t it?”
    “I don’t know where to start.”
    “Mike told me you are doing the Missing Persons