Sunlight filtering through yellowed curtains fell weakly on the battered coffee table in the center of the tiny living room. Except for the spot where that ray lay gasping for air, the room was dark. Around the table in the mismatched set of uncomfortable furniture sat uncomfortable people who fidgeted and coughed nervously, searching for a way to break the silence.

“I want you to know,” said the man with the white shirt and dark tie, “how sorry I am at the loss of your loved one.”

The young pastor gripped the arm of the couch and pulled himself forward. The springs had died long ago and the cushion enfolded him like great cloth lips poised to swallow an unwary prey. After a brief struggle he balanced himself on the front edge as he waited for a response.

A fly made a reconnaissance of the room and then disappeared. An unshaven middle-aged man in a sweaty undershirt lit a cigarette. “Yeah. So are we.” The room got smaller.

“Uh…you’re Claude’s brother, aren’t you? The one I spoke with on the phone?”

“Yeah, I’m Billy. That’s Momma over there, Jake’s another brother, and that’s Claude’s daughter Eleanor. Damn, it’s hot! You want a beer?”

“No, thanks. I wonder if I could have some ice water?” Billy pushed past the couch and headed for the kitchen door.

Oppressive silence again. The minister glanced around the room to determine whom to address next, now that his only point of contact had quit the room. The old woman sat with her eyes closed, her ample body seeming to blend with the overstuffed, worn-out chair.

“Mrs. Anders–”

“He was a good boy.” It was the first sign of life Momma had shown since the minister had arrived. Her eyes remained closed and her voice quavered slightly. “He was a good boy. A lot of people didn’t understand–. But he was a good boy.” She started to cry.

“Yeah, Granny,” said Eleanor. “He was a good boy.” The tone was condescending, almost sarcastic.

In a flash self-pity became anger. Momma’s eyes flew open and her body stiffened. “Don’t you get smart with me, girl! And how can you talk like that with no respect for the dead! The man was your father–your father. He was my son and he was a good boy and I raised him right.”

Momma glared around the room as if daring anyone to challenge her. Eleanor sniffed and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but when her eyes met her grandmother’s she thought better of it and slumped back into her chair.

“Yes, ma’am. I know this is a hard time for all of you. I wonder if I could just get some information about the service. I assume since you contacted me that you don’t have a home church here in town?”

Jake snorted and stood up. With a smirk that spoke volumes to the minister, he swaggered out a side door toward the back of the house.

“We’re Baptist,” said Momma, oblivious of Jake’s exit. “West Virginia Baptist, if you know what I mean. Back where I come from and where these kids was raised we took our religion serious. When I go to church I want to know I been to church, know what I mean? I want to feel something. Not like most churches you find where it’s just dead–not talking bad about nobody–but it’s just dead, that’s all there is to it. But we ain’t found a church since we been out here.”

“Yes, ma’am. When did your family move to Phoenix?”

Momma paused to study the ceiling. “Lenny was how old when we come out here?” She looked at Eleanor. “Lenny, wasn’t you two?” No answer. “Yeah, that’s right. So it’s been sixteen years now.”

“Sixteen years and you haven’t–?” The pastor caught himself before completing his thought out loud. After a brief pause he said, “And Mrs. O’Brien told you to call me?”

“Well, we knew she went to church and all and we had to have somebody. He needs a proper service, you know, and all. She’s a good Christian lady and been real nice to us since we been renting her house. We figured her preacher would be as good as anybody. What’s the name of your church?”

“First Presbyterian,” answered Billy as he re-entered the room, handed the minister a glass, and flopped into his chair with a half-empty beer.

The fly made a brief strafing run through the room, then buzzed off again.

“Presbyterian? Really, you’re Presbyterian?” asked Momma.

The pastor gulped the water eagerly and glanced at his watch. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ah, well, it’s all the same, I guess.” She settled back in her chair and stared at the ceiling again.

Seizing the moment to press ahead with the interview, the pastor turned to Billy. “About the service tomorrow…do you have any special instructions?”

Billy nodded toward Eleanor. “You talk to Lenny about that. It’s her daddy and we agreed she could handle it like she wants. She’s calling the shots.”

Eleanor sat with her legs crossed, arms folded across her chest, hugging herself. Her foot bounced noiselessly on the floor.

“Eleanor, is there anything special you’d like?” asked the pastor, trying to make eye contact. “Would you like for someone to do a eulogy? Talk about your daddy?”

She shrugged. “We thought you’d do that,” she said to the wall above his head.

