Hearts & Minds | WATTY Winner

Chapter 1 | The Funeral | Part 1

   Nora Ko-Harvey sat beside her mother and watched with a detached yet strained numbness all of the people dressed in black milling about. Black or gray, navy blue, and sometimes dark brown, but mostly black. No one stood out, and she found this comforting. Nora was not interested in standing out. At least that's what she told herself. By the time she'd reached her current age of twenty-five, she had established a lifestyle that was perfectly satisfactory and sensible. All the necessities were in place. A good job with the family business. A home with her sister and mother who loved her and on whom she could count. And, until a few days ago, a beloved uncle who had been the closest thing to a father she'd had for a decade.

Everyone she knew and many she did not were here in Greens Mortuary on Geary Boulevard to say goodbye to Cole Harvey. A heart attack had been his end—right in front of their teashop. His younger brother, Nora's father Peter Harvey, and her mother Margaret Ko had opened the shop in Cole's building right before Peter's own demise from an aneurysm ten years ago. He was relatively young—just fifty. Nora had been fifteen and her sister Rainey thirteen. To suddenly be without a father—how to explain the sensation? It was like a wound. A ripped, jagged, dangerous hole, blood vessels and nerve endings exposed. She was feeling it all over again. Her skin was constantly chilly, and she suffered from an oozing sort of stupefaction. Every now and then, pain would boil up to the surface of her consciousness, her eyes welling with tears, which would have been fine if she were at home. Here in the mortuary, she was forced to either weep in public or hurry off to the bathroom at a brisk walk, returning sympathetic smiles with her own brave one, commanding herself, Do not run. Once inside, she'd muffle her sobs in a towel, making as sure as she could that neither Rainey nor her mother could hear her. Because what would become of them all if they did?

Rainey and Margaret harbored no reservations about showing emotions. They were the most emotive people Nora knew. Take now for instance. She perched on a sofa next to them as they cycled through what seemed like a set list of crying jags. They sniffled and sobbed into already sopping handkerchiefs. The three were ensconced on one of the funeral home's receiving couches, a peach sateen affair that Nora found disconcerting. It was preferable to going into the other room where the ceremony would take place, where Uncle Cole's empty body lay in an open casket surrounded by giant displays of flowers and a poster-size black-and-white photo of him in his middle age, when his sideburns had begun to silver. Nora had done all this. She had organized everything down to the songs that played over the sound system, the poems his friends would read, and the appetizers that would be passed around in the receiving room afterwards.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared to stand up, and a young man offered her his hand.

"Hello. I'm Theo Furlan, Cole's grandson." He had straight, almost black hair, an olive complexion, brown eyes, and a beautiful, perfect nose.

A first thought popped into her head as she stood to shake his hand: I am in love. A swift second thought: I am screwed! It was unlike Nora to think, never mind say, a vulgarity. But as their hands touched, she knew both sentiments were true. Her heart was zinging—and he was her cousin.

Theo looked her in the eye and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

She ran her gaze over—a little too long than polite—an old, faded scar on his chin before mumbling thank you and letting his hand go. Her mother immediately became enraptured and insisted he sit down. He obliged as Rainey and Margaret scooted away from each other, creating a space on the slick peach cushions. Margaret turned to her daughters to explain just who this man was. There was nothing she liked more than to hear herself talk, and the habit only got her into trouble now and then, although it embarrassed Nora at least once a week in ways she could never anticipate.