I shot Old Mr. Harmon a look.
He shook off John's hand and shook his head with a weary sigh. "Ah, it's nothing, nothing..."
"That's right, what's it got to do with me anyway..."
"Such a shame, though. That old fellow was a good man..."
His words stirred a fresh wave of bitterness in my chest.
He was right. My father-in-law had been a good man.
Even if his spirit had been suppressed beneath the earth, the least we could do was give his body a proper resting place.
I found the contact for a cemetery manager and held my phone out in front of John.
"Find him a decent burial plot."
"A burial plot?!"
John cut me off, his voice sharp as a blade. He shoved my phone aside.
"That spiritualist already cost a fortune. This house still needs to be rebuilt, and that's another mountain of money. Where the hell am I supposed to find cash for a burial plot?!"
"Your father got himself killed. If you want to spend money on him, spend your own. I'm not paying for it!"
The memory of my father-in-law's kind face, his warm smile, flickered through my mind.
I clenched my teeth, my voice trembling. "Fine. I'll pay."
"You'll pay?!"
John looked at me and let out a mocking laugh.
"You want to pay? Then go earn the money first! You eat my food, you drink my water. What money do you have?!"
A wave of bitter anguish crashed through me.
Years of heavy socializing had wrecked John's health and left him nearly infertile. For three years, I had given up my career entirely, pouring everything into round after round of IVF, desperate to give him an heir.
In the beginning, John had understood my sacrifice. He had appreciated what it cost me.
But three years. That was all it took for him to see me as dead weight.
He was right. I had no money. So fine, no burial plot.
"Alright, John. Forget the burial plot. You handle it."
John looked pleased that I'd backed down so quickly.
He made a phone call and summoned a group of guys. Sitting in his car with a cigarette dangling from his fingers, he pointed at the charred ruins of the old house and barked his orders.
"Go drag that burned-up corpse out of there. Goddamn bad luck, the whole thing."
The young men took the cash and got to work without hesitation. In no time at all, they carried my father-in-law out on a stretcher, a white sheet draped over him.
As they passed me, I saw his hand hanging off the edge of the stretcher.
Burned black as charcoal.
But his fingers were still clenched around something.
I stopped them and stepped forward.
The moment I saw what he was holding, the tears came in a flood I couldn't stop.
Even scorched beyond recognition, it was unmistakable. Clutched in my father-in-law's charred hand was the photograph from my wedding to John.
The bitterness swelled until it filled every corner of my chest.
I turned slowly and looked at John, who sat with one leg crossed over the other, smoking without a care in the world.
"John. Don't you want to come see this?"
"See what?! What's there to see about some burned-up dead body?!"
"And stay away from that thing! I'm telling you, if you pick up any of that bad luck, don't bother coming home!"
He waved impatiently at the young men. The one in front shoved me aside, then looked up at John.
"Boss, what do you want us to do with the body?"
"Take him to the funeral home."
I got the words out before John could answer, then turned to face him.
"John, can you lend me some money? I want to give Dad a proper burial. I already asked. Burial plots come in all price ranges. If money's tight, we can get the cheapest one. That would be enough."
"Cheap isn't free!"
John cut me off.
He flicked the cigarette butt aside, disgust practically spilling from his eyes.
He pointed at the body on the ground, every word dripping with contempt.
"Just go dump it in the village cesspit. Burying it on the hillside would be a waste of good land."
"The cesspit?!"
I stared at John, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"John, have you lost your mind? Since when does anyone throw a body into a cesspit?!"
The young men's faces darkened too.
"Man, the old guy's dead. No matter what, he deserves a proper burial. The cesspit really isn't right..."
They set the stretcher down as they spoke.
"Look, if you want the body dumped in a cesspit, that's not something we can do. That's not human."
The young men exchanged a glance, then turned and walked away.
John swore under his breath, irritation boiling over.
Then he grabbed the stretcher himself.
He headed straight for the cesspit.
When he reached the edge, I stepped in front of him and pointed at the stretcher, keeping my voice low.
"John. You won't even pull back the sheet for one last look?"
He shoved my hand away with a grunt of fury.
"Look at what? The old man's dead. What's there to see? I'm sick of dealing with this!"
The words had barely left his mouth before he heaved the stretcher forward. The charred remains of my father-in-law tumbled into the cesspit.
He ripped off his jacket and scrubbed his hands with it, over and over, muttering the whole time.
"Stella, your father was the most insufferable person alive. Nobody could stand him when he was breathing, and now he's dead and still making my life miserable—"
He didn't get to finish.
A familiar voice came from behind us.
"Stella, sweetie! What are you and John chatting about?"
John whipped around. His gaze landed on my father, strolling toward us at an easy pace.
