The mortuary slip stated clearly what was to be done: “At the expense of the Bereaved.” There was nothing but acronyms bouncing in Claire’s head: C.O.D. and D.O.A. and S.O.B. He’d only been Phys. Ed teacher one term, but he’d made the girls wrestle. Had videotaped. Dad had come back from the lodge and wouldn’t look at her.
The weight of the box took both hands. She’d worked for Crawford & Lake two weeks. She shifted Coach Murphy to her hip and rang the doorbell. Small town, and she knew Mrs. Murphy when the door swung open: indignant, pathetic, snide, aware of it all, her own kind of guilt, her own kind of freedom. Bereaved. Claire handed over Coach Murphy and kissed her full on the mouth.