and the preparation of food by a caterer
Ray was utterly sincere. He was also concerned about securing the premises. A wake would require a thorough scouring of the house by a cleaning service, and the preparation of food by a caterer, and flowers hauled in by a florist. And all of this activity would begin in the morning.
“I understand,” the reverend said.
The assistant backed out first, pulling the gurney, which was being pushed gently by Mr. Magargel. The Judge was covered from head to foot by a starched white sheet that was tucked neatly under him. With Thurber following behind, they rolled him out, across the front porch and down the steps, the last Atlee to live at Maple Run.
HALF AN hour later, Forrest materialized from somewhere in the back of the house. He was holding a tall clear glass that was filled with a suspicious-looking brown liquid, and it wasn’t ice tea. “They gone?” he asked, looking at the driveway.
“Yes,” Ray said. He was sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigar. When Forrest sat down next to him, the aroma of sour mash followed quickly.
“Where’d you find that?” Ray asked.
“He had a hiding place in his bathroom. Want some?”
“No. How long have you known that?”
“Thirty years.”
A dozen lectures leapt forward, but Ray fought them off. They’d been delivered many times before, and evidently they had failed because here was Forrest sipping bourbon after 141 days of sobriety.
“How’s Ellie?” Ray asked after a long puff.
“Crazy as hell, the same.”
“Will I see her at the funeral?”
“No, she’s up to three hundred pounds. One-fifty is her limit. Under one-fifty and she’ll leave the house. Over one-fifty, and she locks herself up.”
“When was she under one-fifty?”
“Three or four years ago. She found some wacko doctor who gave her pills. Got all the way down to a hundred pounds.
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