IceCeamCake

怪人怪事 2023-04-29 11:31www.bnfh.cn怪人怪事

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　　Ice Cream Cake

　　As the sister of the victim, Lorraine as invited to attend the execution. She'd aited through eleven years of investigations, trials, and appeals, but hen she got the call, she declined, choosing instead to stay home and anize her linen closet. The damask napkins, some from her mother and more later from Emily, had been added for years together in a draer. Lorraine spent the day sorting them by size and style, then laundering, starching, pressing, and folding them. She replaced the napkins in the draer in neat little stacks.

　　She read about the execution the next day in the nespaper. At 8:57 p.m. CT, the U.S. Supreme Court denied an application for a stay from Edard Martin Bruer, 37. He as served his final meal at 2 p.m. His choices: 8-ounce hickory smoked beef sausage, Cracker Barrel cheese, Wendy's double cheeseburger ith pickles, onions, lettuce and mayonnaise, french fries and ketchup, a kosher pickle, a Vidalia onion, Coke Classic and Breyer's Vienta ice cream cake. He said "No" hen asked for any last ords. He as pronounced dead by lethal injection at 9:21 CT.

　　All that food. Lorraine scanned the list for clues, explanations, but all she sa as a rough palate, a poerful appetite, the simple necessity of predators. Could he have eaten it all? Perhaps gluttony as his revenge. Someone ould have to clean the body.

　　Lorraine pondered Edard Martin Bruer's dessert choice. It as a ne thing. She'd seen the mercials on TV. Tiny portions served in champagne-sherbet glasses, passed around a ell-appointed table. Silver spoons pinging against crystal, the dinner guests anting more. The voice-over: One slice is never enough. Bruer must have loved that.

　　Although it as late, close to 4 a.m. on the day after the execution, Lorraine drove to Albertson's and purchased a Vienta.

　　She thought at first of making an oassion of the Vienta, setting her table ith a china plate, one of the good napkins and a dessert fork from the sterling flatare, floers, like the ice cream cake party on TV, but tried instead to imagine Edard Martin Bruer's eating of the cake, the last part of his last meal. What kind of dishes do they have in prison? She doubted they ere like those metal plates she'd seen in old black and hite prisoner movies, bar-clangers. Would Bruer, preoupied, even notice hat his cake tasted like and ho it as served or ould he be hyperfocused, thinking, I am eating for the last time, this is the last spoon I'll hold in my hand.

　　That as one thing about her sister, Lorraine thought. Observe and learn, Emily'd say. Catch the note and trick, she'd say, taking her beloved Henry James much too seriously.

　　Lorraine as certain that Emily ould have laughed at first, finding Edard Martin Bruer in her kitchen that night, his doughy, seaty face lit by the one bulb shining from inside the open refrigerator. Emily alays laughed at horrible things. The thrill of the real, she called it. Like the purplish slick of dried blood they'd seen on their father's black leather allet hen they'd been called to the police station to claim his belongings after the suicide. Emily held the allet toard the fluorescent ceiling lights and rocked it in her palm, making the blood shimmer. "Look at that," she said, laughing, "ho could it be so pretty?"

　　Lorraine could picture Emily's eyes, intense and engaged, atching every blo to her on chest and abdomen, trying to feel the sound, the soosh and splat into her flesh, atching her on arms rising then falling aay, repulsed. Emily asn't one to depensate. Her on murder ould not have been lost on her.

　　Lorraine spooned into the vanilla sirls of the ice cream cake. She examined the bite before she tasted it, the alternating layers of vanilla and shards of chocolate shell, a repackaged childhood treat. She and Emily, little girls on their first outings alone, ould alk the four blocks from home to the Campus Dairy Bar, their hands seating ith clutched dimes and quarters, and order a dipped cone to share. Emily ould eat all the chocolate off the , leaving the ice cream to Lorraine.

　　The spoon as cold against her teeth as the ice cream slid onto her tongue. Lorraine closed her eyes, salloed, aited for a picture to form, aited for tears, nausea, horror, anything, but Emily's death had, over the years of aiting, begun to make sense to her, bee ell-orn and ordinary, as if the death had ritten itself back upon Emily's life, making all other endings impossible to contemplate.

　　Lorraine sliced into the cake by spoonfuls, enjoying its simple, familiar taste, eating until her forehead burned ith cold.

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