Chapter 7 - The Cost of a Coffin
I pulled out a stack of glossy, high-resolution photographs and placed them face-down on the linen.
"Six months ago, on this exact date, at this exact hour," I said, looking around the table, meeting the eyes of every single person seated before me, "I sat in the parlor of the Northside Mortuary. I was asked to select three caskets."
Melissa frowned, setting her champagne flute down with a hard *thud*. "Claire, please... not now. We’re at dinner. Why do you always have to bring everyone down?"
"Shut up, Melissa," I said.
The command was so sharp, so icy and absolute, that Melissa actually recoiled, her mouth snapping shut in shock. Arthur glared at me, his face darkening. "Claire! Do not speak to your sister that way!"
"I selected three caskets," I continued, ignoring him completely. "The funeral director showed me mahogany, oak, and pine. Ethan always loved woodworking, so I picked mahogany for him. For Toby, who loved the ocean, I picked a soft blue enamel. For Maya, who was four years old and terrified of the dark, I asked them to line the interior with the softest white velvet they had, and I put her favorite glow-in-the-dark stars on the underside of the lid."
Eleanor pressed her napkin to her mouth, letting out a stifled sob. "Claire, stop this... please, it’s too morbid! We came here to celebrate!"
"The total cost for the three caskets, the gravesite preparation, the hearse, and the chapel service came to fifty-one thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars," I said. "I didn't have the money that day. The insurance hadn't cleared. Do you know who paid that bill, Arthur?"
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet my eyes.
"Margaret and David Campbell," I said. "Ethan’s parents. David took out a reverse mortgage on their modest ranch house in Macon to wire the funeral home the money by nine o'clock that morning, because the funeral home refused to release the bodies without payment. While you, Arthur, were having your shoes shined for Melissa’s birthday party, David Campbell was mortgaging his retirement so his son and grandchildren wouldn't be held in a hospital morgue cooler."
I took the first photograph from the stack and slid it down the table. It slid across the smooth mahogany, coming to a stop directly in front of Arthur’s bread plate.
It was an autopsy photograph of Ethan’s crushed wedding band, still caked with dried mud and blood.
Eleanor shrieked, knocking her water glass over. Water pooled across the white linen, soaking into the edges of the photograph. "My God! Arthur, make her stop! Take it away!"
"What is the matter with you?!" Arthur roared, standing up so violently his chair tipped backward, crashing against the hardwood floor. "Have you lost your mind?! You brought crime scene photos to a family dinner?!"
"I brought the cost of your dinner," I replied coldly.
I slid three more photographs across the table. One stopped in front of Melissa; one in front of Greg; one in front of Brenda.
"On that photograph, Melissa," I said, pointing a finger at my sister, "is the itemized bill for the reconstruction of Toby’s skull so that we could have a closed-casket service that wouldn't terrify his grandmothers. The cost was four thousand eight hundred dollars. Exactly the same amount Derek spent on the engagement ring you flashed on Instagram three days later."
Melissa shoved the paper away as if it were infected with plague, her face green, tears of genuine panic streaming down her cheeks. "You're a monster! You're a sick, twisted monster!"
"Am I?" I asked softly. "I didn't skip a funeral to eat duck confit, Melissa. I didn't text my grieving daughter to tell her she was being selfish for not wishing her sister a happy birthday while she was picking out three headstones."
"That's enough!" Arthur shouted, his veins bulging against his neck, his hands trembling with violent rage. "You want to talk about money?! Fine! Let’s talk about money! You got eighteen million dollars because of our family name! The Vance name carried weight in that court! You owe us! You owe your mother and me for every single sacrifice we made raising you! You owe Melissa for ruining her engagement! You will write a check to Derek’s firm tonight, or so help me God, I will disown you!"
A dead, suffocating silence descended upon the private dining room. The waiters outside the door had stopped moving. The distant laughter downstairs seemed to vanish.
I looked up at Arthur. I didn't blink. I didn't flinch.
"You can't disown someone who already severed the branch, Arthur," I whispered.
"What did you do with the money, Claire?!" Arthur screamed, his composure entirely shattered, saliva flying from his lips. "Tell me right now! Where is the fourteen million dollars?!"
I picked up the final document from the envelope and held it up.
May you like
"It’s gone," I said.
***