“Well, I could do it. Of course, I didn’t know him. Perhaps a friend of his–”

“I don’t want none of his friends speaking at the funeral,” said Eleanor flatly. “There’s no telling what–well, can’t you just do it?”

“He was a good boy,” said Momma, her eyes still fixed to the ceiling.

The minister’s shoulders slumped slightly in resignation. “Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about him.” He picked up his notepad. “How old was…” His eyes searched the pad frantically. “…Claude?”

“Forty,” said Eleanor. “He got brain cancer. They found out he had it three weeks ago and he died yesterday morning. And nobody called him Claude.”

“I’m sorry, I thought that was his name.”

“Everybody called him ‘Hot Dog.’ That’s what everybody on the ball team called him.”

Momma came back to life. “What are you talking about, girl?”

“He hated the name Claude and everybody on his ball team called him ‘Hot Dog’ ’cause he was a show-off. Isn’t that right, Uncle Billy? Didn’t everybody call him ‘Hot Dog’?”

Momma began to swell again. “What do you mean he hated his name? I gave him his daddy’s name. He never did no such thing!”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Granny, sometimes I think you don’t know anything that really goes on in this house. Did you ever even talk to any of those guys from the team? They were always over here working on their stupid cars and causing a ruckus. Did you ever–”

“So he liked to play softball?” the pastor cut in, trying to get things back on track.

“That and drink beer,” muttered Eleanor.

“Yeah, he did like his beer,” offered Billy as he finished his and tried unsuccessfully to cover a belch.

Momma turned to the minister. “He didn’t drink that much,” she said matter-of-factly.

The fly lit on the pastor’s ear and did a little dance before moving on.

“Where did Claude work?”

“Mostly maintenance work and odd jobs around town,” said Eleanor. “He didn’t stay anywhere too long. Last job he had was a security guard at a hotel downtown. He got in a fight with his boss’s wife and got fired about six weeks ago.”

“She had it in for him from the beginning,” said Momma. “She never liked him and was always looking for something. Besides, I think the cancer affected his mind. He just wasn’t himself the last few months. Cancer can do that, can’t it? Affect your mind and all? And he had a bad back, you know. He hurt it playing football in high school and that’s why he never could do no hard job like lifting things. Billy does roofing, but Claude couldn’t do that.”

Eleanor grunted. “Funny his back never hurt him when he played ball.”

“That’s different and you know it, child. I don’t understand you. It’s like you don’t even care that your daddy’s dead.”

“Oh, come on, Momma.” Billy’s tone was unexpectedly gentle. “You know we all loved him. It’s just Lenny’s upset and–”

“Yeah, I care he’s dead, Granny. I care, all right.” Eleanor’s voice was rising, shaking. “That man took me away from my momma when I was two years old. I never knew what it was like to have a momma. But I could have had a daddy. But he wasn’t ever my daddy because he was always your little boy. Always making excuses for him, always waiting on him. And when you weren’t being his momma, I was. Cleaning up his messes and calling in sick for him and wishing to God one day he’d grow up and start taking care of me for a change. I don’t know who I am in this family. I don’t know where I even fit. But I know this. I know now he’s gone and died and I won’t ever have a daddy. Do you understand that, Granny? I won’t ever have a daddy! Shit!” She burst into tears.

“Watch your language, girl. The preacher–”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” she screamed, and ran out of the room.

The room fell silent, except for the muffled sobs coming from the rear of the house. Billy sucked his teeth and studied his beer bottle. Momma blinked a few times and took a deep breath. She looked at the minister, who had been knocked back into the sagging couch by the outburst.

“She didn’t mean nothing by that, you know. She’s usually got good manners, but you know teenagers. She’s just upset. She’s a good girl.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered the pastor softly. “I know she’s a good girl.” After two false starts, he managed to extricate himself from the couch and stand up. Momma struggled to her feet and joined him as he moved to the front door.

“There’s something else you should know. All my boys know the Lord. They was saved as children. They just not as committed as I’d like them to be. They all been baptized.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He managed a weak smile.

As he opened the door the fly buzzed past his head into the sunlight and did a loop, celebrating its freedom.

“The service is at ten o’clock at the funeral home, right? Is there anything you need? Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned and started down the front steps. In the last five words of her outburst, he thought, Eleanor had eloquently and succinctly captured Claude’s life. It was a fitting epitaph that would never be inscribed on his tombstone. But a eulogy–that was a different matter. This eulogy called for a fiction writer’s flair.

He wondered what he would say in the morning.