Don't Ever Laugh As A Hearse Goes By Novels & Stories

The sky was a deep, foreboding gray, as if it too were mourning the loss of Judy. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth as Ivy walked behind the hearse, her eyes fixed on the polished wooden casket adorned with a spray of white lilies, Judy's favorite flowers.

"Mommy has a headache and wants to take a nap." "Those bubbles hitting you hard, Leeny?" Carlos couldn't resist taking a jibe at her. "I'm better than that, Carlos. I will not justify your pettiness with a response," she said and promptly pushed her sunglasses in place and leaned back on the headrest, leaving Natalie and her handlers howling with laughter. If they thought the service was depressing, the cemetery was even more soul-crushing. The seven or so other people who'd attended the memorial service had chosen to skip this last leg of the send-off.

A black mourning band was wrapped around his arm, and his expression was cold and distant. She quickly looked away and shrank back behind the wall. “Chris, don’t be too heartbroken. Grandma would never want to see you like this. You need to take care of yourself.” A gentle voice carried on the wind into Winter’s ears. From the corner of her eye, she saw Skyla being pushed out in a wheelchair by her caregiver. The family got into the cars and followed the hearse to the crematory. As Winter watched the cars drive away, tears instantly spilled down her face. She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from running after them.

He could not accept that it was his own fault, that his obsession with appearances and his terror of being laughed at had driven his own son to death. The day of the funeral, snow fell thick and heavy and blanketed everything in white. Not many people came. Only Uncle Ray’s family and a small group of relatives attended.

When I stepped outside, that damn car was there again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered. I marched straight towards it like I was about to fight a dragon. But the coward sped off before I even reached the sidewalk. “RUN, YOU COWARD!” I yelled ungracefully. A squirrel across the road actually flinched. I got in my car, slammed the door, and drove. . Forty minutes later, I drove through the gates of Blackwood Cemetery. The team was already there; discreet, respectful, and unfortunately necessary. Thick gloves, shovels, machinery. All of it felt surreal.

"He’s calling for the whole family." Within minutes, we were back in the cars. The drive was a silent funeral procession. We weren't just going to a bedside; we were going to the end of an era. And I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that whatever happened in that hospital room would change the meaning of the Monroe name forever.

Along the way, he held my hand tightly, his palm sweaty. He seemed nervous, yet excited, turning to look at me from time to time with a look of morbid satisfaction. The convoy traveled on the winding mountain road. On one side was a cliff face, on the other a precipice. Suddenly, a screech of brakes came from ahead. A heavy cement mixer truck rushed out from a side road without warning, smashing hard into the side of the lead car. Boom! The lead car was knocked flying, tumbling down the cliff. "Ambush! Protect the Don!"

The place that killed him would be the last thing he saw for eternity. I arrived before them. Stood at the plot. Fresh earth. A hole already dug. Waiting. The ocean crashed below. Gray waves. Gray sky. Everything gray. Like the color had drained from the world when he fell. A hearse arrived. Black. Slow. Reverent. They unloaded the casket. Carried it to the plot. Set it on the mechanism that would lower it down. The priest said words. I didn't hear them. The small crowd—maybe twenty people—bowed their heads. Some cried.

Wordlessly we got inside the back of Lucien’s black Rolls-Royce. The journey was long, but no one spoke a word during the whole ride. Lucien held my hand all the way and silently our presence comforted each other. I’m sure that during the ride to my mother grave, Lucien must have been recalling memories he shared with her similar to how I replayed the happy days I had with her in my mind. I really miss you, mother. I’m about to start crying already, and we’re not even at her grave yet. It never gets any easier.