The Funeral Ladies of Ellerie County by Claire Swinarski

Author:Claire Swinarski [Swinarski, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

That night, long after Iris had gone home, Esther sat out back on the porch and thought again of her husband. He would have been furious with her for this entire thing. Well, she was used to that. Felix was often a furious man. Kind and gentle and strong and playful, but furious? Yes, she’d use that word to describe him. Certainly.

Combat fatigue—Felix had never used those words. And that damn VA couldn’t have given less of a care, not that Felix would have given them the time of day if they had. It was all so normal. The word trauma; what the hell did that mean? They’d all seen horrible things. Poverty and violence were just the background noise of their lives. Esther had plenty of friends whose husbands were the exact same way, she was pretty sure. Although Katharine Rose’s Ed hadn’t even been in Vietnam, because his father had needed his help on the farm. Esther had understood, because of her own father’s 4-F, but Felix had never respected that.

Anyway, they didn’t have Zoloft back then. They had Miller Lite and long boat rides.

So Felix drank. Well, who wouldn’t? Everyone did, around here. Maybe Felix drank a bit too much, but the things he’d seen. He didn’t like to talk about it much. Sometimes in the middle of the night, Felix would sit up so suddenly, it was as if he’d heard an intruder. Esther would reach out and touch him, but he’d yank his hand away. He hit her once, but only once, on accident. He had been asleep. He’d screamed, and she could see it in his eyes, as if they were windows. Tangled messes of blood and limbs and United States Army–issued khaki. His hand had flung up and struck her in the mouth. He’d never forgiven himself.

Once, a couple of his army friends had been in town. God only knew why. Big, burly men with tattoos and jittery eyes. Esther had made her special spaghetti sauce, the kind that had to simmer for ten hours, and one of them had had the audacity to ask if it was Prego. Fran hadn’t liked the way they talked so loudly, so the two of them had gone to spend the night at Katharine Rose’s while Felix and his friends got so sloshed, one of them threw up in her rosebushes.

Felix. Oh, Felix. The days when he would wake up, his eyes laughing. He’d offer to make pancakes and kiss her senseless. He’d throw the grandkids in the air and sing them songs, praising God for his family, the blessings at his feet, the life he lived. He’d stop his truck to move turtles to the side of the road.

And the days when he would wake up with his eyes cloudy. Every movement a little more intentionally angry. A slammed refrigerator door, a coffee cup shoved into the sink. He would turn on Esther and snap at her for the smallest things. The smallest—it hurt to think about this.

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