Consequences(215)

Hoping the sunlight would improve her mood; Claire lay on the loveseat and contemplated life and death. Death seemed peaceful and predictable. She was pondering similar thoughts—thoughts she hadn’t entertained in over a year—when Tony found her staring into space. His tone was sympathetic and tender, “Claire, there’s a private memorial for Simon on Sunday, in Madison, Indiana.”

Claire turned to her husband. Her make-up was done and her hair styled, nevertheless, her eyelids were swollen and her eyes were distant. “Okay”—she contemplated his statement and weighed her response—“We should send flowers.”

“No—we should attend.”

Claire sat up. “No! We shouldn’t”—tears once again threatened—“Tony, I haven’t been to a funeral since my parents died. I can’t go to Simon’s.”

For the second time in two days Anthony Rawlings knelt before his wife. His tone was incredibly sweet and supportive. “I have his parents’ number. I really think you should call—I’m not telling you to—I’m saying it would be a good idea. The service is private. If they invite you or us—we should attend.”

Claire shook her head. Speaking without crying wasn’t an option. He handed her the telephone number, kissed her gently, and went back to his office.

It may have been half an hour—it may have been three hours—time had temporarily lost its meaning. Eventually, Claire knocked on Tony’s office door. Together they made the call. The person who answered her call hesitated before putting Mrs. Johnson on the line. “This is a difficult time. May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Claire—Claire Rawlings.” She remembered Simon had a younger sister and wondered if she was who was speaking. The voice asked her to hold. Soon Simon’s mother was on the line. Claire began, “Mrs. Johnson, I’m not sure if you remember me.”

“Of course I remember you. Thank you for calling.”

Claire offered their condolences. Although Claire had prayed Mrs. Johnson wouldn’t extend an invitation to the memorial service—she did invite both of them. Before the conversation ended, Mrs. Johnson added, “Simon and I were very close. I know how much you meant to him. If possible, could you and Mr. Rawlings arrive early?”

Claire looked at Tony, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Claire replied, “If you’d like us to—we will.”

“Thank you, the service will begin at 2:00 PM, but the family is having a private viewing at noon. I’d appreciate it if you and Mr. Rawlings could arrive at 1:00 PM.”

Claire said they would and Tony disconnected the line.



The flight to Louisville, Kentucky was quiet. Being incredibly supportive—Tony didn’t work—read his laptop—or do anything—that wasn’t focused on Claire. His excessive attention added to her discomfort. Once they arrived in Louisville, a driver took them to Madison, a small quaint town on the Ohio River. It was Claire’s first visit to Indiana in years.

The funeral home resembled a colonial mansion—brick with large white pillars. Arriving early, they sat in the car and waited. Claire knew she was fidgeting—she couldn’t help it—the entire scenario was unnerving. Finally, Tony grabbed her hand and squeezed. Claire exhaled and looked at her husband. Astounded by his sensitivity—considering this was Simon—she vocalized her thoughts. Her words came unfiltered; she didn’t have the energy to consider the possible ramifications. “Why are you being so supportive?”

“Because I wasn’t able to support you when your parents died.”