Killing Britney by Sean Olin Page B

walked back toward her empty place in the front row pew. The respectful silence emanating toward her filled her with such joy that she almost felt like running up and hugging each and every person there.
    Just as she was about to take her seat again, she heard an odd noise coming from the back of the room. A popping sound. A sound of air caught between two palms. Someone was clapping—not the kind of clapping that showed appreciation; sarcastic, ironic clapping, the kind that said, “I’m laughing at you.” The gall! And this clapping was gradually getting louder. And faster, like horse hooves picking up speed. Other people were joining in now. They didn’t seem to understand that this was a sick joke. They were clapping in earnest, in appreciation. They were clapping because they liked her. She wished they’d stop, though; the thunder of their applause drowned out the instigator, making it impossible for her to pinpoint where the sound had come from.
    She plopped down in her seat and covered her face with her hands. She was no longer crying. She didn’t even feel sad anymore. She was enraged. Who could possibly show such disrespect for the dead? she wondered. Who could possibly be so out to get her? No. No. She tried to calm herself down with deep-breathing exercises. The more she told herself not to be paranoid, the more paranoid she became.

ten
    That night, at the buffet held in Ricky’s honor in the VFW hall, the other hockey wives congregated around the head table, where Britney sat with Ricky’s family, and ogled her ring.
    “It’s beautiful!” said Daphney.
    They all wanted to know, “Where’d he get it?”
    Erin, who could always be counted on to say something just this side of inappropriate, asked, “How’d he afford it? He and his mother weren’t well-off or anything.”
    Cindy shushed her and changed the subject. “You two were such a perfect couple,” she said.
    “Just think what their babies would have looked like,” said Daphney, a faraway look sliding over her face.
    “Yeah,” added Erin, “and just think how much fun Cindy would have had babysitting for them.”
    Cindy blushed and sighed as if a phantom baby were right there in front of them.
    Through all of this, Britney didn’t say much. She was still too torn up by her sadness. It made Britney smile to listen to them, though. The sight of them delighting in acting like themselves reminded Britney that the world hadn’t completely changed.
    Daphney asked, “How’d he do it? I want to hear every detail.”
    “Well.” Britney tried to think back. Time had been moving so slowly since Ricky died that Friday seemed like a lifetime ago. “After we left Troy’s party, Ricky drove me to …” She searched her mind. “Menominee Park. I didn’t want to go. I was tired. I feel bad about it now, but I kept arguing with him about why he wouldn’t just take me straight home—”
    Erin cut her off. “Get to the good part!” she said. “How did he propose?”
    “He made me get out of the car and he led me to a little slope where the snow hadn’t been trampled yet. It was so cold, I can’t tell you! He made me stand there while he pressed letters into the snow with his body, and it wasn’t until he was, like, halfway done that I realized what he was doing.”
    The other girls sighed and cooed.
    “He was spelling it out in the snow!” said Cindy. “That’s so romantic.”
    Britney smiled briefly, but her smile faded as Ricky’s face rushed up from her memory.
    Though they wanted to, the girls couldn’t dwell long over this story; it was time to join the serving line and they had to return to their tables.
    The mood was sad, but it was nice not to have to be sad all alone.
    When her mother died, Britney had felt completely isolated. She hadn’t even been able to talk to her dad about it because he’d responded by trying to disappear in his work, hiding at the office sometimes until midnight, and, when he could no longer