Pam of Babylon by Suzanne Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page B

was cool to him the day before he died, and anger because he allowed his daughters to be taken care of by other men without putting up a fight. I was mad about that for a long time. Mommy would say that I was still mad at him. I’m not sure.” Marie doubted that Pam had anything to feel guilty about it, but wanted to hear more about this other revelation.
    “Were you mad at Dad because he allowed me to live with you and Jack?” This was news to Marie if it were true.
    “Not mad, because Lord knows I needed you so much but confused, like why are you letting your baby daughter live with us? Are we fit parents for a twelve-year-old? I don’t know,” Pam admitted.
    “I can’t imagine what life would have been like if you hadn’t allowed me to come to you and Jack,” Marie said. Silently, she thought, it would have been unthinkable .
    They pulled into the driveway of the funeral home, driving under the portico. A pale, thin man in a black suit, the funeral home director was waiting for them. Another man came around and opened Pam’s door. They were greeted with a solemn but friendly “We’re sorry for your loss.” The first man led the way through double doors to a strangely decorated entryway. There was a bust of George Washington in an alcove, surrounded with dusty plastic flowers. Marie sneaked a glance at Pam. She tried to contain her laughter. Pam felt the hysteria rising in her throat.
    “Don’t make eye contact,” Pam snapped under her breath, grabbing Marie’s arm. How inappropriate . She had to pull herself together, laughter struggling to win.
    They followed him into an office with upholstered chairs, where he offered each woman a seat. Pam forced herself not to look around. She hadn’t noticed before, but the place was horribly decorated. She hoped Jack didn’t mind, if that were possible. He was already here for whatever they call it. Embalming, that was the word. They cut your vein and drain all the blood out. You are laid out like roast beef on a slab, naked, exposed .
    The next thing Pam knew she was lying on the dirty carpet of the office. Marie was crying and patting her hand, her cheek. Someone in a powder-blue suit was holding a glass of water to her lips.
    “Pam! Pam!” Marie shouted. “Pam, wake up, for God’s sake!” Pam could hear her sister say, “Maybe we should call 911.”
    Pam struggled to wake up, to let her sister know she was okay. “I’m here,” she whispered. There was a lot of commotion as people around her assisted her to stand up. She said she would like to use the bathroom, if possible. She had to wash her hands, at least. Get some of the germs off her clothes.
    Marie led her to the bathroom, the lady in the blue suit guiding them, leaving them at the door.
    “Are you okay?” Marie said to her sister for the tenth time that day, tears near the surface, hovering over Pam.
    “I think so. Can we hurry this up? I regret using this place. We could have gone to the one on Main Street. Jack golfed with him, I think.” She was pale, shaky. She washed her hands and wetting a paper towel, asked Marie to help her wipe off the back of her pants and jacket.
    Marie giggled through her tears, saying, “What do you think you picked up from that rug?” They laughed, but Pam was not taking any chances. They made their way back to the office with Pam all business.
    “Let’s get this over with,” she said to the directors. All pleasantries stopped and questions about Jack’s last wishes began. Marie had a list of things they wanted put in place, like a picture easel, guest book, and a string quartet, as well as things they didn’t want; a video, taped music, and ushers. Marie went out to the car to get the suit in addition to the other necessary items—polished black shoes and a silk tie with frogs printed on it that the kids had gotten him for Christmas the year before. When she returned, Pam had picked out a casket, a dark walnut piece. He would have approved.
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