Pet Sematary - Stephen King [104]
Rachel?
She looked toward Steve. Gage really liked these. He especially liked the white meat. It was just occurring to me that he was never going to eat another Butterball turkey.
Steve sent her upstairs to dress-the final test of her ability to cope, really-and when she came down wearing a simple black dress belted at the waist and carrying a small black clutch bag (an evening bag, really), Steve decided she was all right, and Jud concurred.
Steve drove her into town. He stood with Surrendra Hardu in the lobby of the East Room and watched Rachel drift down the aisle toward the flower-buried coffin like a wraith.
How is it going, Steve? Surrendra asked quietly.
Going fucking terrible, Steve said in a low, harsh voice. How did you think it was going?
I thought it was probably going fucking terrible, Surrendra said and sighed.
The trouble really began at the morning viewing, when Irwin Goldman refused to shake hands with his son-in-law.
The sight of so many friends and relatives had actually forced Louis out of the web of shock a little, had forced him to notice what was going on and be outward. He had reached that stage of malleable grief that funeral directors are so used to handling and
turning to its best advantage. Louis was moved around like a counter in a Parcheesi game.
Outside the East Room was a small foyer where people could smoke and sit in overstuffed easy chairs. The chairs looked as if they might have come directly from a distress sale at some old English mens club that had gone broke. Beside the door leading into the viewing room was a small easel, black metal chased with gold, and on this easel was a small sign which said simply CAGE WILLIAM CREED. If you went across this spacious white building that looked misleadingly like a comfortable old house, you came to an identical foyer, this one outside the West Room, where the sign on the easel read ALBERTA BURNHAM NEDEAU. At the back of the house was the Riverfront Room. The easel to the left of the door between the foyer and this room was blank; it was not in use on this Tuesday morning. Downstairs was the coffin showroom, each model lit by a baby spotlight mounted on the ceiling. If you looked up-Louis had, and the funeral director had frowned severely at him-it looked as if there were a lot of strange animals roosting up there.
Jud had come with him on Sunday, the day after Gage had died, to pick out a coffin. They had gone downstairs, and instead of immediately turning right into the coffin showroom, Louis, dazed, had continued straight on down the hallway toward a plain white swinging door, the sort you see communicating between restaurant dining rooms and the kitchen. Both Jud and the funeral director had said quickly and simultaneously, Not that way, and Louis had followed them away from that swinging door obediently. He knew what was behind that door though. His uncle had been an undertaker.
The East Room was furnished with neat rows of folding chairs
-the expensive ones with plushy seats and backs. At the front, in an area that seemed a combination nave and bower, was Cages coffin. Louis had picked the American Casket Companys rosewood model-Eternal Rest, it was called. It was lined with plushy pink silk. The mortician agreed that it was really a beautiful coffin and apologized that he did not have one with a blue lining. Louis responded that he and Rachel had never made such distinctions. The mortician had nodded. The mortician asked Louis if he had thought about how he would defray the expenses of
Cages funeral. If not, he said, he could take Louis into his office and quickly go over three of their more popular plans- In Louiss mind, an announcer suddenly spoke up cheerfully: I
got my kids coffin free, for Raleigh coupons!
Feeling like a creature in a dream, he said, Im going to pay for everything with my MasterCard.
Fine, the mortician said.
The coffin was no more than four feet long-a dwarf coffin. Nonetheless its price was slightly over six hundred dollars. Louis supposed