The Porn Identity

Chapter 11

       Noah's funeral was a sparse affair. It'd been scheduled that Thursday afternoon in a little steepled chapel about a mile and a half from the river. I parked in an unpaved lot across the street and climbed from my car dressed head to toe in black. I would have worn red but, well, these impeccable southern manners won't allow me to break decorum. Even if the deceased is an asshole. Excuse me, was. He was an asshole.

       Funerals are for the living anyway.

       Noah's family hadn't arrived quite yet, though his coffin sat stoically beneath the pulpit. I'd walked down there when I'd arrived. I'd only met the man once, but the unnatural way they'd positioned him in the casket and the sallow color of his cheeks made him unrecognizable from the person who'd threatened me behind Taste Teas. The crowd was only about twenty people deep, including myself, and there weren't too many flowers. Weren't too many mourners either and most every eye in the house was bone dry.

       I sat about ten rows back, behind a couple of nice old ladies, flipping through the glossy two-page pamphlet the usher had given me when I'd walked in. The front page had a large photo of Noah turned slightly away from the camera. His blonde hair glistened in an early evening sun, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled attractively, and his mouth was upturned into a cheeky grin. He looked happy.

       He almost looked like a nice person too. Almost.

       I flipped to the first page and skimmed the obituary. There wasn't much to say since he'd died so young. Most of his accomplishments stopped after graduating college and getting that first IT job. The bottom of the page claimed he was survived by his parents Bill and Nancy, and his older siblings Paul, Connie, and Maggie. There was no mention of a special friend or a fiancée.

       Ashley wasn't in the audience either.

       When another fifteen minutes went by with no sign of the family the crowd started expressing its restlessness with increasingly loud chatter. Most of it was inane speculation about where they could be. I didn't join in, but then I wasn't raised in a barn. The organist started playing a hymn to reduce the noise and subtly signal that this was a funeral and not happy hour at a goddamn Applebee's, but the gentle melody just served to give them a soundtrack to talk over.

       Even the two old ladies in front of me started chatting like this was Sunday brunch. "Taking a while to start, huh?" The one on the left said.

        "Hush, Bea!"

        Bea hmphed. "I have things to do tonight!"

       The other shook her finger at her friend like she was scolding a child. "Me too but don't you go causing a scene."

       "I'm hungry, Sadie! What's taking them so long?"

       The one on the right—Sadie—shook her head. "It can't be easy to bury your child, Bea." It seemed Sadie at least had some decorum about her. I could respect that.

       "I suppose not." Bea sniffed then started profusely fanning herself with Noah's obituary. "I bet the real reason they're late is 'cause they're fightin' again."

       Sadie's head turned just so, so that her hearing aid was closer to Bea. "Again?"

       "Were you not at the Easter party?"

       "No. Amos had an arthritis flare up."

       "He's not dead yet?"

       "No, but I wish he'd hurry up." Sadie started fanning herself with her own program. It was a little stuffy in here. The church could use a new AC system. "It's been a loooong forty years."