The Summons by John Grisham Page B

there was no doubt it belonged to Harry Rex Vonner.
    They embraced, a bear hug from Harry Rex, a retreating squeeze from Ray. “I’m so sorry,” Harry Rex said several times. He was tall with a large chest and stomach, a big messy bear of a man who worshiped Judge Atlee and would do anything for his boys. He was a brilliant lawyer trapped in a small town, and it was to Harry Rex that Judge Atlee had always turned during Forrest’s legal problems.
    “When did you get here?” he asked.
    “Around five. I found him in his study.”
    “I’ve been in trial for two weeks, hadn’t talked to him. Where’s Forrest?”
    “Gone to buy beer.”
    They both digested the gravity of this. They sat in the rocking chairs near the swing. “It’s good to see you, Ray.”
    “And you too, Harry Rex.”
    “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
    “Nor can I. I thought he’d always be here.”
    Harry Rex wiped his eyes with the back of a sleeve. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I just can’t believe it. Isaw him two weeks ago, I guess it was. He was movin’ around, sharp as a tack, in pain but not complainin’.”
    “They gave him a year, and that was about twelve months ago. I thought he’d hang on, though.”
    “Me too. Such a tough old fart.”
    “You want some tea?”
    “That’d be nice.”
    Ray went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of instant ice tea. He took them back to the porch and said, “This stuff isn’t very good.”
    Harry Rex took a drink and concurred. “At least it’s cold.”
    “We need to have a wake, Harry Rex, and we’re not doing it here. Any ideas?”
    He pondered this only for a second, then leaned in with a big smile. “Let’s put him in the courthouse, first floor in the rotunda, lay him in state like a king or somethin’.”
    “You’re serious?”
    “Why not? He’d love it. The whole town could parade by and pay their respects.”
    “I like it.”
    “It’s brilliant, trust me. I’ll talk to the sheriff and get it approved. Ever’body’ll love it. When’s the funeral?”
    “Tuesday.”
    “Then we’ll have us a wake tomorrow afternoon. You want me to say a few words?”
    “Of course. Why don’t you just organize the whole thing?”
    “Done. Y’all picked out a casket?”
    “We were going in the morning.”
    “Do oak, forget that bronze and copper crap. We buried Momma last year in oak and it was the prettiest damned thang I’d ever seen. Magargel can get one out of Tupelo in two hours. And forget the vault, too. They’re just rip-offs. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, bury ’em and let ’em rot is the only way to go. The Episcopalians do it right.”
    Ray was a little dazed by the torrent of advice, but was thankful nonetheless. The Judge’s will had not mentioned the casket but had specifically requested a vault. And he wanted a nice headstone. He was, after all, an Atlee, and he was to be buried among the other great ones.
    If anyone knew anything about the Judge’s business, it was Harry Rex. As they watched the shadows fall across the long front lawn of Maple Run, Ray said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Looks like he gave all his money away.”
    “I’m not surprised. Are you?”
    “No.”
    “There’ll be a thousand folks at his funeral who were touched by his generosity. Crippled children, sick folks with no insurance, black kids he sent to college, every volunteer fire department, civic club, all-star team, school group headed for Europe. Our church sent some doctors to Haiti and the Judge gave us a thousand bucks.”
    “When did you start going to church?”
    “Two years ago.”
    “Why?”
    “Got a new wife.”
    “How many is that?”
    “Four. I really like this one, though.”
    “Lucky for her.”
    “She’s very lucky.”
    “I like this courthouse wake, Harry Rex. All those folks you just mentioned can pay their respects in public. Plenty of parking, don’t have to worry about seating.”
    “It’s brilliant.”
    Forrest wheeled into the