The Wake

David stood by the buffet table at his father's wake, nursing whiskey he didn't want, surrounded by people he barely knew. He felt like he was swimming underwater—muffled sounds, distorted faces, the pressure building in his chest. His father had been a stubborn old bull to the end, belligerent and unyielding, and now David was supposed to deliver a eulogy for a man who'd made his childhood a continuous exercise in emotional survival.

He remembered the fox he'd seen once as a boy, wounded by the side of the road, and how his father had stopped the car, gotten out, and put it out of its misery with efficient calm. That was his father: practical, unsentimental, the kind of man who'd rather shoot something than watch it suffer. David had admired and hated him for it in equal measure.

"You look like a zombie," his sister whispered, appearing beside him with fresh mascara smudging her eyeliner. " Dad's business partner is asking about the will."

David glanced across the room where a man in an expensive suit was gesturing animatedly, probably discussing asset allocation. His father had loved baseball—sitting in stands, statistics, the comfortable predictability of innings and outs. David had hated every moment they'd spent together at games, the forced conversation, the way his father's attention always seemed to drift toward something just over his shoulder.

"Let him wait," David said, finishing his drink. "Let's all wait."

He spotted his ex-wife near the entrance, looking lovely and uncomfortable. They'd ended things two years ago—another casualty of his emotional distance, another relationship suffocated by his inability to say what needed saying. She caught his eye and offered a small, pitying smile.

Outside, a real fox darted across the cemetery lawn, quick and bright against the gray winter grass. David watched it through the window, thinking how his father would have appreciated the sight—wild life continuing regardless of human grief.

The bull of a man was gone. The zombie-like shuffle of these people would continue. David set down his glass and walked toward the front of the room, ready to lie about a man he'd never really known, ready to perform the rituals that carried them all forward, swimming through the days until eventually, somewhere far ahead, he might reach dry ground.