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.
