All that remained was dust. Ernest cupped his hand and swept the pile into a waiting urn. He replaced the lid, wiped both hands on his apron, and lumbered across the room. Easing his massive body into the waiting chair, he opened his e-mail in-box.
Bells tinkling in the next room made him groan. They’re early.
At the front door, he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. "Please, take a seat. I’ll be right back with your beloved Evelyn."
Mr. Johnson dabbed his eyes. "Thank you, Ernest. You remembered my mother’s name. Bless you."
Ernest allowed himself the slightest smile. "Of course, sir." He excused himself.
From the next room, he heard them discussing his misfortune.
"Poor man. It's awful that his wife ran off with her lover like that," Mr. Johnson said.
"I can't imagine it. Ernest is such a gentle giant of a man. I'd have never taken Martha to be that kind of woman."
"It's not the first time, either," Mr. Johnson added.
Ernest bowed his head, and crossed himself before picking up the urn containing Mrs. Johnson senior’s remains.
"Here you are." He handed the gilded container to Mr. Johnson.
"Thank you, for everything," Mrs. Johnson said.
Ernest held the door open. "You're very welcome."
Watching the Johnsons drive away, Ernest wiped a tear from his eye before walking back to his computer.
He clicked on the e-mail in-box once more and read the last e-mail his wife had sent to her ‘on-line’ companion.
Dearest Mark,
You say the sexiest things. Ernest is so boring, in and out of bed. Why did I ever marry such a dummy? Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while. Ernest is suspicious. For all I know, he may have figured out my password, and be reading these e-mails. Let’s keep to the original plan of meeting in July, down in Cancun. Ernest always gives me plenty of money for the trip. We’ll have fun finding ways to spend it. Whipped cream, anyone?
All my Love,
Martha
PS No, it is not a good idea for you to come here to see me. Ernest would never understand.
"Ernest would never understand," Ernest repeated, as tears slipped down his ruddy cheeks.
Closing the program, he stood and walked to the morgue's preparation room where three new bodies waited for tomorrow morning’s funerals. He didn’t have time to waste reminiscing.
The next morning, Ernest set three urns on the steel bench and peered inside at the remains of the beloved family members. He muttered a short prayer over each one to show his respect.
He ambled over to the garbage can by the sink, and lifted out a bulging sack. Returning to the table, he added the ashes from the sack to the urns.
He stood back and wiped his brow with an over-sized handkerchief, before shaking a finger at the silent urns.
"That’s it, then. Not quite the vacation you two had in mind. Thought you had me fooled, didn’t you, Martha? I should have listened to Mother. Well I showed you. You and Mark will never be together again. Now who's the dummy, huh?"
The door chimed. A woman's voice called out, "Ernest, I'm back! Where are you?"
Ernest froze, staring at the urns in front of him. He turned to watch Martha saunter through the door and hung his head. "Hello, dear."
"Tsk, tsk," Martha clicked with her tongue. "You look terrible. Those big circles under your eyes. You haven't been taking your medication since I left, have you? Did you stay up all night preparing bodies?"
She slipped her coat off and hung it by the door. "Have you heard the news? Another couple went missing late yesterday afternoon, down by the lake, same as last year. Ugh. I'm glad I'm always away down in Cancun in July."
"Missing?"
Martha sighed. "Ernest, you are such a dill. Yes, missing, as in can't be found. The odd thing is the woman's name was Martha. It's enough to give a person the shivers."
Ernest shuddered.
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