The Funeral Dress Read Online Free PDF

had slowed in the past few months, leaving him to look much older than his fifty-two years. Curtis held his hand in front of the living room window.
    “I better head down to the hardware store first thing in the morning after dropping you at the factory and get some more plastic sheeting to tape outside here. What do you think, Ona?” he asked, pushing the curtain to the side. Leona had made the curtains years ago with cheap cotton fabric bought at the five and dime in Pikeville. She hadn’t bothered to line them then because she had believedthey were only temporary. Now the curtains hung limp, long faded like her dreams of a different life. “I really think it helps keep the cold out, don’t you?”
    Leona ignored him. She hated the thick plastic obscuring what little view she had. She stacked the dirty dishes on the counter, slapping the plates one against the other. With the edge of her hand, Leona swept the crumbs into the sink and tossed a dishtowel over her shoulder.
    “Sweetie, you got time,” Curtis said in a soothing voice. “Nobody’s going to put a bit of food on their plate till you get there anyways.”
    “I can’t work magic,” she said. “Hell, Curtis, you passed the store twice today coming and going. You couldn’t think to stop and get one box of cereal?” Leona did not like to rush, especially when it came to making her hash brown casserole, the same dish she had prepared for Wednesday-night church suppers since she had officially joined the Cullen Church of Christ two days after she married. Although her attendance had never wavered, Leona’s opinion about God and church had grown angry through the years.
    “Don’t worry, Ona girl. Like I said, church supper ain’t going to start without you.” Curtis plucked a white handkerchief from deep within his hip pocket. “Everybody knows you’re bringing the very best dish. Even the preacher’s convinced your hash brown casserole draws more people to the Lord than his Sunday preaching.” Curtis rubbed his nose with the cloth and folded it into a perfect square. “You could make that casserole in ten minutes flat if need be,” he said, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket.
    “I know good and well what time it is, old man, and I know good and well how much time we got. And it ain’t enough.” She pointed to the clock and turned the oven on high.
    Leona bent low from the waist and reached for the bucket of potatoes on the kitchen floor, holding her forehead in her left hand as she dipped forward. Her neck had been hurting off and on since leaving the factory that afternoon and now the pain radiated behind her eyes. She dumped the potatoes under the running water and pulled herself up on her toes. She reached for the yellow mixing bowl stored high on top of the refrigerator.
    Curtis flipped on the television set and lowered his hips into the reclining chair. The sound of the evening news mingled with his exaggerated groans as he fell the last few inches into the worn cushioned seat that held his body’s impression even when he wasn’t in it. He stared at Leona, busy yanking ingredients from deep within the refrigerator, while the weatherman talked about relative humidity and atmospheric pressure.
    Leona didn’t need an official explanation for what she felt in her bones. Although her joints already tightened and ached, she was ready for a respite from the sweltering heat inside the Tennewa sewing room. She knew to be extra careful this time of year not to let her fingers, drawn with arthritis, slip underneath the needle as she released a finished collar and began working on the next, never slowing the fast-spinning motor or breaking a thread as she moved from one piece to the other.
    “Lord, Curtis, I can’t barely hear myself think,” Leona said as she stepped in front of the television and turned asmall knob set underneath the picture. “My head’s about to split wide open as it is.” She leaned forward and patted Curtis