The Life and Death of Arthur Lasker

21

Eleven days after he was born, Arthur Lasker died in his mother’s arms in Saint Francis Hospital of Evanston.

Harold, Jean, and Joe took responsibility for the funeral, the third gathering in a week-and-a-half for the Lasker home.

They invited the same handful of family and friends that attended the baptism. Joe even went out of his way to invite Father Healy. The priest that christened Arthur would bury him too.

There were two days between the death and the funeral and Anna was a ghost. Mindless hours of fuzzy TV, stacks of untouched meals, head in a pillow, drowning out the bustling of morose words like “casket,” “service,” “grief,” “obituary,” “vigil,” “preparation,” “bequest,” and “wake.” When she spoke, her words were demands; short, jaded, and unwavering. “No casket,” she declared only minutes before the decision had to be made.

The Daltons—devout Catholics in the wake of tragedy—protested the suggestion of cremation, but their daughter wouldn’t budge. “A teenager’s folly,” her mother mumbled to Joe as they prepared sandwiches for the service.

He cut the leftover turkey with an electric knife. When the blade came to a stop, he said, “My wife gets whatever she wants.”

“Maybe. But the ceremony will be small. Family only.”

Joe didn’t respond, but silenced Jean with the buzz of the electric knife.

The morning of the funeral arrived quickly. Anna’s body was there, but her mind was not. Arthur’s death had been inevitable since the day he was born, but her family’s betrayal was a different, darker affair.

Jean’s low expectations were underscored by her meager portions: one platter of sandwiches, one bowl of salad, one pitcher of coffee. As the guests arrived, Joe showed them where to place their boots, then laid their coats on the guest-room bed.

Father Healy arrived first, followed by Chet, Don, and another friend named David. Cheryl, Mary, and Judy arrived moments later, husbands at their sides and children at their feet. Joe’s parents arrived with nine Lasker’s employees behind them, and a condolence card with thirty more employee signatures. Joe had invited the nurse from the hospital and she arrived with a plate of brownies and a paper bag full of tulip bulbs (“To plant in spring,” she said). Harold invited Timothy Benton, not as a doctor, but as a golfing buddy. The man arrived sans-lab coat with his wife beneath his arm, and Joe was surprised how human he looked outside his mahogany office. To Joe’s surprise, three more couples showed up who he had never met. They introduced themselves as neighbors from the next block. Gossip did travel fast in Evanston, and they wanted to show their support. Behind them was a woman Joseph recognized from the grocery store on the fourth day of Arthur’s illness. The woman had asked Anna about Arthur’s oxygen tank, leading to a thirty-minutes conversation in the frozen-food aisle. Harold’s brother arrived with the ribbons of a dozen balloons in his fist. Joseph quickly realized they would need more seats, and after explaining the problem to the neighbors, they offered ten dining-room chairs if they too could attend the funeral. The woman from the rental company barged through the door in the middle of Father Healy’s opening prayer, unaware that the service was being held at home. Joseph invited her to stay, and she did. Ten minutes into the sermon, two more women showed up, blonde hair to their backs, carrying solitary daisies at their chest. Chet apologized and explained they were with him. Joe would find out later that his friend told several people about Arthur, his lung disease, and the personality he had developed as a newborn.

All in all, the guest-room bed held forty-two coats.

Jean scrambled to make more food.

The navy-blue urn was placed on the dining-room table. Without instruction, the guests created a shrine of cards, trinkets, gifts, and balloons. A tube of Tinker Toys from Cheryl. A plastic space shuttle from Don. The stolen street sign stood upright against the wall.

As Father Healy spoke about mortal sin, limbo, and the unexpected loss of a loved one, Joseph noticed Judy Hansworth across the room. Her arm was around her eldest son, head against his, gently caressing his hair.