The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [173]
“Daddy loved his God and his country, he loved his children and his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren, and he loved every boy he ever coached at SFU.” Mrs. Stump suddenly strode in her huge high heels over to the colorized photo of the man in the sweatshirt and kissed his bald head. “Daddy,” she said, “you were the best thing that ever happened to the defensive line at Georgia Tech and the best coach they ever had at Southeast Florida University.”
A few of the women tried to clap but it was difficult because of their squirming babies.
“When you retired,” Jackie told the photograph, “SFU should have sent you that Northstar Cadillac you always wanted with a giant-size wreath that said, Thank You in letters of gold.” Suddenly she slapped shut her notebook and spoke from her heart, a bitter one. “But they didn’t. They never gave Coach Ronny the time of day from the day he retired to the day he died. And I’ll never forgive them for that. Never. Frankie’s girls, the Daughters of Destiny, will now entertain us in this mournful hour.” She shuddered, too indignant to say more, and strode off the dais. Three young fat girls clambered up the steps and sang harmonies in a medley of “Amazing Grace” and “I’m a Ramblin’ Wreck from Georgia Tech,” their grandfather’s undergraduate song.
Midway through their performance, to Annie’s shock, Jackie suddenly lurched out of her seat, marched as aggressively up the middle aisle as if she were in her father’s line-up at SFU. She clopped right over, grabbed and shook Annie by the arms. “You’re the slut Daddy married!”
Annie was stunned into a loud protest. “Stop that! No, I’m not!”
On stage, the fat little girls slid to an end in a blended slur of vowels. “Was blind but now I see…a heck of an engineer.”
Jackie lost control. “Believe you me, Paisley or Pammy or whatever your name is, I will fight you in court till the day I die and I swear before Almighty God you will never set one foot in my mama’s house!”
Annie had pulled her arms away from the woman’s strong grip. “I’m sorry! Jackie, I never met your father. I’m at the wrong funeral.”
“Ha. You just happen to know my name and show up here. Nice try.” Jackie spit the words at her as two big flat-faced men, calling to her sympathetically—“Come on now, sister”—tugged her back up the aisle and shoved her down in her chair.
The male teenager who’d been forced to shut off his cell phone joined the singers on the stage. Tall and pasty, he swayed back and forth for a while then began in a loud aggrieved tone, “My grandpa was a complete A hole. But like hey okay who isn’t?”
Annie heard hsst, hsst! behind her. It was Rafael Rook at the rear of the room, dressed in lime-green floppy trousers and a yellow shirt with alligators cheerfully dancing on their hind legs. She glared at him then turned back to the stage.
The teenaged Buchstabe, dirty-haired, acne-faced, and with his huge hands clinched at his sides went on to say that his grandfather should never have bothered coaching at SFU and that in fact no one should bother attending any college anywhere in the miasmic swamp of meaninglessness that was “this total shit ass dog crap, like listen up, the fucked up world you fucked up, you assholes!” There was a gasp from the front row. Jackie lurched forward bellowing, “If Daddy was alive, Martin, he would kick your filthy mouth right off of your filthy head!”
“I’m keeping it real here, Aunt Jackie, so fuck you.”
Jackie’s brothers pulled her back into her chair.
A hand squeezed Annie’s shoulder. She looked around, recognizing the