Chrysanthemums

The heady scent of incense filled the cathedral and Latin incantations echoed through the halls. Matthew stood there transfixed, surrounded by a sea of black, staring at the rows of flowers that lined the altar; chrysanthemums in the shape of a cross, red carnation wreaths and yellow roses. Someone was sobbing, it sounded distant and weak. He didn't take his eyes of the chrysanthemum cross, and he gripped the funeral program tightly as the sobbing reached a crescendo. Through his peripheral vision he saw heads turned in an effort to identify the meretricious mourner, even the exegesis of the priest was brought to a halt. The sobs had taken on a life of their own; the mourner had taken centre stage.

The organist slowly began to play the opening strains of Amazing grace and the mourner's sobs rose above it, the murmurs of his family members compounded by the efforts of the priest temporarily broke the somberness of the occasion. He smiled in spite of himself as he remembered something he had once told Miranda. He wondered if she had any thoughts about the theatrics surrounding her last appearance on earth. The mourner (Miranda's aunt Hyacinth) had now reached the point of inconsolable. His mother patted his knee gently as Aunt Hyacinth was removed from the sanctuary unceremoniously. Jacquelyn had not acknowledged the outburst at all she sat her back straight her hands neatly folded in her lap. Her composure was admirable yet he remembered her distinct lack of composure the night before. She had fallen asleep her hair strewn across his chest, the tawny vanilla scent of her skin infiltrating his senses. He could still smell her, above the incense and the flowers.

He remembered the last time they had been together at the Holy Trinity Cathedral. She had carried a chrysanthemum bouquet; he had watched her walk down the aisle forcing himself to keep a straight face. She had smiled sashaying this way and that as she took her place as the matron of honour he had been hard pressed to keep his attention on the bride. He watched her pick up the chrysanthemum cross as the pall bearers wheeled the casket out. Watched her follow the procession to the grassy knoll that would be his wife's final resting place and all he could think about was the room at their rendezvous and how she had lounged around in Miranda's lingerie and modeled her Jimmy choo shoes "Miranda won't need these anymore" she had said that fierce look in her eyes, the look that was distinctly Jacquelyn's its how he was able to tell them apart in the beginning. Miranda was the softer of the two, sweet innocent and safe.

She placed the Chrysanthemum cross on the casket as his mother in law scattered dirt

"Ashes to ashes dust to dust"

He wondered how long the dust should settle before he claimed Jacquelyn as his. She had been his since the beginning.....they had both been his. Jacquelyn and Miranda had shared everything since childhood, identical twins with identical tastes. What Miranda lacked in passion Jacquelyn more than made up for. His loins stirred as he remembered his honey moon night, the blissful hour he had spent with Jacquelyn in the stairwell after Miranda worn out from their consummation had retired to bed.

The Three weeks in Montego Bay had been the model for their marriage Miranda, Jacquelyn and Matthew....His pals had jokingly called it a ménage marriage but he had loved them both as much as any man could.

Five years of marital bliss had been shattered the night Miranda wrapped her car around a tree and he and Jacquelyn had consoled each other the only way they knew how, they lay quietly in the room. Remembering her, it was almost like losing a limb. He felt like a part of him had died and that he needed Jacquelyn more than ever to cope with the loss.

The grave diggers sealed her grave, the mourners silently walked back to their cars and Matthew and Jacquelyn stood across the grave of their beloved Miranda .