A Noise Downstairs(82)

Forty-Nine

Anna had thought there would be more people.

About forty showed up for the funeral, which was held in a small church on Naugatuck Avenue. While Charlotte and Paul were not affiliated with any Milford church, the funeral home had found a minister who was not only amenable to hosting the service, but also willing to say a few words about Paul.

Paul’s mother, who lived in a nursing home in Hartford, had been driven down by one of the facility’s care workers. In her nineties with twiglike arms and legs, she was wheeled in and given a spot near the front, in the center aisle. She gave every indication of being oblivious to what was going on.

At one point, Anna was pretty sure she caught a glimpse of Arnwright at the back of the church, but then she lost sight of him.

Several of those attending were evidently from West Haven College. Anna walked in with a woman who, she learned after some brief small talk, was the college president. She introduced Anna to a few of Paul’s colleagues. Anna forgot the names as soon as she heard them. When anyone asked how she knew Paul, she said simply, “He was a friend.”

She felt ashamed to admit her connection. Everyone, she believed, would know how she had failed him. She felt doubly ashamed that she did not want to admit it.

Not that there weren’t people there who knew. Charlotte, of course, and there was Bill Myers, who had been huddled over to one side of the church, reviewing some notes. Anna recognized him from real estate signs she’d seen around town over the years.

Anna also figured out who Hailey and Walter must be. They were the couple with the crying boy. That he was Josh there was no doubt. Anna could see the resemblance. He was a miniature Paul in a brown suit, red tie, and shined-up shoes. He sat with his mother and stepfather in the front pew to the left of the aisle, while Charlotte sat on the right. They did not exchange greetings nor look at one another.

It struck Anna that Charlotte was very alone. She was on the aisle, so she could only have someone on her right. Anna figured that would be a spot reserved for family, but once he had finished reviewing his notes, Bill took that seat space on the pew. He seemed to know the two women and one man to his right, which led Anna to think they were others from the real estate agency. Bill gave Charlotte a comforting hug, followed by the others.

A work family seemed to be all Charlotte had in attendance. Maybe the trip out from New York was too much for Charlotte’s mother.

Anna came up the right side of the church and slipped into a pew at the halfway point. She ended up sitting next to a man in a gray suit who turned and nodded.

“Hello,” he said.

Anna nodded.

He extended a hand. “Harold Foster,” he said.

“Anna White,” she said.

Foster?

There were probably plenty of Fosters in Milford, but Anna was pretty sure that Jill Foster’s husband’s name had been Harold.

He must have sensed the question she wanted to ask but would not. “Yes,” he said. “ That Foster. My wife worked at West Haven.”

“Were you and Paul friends?”

“Not . . . really. But there is, I suppose, a connection.” He took a moment to form his thoughts. “My wife, and Catherine Lamb, and now Paul. All victims, one way or another.”

Anna could see the reasoning.

“Taking his own life,” Foster said, shaking his head. “One can only imagine the torment he was going through.”

Anna could only nod. She was relieved to see the minister heading for the pulpit. “It looks like things are about to begin,” she said.

The minister took his place. He read several passages from the Bible that Anna did not recognize but assumed were relevant. She’d never been particularly religious, and her parents had rarely attended church. The minister called on Bill Myers to say a few words. Bill stood, gave Charlotte’s hand a squeeze, and mounted the steps to the pulpit.

“Boy, this is tough,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a folded sheaf of papers that contained his remarks. “If there were two words to describe Paul, they would have to be good guy. That’s what he was. He was a good guy. But he was more than that. He was a good husband, and he was a wonderful father to his son, Josh.”

Bill looked at Josh, sitting on the front row bench, dwarfed between his mother and stepfather, staring down into his lap. The mention of his name brought his head up briefly.

“And the fact that Josh is such a fine young man is a testament to what a good man Paul was. He was also a devoted educator. He cared about his students. I know that all the people here today from the college would say that about him, too.”

Bill cleared his throat, shuffled his papers. He seemed to have lost his place. He flipped the pages over, his handwritten scribbles briefly visible for the congregation to see.

“Here we are. Sorry,” he said. “I’m a little nervous. I first knew Paul back in our own college days, and we kind of drifted apart after that. Then we both turned out to be living in the same town, and we reconnected. I’m glad I got to know him again, even if it was only for a few years. These last few months were not easy for Paul. He suffered a trauma he clearly could not move past. I think for those of us close to Paul, the signs were right in front of us, but we blinded ourselves to them. We thought things would be okay. There’s a lesson here for us all. When we see friends in trouble, we have to be there for them. We have to do everything we can to make them get help. We can’t assume they’ll pull through.” Bill paused. “I failed Paul in that regard, and have to live with that the rest of my life.”