The long black limousine from Flagg Bros. Morticians dropped her off at the library after the brief service at the Unitarian Universalist chapel. This was Wednesday, Libby’s afternoon to sit at the desk, date-stamping checkouts, shelving returns, waiting for the volunteer driver who delivered the interlibrary loans. She started uphill, across the lawn, raised a hand to signal an afterthought, then retraced her steps. “He had fillings, crowns.”
Billy Flagg held a Ziploc bag up to the light. In a sepia-toned plastic haze floated her father’s partial and a gold wedding band. “Dental work―caps, crowns, fillings. The cremation process vaporizes ’em.”
“Just curious, Billy. He’d want to know.”
“Most folks
don’t seem to mind.” Billy’s window rose with an electric whisper. Most folks. There
had been her, Billy Flagg and the minister. Billy touched Libby a two-finger
salute from the bridge of his nose and backed up Mary Squibb’s gravel drive
to make a U-turn. At the curb Billy checked his necktie in the sideview
mirror and guided his big, black funeral barge in a majestic retreat.
coming to DF Underground in 2010
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