a morbid day. So sue me.
I turned and smiled at everyone. At Pearl and Jeeves. At Betty,
the maid, Jake, the pool man, Roy, the gardener, Zeb, of course,
southeRn FRied 41
and Stella, I guessed, the handyman. Pearl was right on that
account; one look at Stella and you knew handyman was what
you should call her, on account of she’d make Rosie O’Donnell
look petite. Though, oddly enough, she was just as beautiful as
she was brick-wally.
And that was pretty much everyone.
Everyone, that is, but one lone straggler hanging back some,
near to my age, good looking if not entirely solemn.
Him I’d never seen before. I nudged Pearl. “Who’s that?” I
pointed with my chin in his general direction.
Pearl squinted, tilting her hat up for a better view. “Huh,” she
said. “Don’t rightly know. He looks familiar, I suppose. Maybe he
did some work for Granny. She was always hiring people for this
and that. Odd jobs.”
“Huh,” I also said. “Kind of strange to come to a person’s
funeral that you barely know, though.” It was then it hit me.
“Unless that’s the Beau Pellingham mentioned in Granny’s will.”
I whispered the question to each of the staff in turn. They
all shrugged, all remembered seeing him around the mansion at
one point or another, but nothing beyond that. Strange, even
for Granny. You were either in her life or not; no one was on
the periphery. Least of all anyone allowed in the mansion. That
was sacred ground for her. Maybe you could make it inside the
greeting room, but never beyond that. Not even at parties. Those
always occurred out back, on the great lawn, or out front on the
veranda, for sweet iced tea and finger sandwiches.
See, Granny loved her sweet iced tea. She’d have Pearl brew it
in the sun all day so that it was good and strong. Then she’d pour
in spoonfuls of Dixie Crystal sugar, which came from Savannah.
Some peach juice was added, if the peaches were in season,
either that or a fresh-cut lemon. Nothing like a cold glass of it
on a sweltering summer’s day. Matter of fact, I was pleased as
punch when the preacher arrived, several pitchers in tow. Seems
Granny had told him at some point that she wanted it served at
her funeral. For a final toast. All things considered, I was glad
42 Rob Rosen
for it right about then, seeing as my clothes were already sticking
to me something fierce, my face drenched with sweat, my heart
beating like a drum inside my chest.
Not that any of that explained who Beau Pellingham was, if
that’s who the stranger was, in fact. Just thought you’d want to
know why a bunch of folks were drinking iced tea at a funeral.
Even in the South that must’ve seemed odd. Though for Granny,
odd was par for the course. Heck, odd was a friggin’ hole in one.
Anyway, I didn’t have time to find out about the stranger just
then. The preacher started walking up, the funeral home wheeling
Granny’s remains behind them. I shivered at the sight, despite the
intense heat. This was it, after all. A handful of minutes and I’d
be all alone in the world. Pearl held my hand, sensing my sadness.
Though I suppose hers was almost as great as mine, seeing as
she’d been with Granny even longer than I had.
The preacher nodded, standing at the head of the grave. He
spoke briefly, offering up some prayers I barely paid any attention
to. I stared up at the trees instead, at a pair of birds flitting about,
at a squirrel running across a nearby branch. Anywhere but
down. Not that it helped, what with all the sobbing going on
around me, the heaviest from the rear of the crowd, which was
weird, all things considered, seeing as those closest to her were
packed up front.
I turned, briefly. It was the stranger making the racket, the
supposed Beau Pellingham. Just for a second, our eyes locked.
The chill returned. It was true, I’d never seem him before, as far
as I could remember, but there was still something familiar
I turned and smiled at everyone. At Pearl and Jeeves. At Betty,
the maid, Jake, the pool man, Roy, the gardener, Zeb, of course,
southeRn FRied 41
and Stella, I guessed, the handyman. Pearl was right on that
account; one look at Stella and you knew handyman was what
you should call her, on account of she’d make Rosie O’Donnell
look petite. Though, oddly enough, she was just as beautiful as
she was brick-wally.
And that was pretty much everyone.
Everyone, that is, but one lone straggler hanging back some,
near to my age, good looking if not entirely solemn.
Him I’d never seen before. I nudged Pearl. “Who’s that?” I
pointed with my chin in his general direction.
Pearl squinted, tilting her hat up for a better view. “Huh,” she
said. “Don’t rightly know. He looks familiar, I suppose. Maybe he
did some work for Granny. She was always hiring people for this
and that. Odd jobs.”
“Huh,” I also said. “Kind of strange to come to a person’s
funeral that you barely know, though.” It was then it hit me.
“Unless that’s the Beau Pellingham mentioned in Granny’s will.”
I whispered the question to each of the staff in turn. They
all shrugged, all remembered seeing him around the mansion at
one point or another, but nothing beyond that. Strange, even
for Granny. You were either in her life or not; no one was on
the periphery. Least of all anyone allowed in the mansion. That
was sacred ground for her. Maybe you could make it inside the
greeting room, but never beyond that. Not even at parties. Those
always occurred out back, on the great lawn, or out front on the
veranda, for sweet iced tea and finger sandwiches.
See, Granny loved her sweet iced tea. She’d have Pearl brew it
in the sun all day so that it was good and strong. Then she’d pour
in spoonfuls of Dixie Crystal sugar, which came from Savannah.
Some peach juice was added, if the peaches were in season,
either that or a fresh-cut lemon. Nothing like a cold glass of it
on a sweltering summer’s day. Matter of fact, I was pleased as
punch when the preacher arrived, several pitchers in tow. Seems
Granny had told him at some point that she wanted it served at
her funeral. For a final toast. All things considered, I was glad
42 Rob Rosen
for it right about then, seeing as my clothes were already sticking
to me something fierce, my face drenched with sweat, my heart
beating like a drum inside my chest.
Not that any of that explained who Beau Pellingham was, if
that’s who the stranger was, in fact. Just thought you’d want to
know why a bunch of folks were drinking iced tea at a funeral.
Even in the South that must’ve seemed odd. Though for Granny,
odd was par for the course. Heck, odd was a friggin’ hole in one.
Anyway, I didn’t have time to find out about the stranger just
then. The preacher started walking up, the funeral home wheeling
Granny’s remains behind them. I shivered at the sight, despite the
intense heat. This was it, after all. A handful of minutes and I’d
be all alone in the world. Pearl held my hand, sensing my sadness.
Though I suppose hers was almost as great as mine, seeing as
she’d been with Granny even longer than I had.
The preacher nodded, standing at the head of the grave. He
spoke briefly, offering up some prayers I barely paid any attention
to. I stared up at the trees instead, at a pair of birds flitting about,
at a squirrel running across a nearby branch. Anywhere but
down. Not that it helped, what with all the sobbing going on
around me, the heaviest from the rear of the crowd, which was
weird, all things considered, seeing as those closest to her were
packed up front.
I turned, briefly. It was the stranger making the racket, the
supposed Beau Pellingham. Just for a second, our eyes locked.
The chill returned. It was true, I’d never seem him before, as far
as I could remember, but there was still something familiar
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