The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(45)

Jensen Funeral Home went along with any kind of funeral service the relatives wanted, so long as it didn’t involve alcohol or anything unseemly. According to Artie, one time there had been karaoke at the lectern, because it had been the great passion of the deceased. It had been nearly impossible to stop once it got going, because there was always one more person who wanted the microphone.

The door opened behind them, and Artie rolled the stretcher in. Mike was covered with a white sheet. The stretcher’s wheels left tracks in the carpet. Ilka couldn’t help but notice Shelby’s expression tighten as he approached the catafalque. She stepped forward and laid a hand on the woman’s back, then asked her if she was okay.

Shelby nodded. Her face was like stone, her fists clenched, but her eyes followed Artie as he parked the stretcher between the sofas and the catafalque.

He nodded and told her to take her time.

“I’m ready,” she said, and she walked over and stood at the end where her son’s feet stuck up.

Artie took hold of the sheet; then he waited until she gave him a small nod. He lifted the sheet, and Mike’s feet and lower legs appeared.

It took her only a moment to confirm what she already knew. She turned and collapsed into Artie’s arms.

Ilka had kept in the background, but now she stepped forward and pulled the sheet back over Mike’s feet. She thought about pushing the stretcher out again, but she decided that Shelby should be allowed to leave the room before her son. When and only when she was ready to leave.

She went out into the hallway to give the mother time. Ilka needed time herself, to gather her thoughts. Though she tried not to worry too much about the problems with coffin suppliers, she wasn’t used to giving in and letting herself be patronized. She took it personally that no one was willing to be helpful. On the other hand, she did have the coffin for tomorrow; she didn’t need to worry about that. But it exasperated her that they had simply shut her off.

Stop it, she told herself. Artie and Shelby came out, and Artie asked if there was anything she wanted her son to have with him in the coffin.

“Think it over,” he said as they stood in the doorway. “Don’t go out and buy something. It’s more like if there’s anything at home that you know meant something to him. Or to you.”

Shelby promised to think about it and let them know. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw anything of his away after he left; it’s all up in the attic, but I haven’t looked at it since then. I’ll come over tomorrow if I find anything.”

“And if you don’t have any clothes for him, we’ll take care of it,” Artie added quickly. He hugged her one last time.

She nodded and thanked them; then she glanced again at the open door to the room where the stretcher still stood before walking out.





20



Back in her father’s room, Ilka checked her phone. She had two messages, both from her mother. The first one: “Let us know when you land. Will pick you up at the airport.”

The next message was a bit more demanding: “You have three jobs Monday, and the entire week is filled up. The first job is nine o’clock Monday morning at Linde School in Virum.”

Ilka plopped down on her father’s bed and closed her eyes for a moment. Earlier that day, she had been more than ready to go home. Turn her back on everything and pick up where she had left off. If she had followed that plan, she might even have been sitting on a plane right now. But that was no longer an option.

Insulted? Vindictive? Enraged? Ilka wasn’t sure how she felt. Maybe she was just offended on her father’s behalf, but pride and vanity were involved, too. She was not going to take the coffin suppliers’ rejections lying down. Yet she didn’t feel at all like they had won the first battle. On the contrary. And it would suit her fine if they found out she could manage without them. Then there was Shelby. Ilka had to make sure she got to say good-bye to her son in a dignified manner. And finally, of course, there were all her father’s things. And the two half sisters she’d found out about. She was anxious to meet them, and she had in fact expected they’d stop by to say hello, but maybe they thought she needed time to settle in. As if she’d had time for that.

She smiled and glanced around the room, which was a complete mess. Almost everything lay in piles, and the two body bags she had begun filling had to be emptied again. What would Erik say if he could see her now? “Pack your stuff and go home,” or “Get everything under control and figure out what you want.”

To try to get herself going, Ilka filled several supermarket plastic sacks with things she was sure would be thrown out. She went downstairs with one in each hand and walked out behind the house to the big Dumpsters. She opened the door and tossed the two sacks inside, but as she was about to slam the door shut, something caught her eye. A jacket sleeve stuck up between the bags over in the far corner of the Dumpster.

Ilka stood on tiptoe and leaned over to grab the corner of the topmost sack. To her surprise she saw the bags of her father’s clothes she had packed for Sister Eileen to give to her parish, hidden under trash sacks. But the nun had said she would take the clothes to the parish herself, so…

Ilka stared at the sacks for a moment; then she leaned back and slammed the Dumpster door shut.

Back in the bedroom, she gathered up the drawings her half sisters had made for their father. She would drive out later and give them to the two women, use them as an excuse for showing up and introducing herself. She was nervous but curious—would she see any of herself in them? Or something of their common father?