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hadn’t dropped before her mouth left mine, but
the taste of her strawberry lip gloss lingered.
    “What was that for?” I asked once I remembered how to speak.
Josie was an expert at rendering me speechless.
    Sliding off of the bed, she paused before disappearing
behind the curtain. “It looked like you needed that.”

 

     
     
    HOW DID ONE hold a funeral for a
person whose body was gone? Hell, for a person whose ashes didn’t even fill an
urn? The whole concept was lost on me, but I was about to find out.
    A few days after the fire, the chaplain at the hospital
offered to do a service after he asked about funeral arrangements and I pretty
much scratched my head in answer. Clay died with no money in the bank, and his
secret whiskey stash went up with the rest of the trailer. Since I had a
whopping forty-two dollars in my wallet, having a funeral service inside of a
church was out. So much for not-for-profit . . .
    The chaplain had suggested holding the service outside, at a
location of my choosing—maybe somewhere I had fond memories of Clay and I being
together. When my answer was another head scratching, the chaplain gave up and
suggested a spot by the river. Worked for me. So long as it was quick and to
the point, I was fine with Clay’s funeral being held there.
    It was almost one o’clock, and I was going to be late. I’d
pulled into the public access parking lot fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t
pull myself out of my truck to make the short hike to where the chaplain was
waiting for me. He was already there. At least, I assumed his car was the one
with the bumper sticker that read Don’t drive faster than your guardian
angel can fly. There weren’t any other cars in the parking lot. It was late
fall, too late in the season for fishermen, or campers, or anyone other than a
random funeral goer to be enjoying the river.
    The chaplain had encouraged me to invite as many family
members and friends as I wanted, assuring me the mourning process was so much
easier to go through with the support of loved ones. The best I could do after
he’d said that was to not laugh. Loved ones mourning Clay Black? Hell, I was
his last living flesh and blood, and even I wasn’t so hot on the idea of
mourning him. How was I supposed to mourn a man I’d hated more days than not?
How could I miss a father who’d reminded me every day how he cursed the day I
was born? Mourning a person didn’t come standard with death. It was an honor
reserved for those who lived life right.
    Needless to say, I hadn’t invited anyone else. No one but me
would be there, and even I didn’t want to attend. The only reason I finally
shoved open that driver’s side door was because I knew the chaplain was waiting
and he sure as hell didn’t need to go out of his way for Clay. So I sure as
hell wasn’t going to let his good deed be wasted. Adjusting my hat, I made sure
the bottle cap was still in my shirt pocket before heading down the trail.
    Since the only thing left of Clay was whatever was left
inside the shell of the trailer, the chaplain recommended I bring something
meaningful to Clay and me. Something that could stand in place of a casket or an
urn. Something that encapsulated his forty years of life. It took me a while,
but I finally found something that summed Clay Black up perfectly. A token that
was more the man my father was than any varnished casket.
    The trail made for an easy hike down to the river, but I
struggled with every step. My feet had grown concrete blocks, and just when I
thought I couldn’t go another step, I saw the chaplain. He saw me at the same
time, gave me a small smile, and waved. He’d picked a nice spot with the river as
a backdrop, and he stood beside a large rock, almost like it was a podium. As
expected, we were the only two around.
    “Hey, Chaplain. Sorry I kept you waiting.” I forced myself
to take the last few steps. Once I got it over with, it would be done. Over. I could
sweep the whole thing