The plot

‘What should we do with it?’ Sheryl asked, pressing the turf with her toe.

‘Well, we can’t resell it or use it for someone else,’ said Brian staring at the ground, then looking up at his sister he asked, ‘Do people usually bury an empty coffin?’

‘Why go through the expense? Do you think she would have wanted that, us wasting her money on an empty box in the ground,’ interjected John, taking a drag on his third cigarette.

‘She would want the pageantry of a funeral, but she definitely wouldn’t want us to spend her money on it’, replied Sheryl.

The three of them stared quietly at the head stone with their father's full name and birth and death dates carved into the granite. His wife of 53 years had her name and birthdate engraved next to his, but no death date. The dark gray wedge, polished on the face, roughhewn on the back, had tiny cherubs carved into the corners. The irony of the angelic representations on their parents’ grave marker was not lost on them.

‘Well, I'm not spending my money on a hallow gesture for someone we don't even know is dead,’ said Brad.

‘She's dead, Brad,’ retorted Sheryl. ‘She’s been missing for three months.’

‘But that's not really the reason you don't want to pay for a funeral,’ said John, flicking his cigarette butt at the headstone. ‘She was a shit mother, who tormented us every chance she got. You don't want to give her one dime. Even in death.’

‘She wasn't that bad,’ Sheryl replied in a soft voice.

John gave her an incredulous look. Sheryl caved. ‘Okay, none of us are going to miss her, but we should at least do something small. Plant a tree or donate a park bench.’

‘No, I've got student loans and a kid in physical therapy. I am not using what little disposable income I have to honor a woman that failed as a parent on every level,’ ranted Brad.

Sheryl gave him a sour frown. ‘It isn't about her, as much as it is about you...us, making peace with our past.’

‘Nice hippy sentiment, Sheryl. Been seeing a therapist again?’ asked John.

‘Screw you, John. There is nothing wrong with trying to be a better person.’

‘You’re already the better person. You don't need to plant a tree to recognize that,’ bit back John.

They were all quiet for a moment, each ruminating over their complex relationship with an always neglectful, sometimes abusive parent.

‘How long until we can officially declare her dead?’ asked Brad.

‘I filed the request for a death certificate last week. Because of her age and the circumstances…disappearing the way she did, the police will list her as having wandered off and dying of exposure. They said her body will probably show up in the Spring,’ responded Sheryl, pressing her lips together in a grim frown.

Sighing, Brad said looking at his sister, ‘Okay, once the death certificate arrives, we’ll at least get the grave marker engraved and lay a wreath. Will that be enough for closure?’

Sheryl nodded and replied, ‘Yes, thank you.’ Turning from the gravesite she added, ‘I have to pick up the kids. See you both next week?’

‘Yeah, I’ll walk up with you. I have to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Out of milk again.’

‘You coming, John.’

‘In a minute. I should really pick up my cigarette butts.’

As his siblings walked up the cemetery path toward where their cars were parked, John kneeled down and picked up the three butts he’d thrown at the grave marker. Casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Sheryl and Brad were out of earshot, he said to the headstone, ‘Good riddance, you old bitch. I hope you are enjoying your plot. The police will never think to look for you in your own grave.’

Pocketing the cigarette butts, John stood, smiled at the grave, then headed toward his car.