Soul Mistakes

Reviews

5 STARS
Good Read!
I will strongly recommend this book if you want agood read. It deals with pain and loss but most of all forgiveness thru love. I read this in a day and half. I felt I got my money worth out of this book. --Joy

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Excerpt

Excerpt fromSoul Mistakes © 2014 by EA Kafkalas. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ONE
Cremation, the idea filled her mind as the antiseptic odors of Belmont’s Funeral Home assaulted her nostrils. Alex had pondered cremation since her mother’s death seven years ago. Mindy told her it was because incinerating her mother’s body was the only way to wipe her out completely. Although the statement rang true, Alex knew there was more to it. The whole idea of embalming a body and displaying it for view was totally fucked up. The thought of people saying, “Gee, doesn’t she look lovely” or “she’s never looked better” made her skin crawl. How lovely could you look when you were dead? Whatever happened after death—and Alex certainly hadn’t worked that equation out yet—did it matter what you looked like in the hereafter? Why did they bury you in your Sunday best—were you going to spend eternity at a fancy ball? If your soul was recycled—or if you were about to become worm food—what difference did it make how you were dressed? These questions haunted her every time she set foot in a funeral home.
Even as a child she had wondered why the most beautiful old homes became funeral homes. Were they too large to house love? After a certain amount of square footage did a real estate agent just say, “Oh, too large for a family, must be a place for dead people?” The Belmont’s Home was breathtaking; from the moment you stepped through the beveled glass doorway you were accosted by a craftsmanship which no longer existed.
Easels with signs were propped in front of each doorway.
She stopped to appreciate the crown molding running around the top of each room, then the windows at either end of the lobby, with intricate beveled glass designs in the top half of each window. Her breath caught when the simple calligraphy on the sign displayed the two most horrifying words she ever read—Martineli funeral.
When Simon told her Willie had called and Mrs. Martineli was dead, she had been chopping vegetables in the kitchen and almost cut her thumb off. As the warm liquid gushed out covering the onions in crimson goo—she watched helplessly. Her lip quivered, her eyes clouded—then Simon’s hand was on her arm steadying her before she passed out. He tended to her wound all the while talking but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All she could think was Mindy must be devastated. To Simon, all she could say was “I have to go.”
Stopping outside the room which was larger than most living rooms. The walls were painted a light cream and three large windows lined one wall, letting light flood the room. The sunlight poured through the beveled glass windows slicing up the space in to tiny streaks of light and shadow. Folding chairs had been placed out in neat little lines, seven across and five rows deep. An elderly gentleman sat on the aisle seat in the back row patting his eyes with a handkerchief. His leathery complexion made her think he must have been a tradesman of some kind who spent numerous hours baking in the hot sun—his skin cracked and wrinkled with age. Surprisingly he had a full head of hair the color of snow. She tried to remember who he was but couldn’t.
The front of the room appeared to be a sea of flowers. In the center of the sea floated a pewter coffin—lid open. She lingered in the back tempted to sit quietly with the old man. After not having seen Mrs. Martineli for five years she was in no hurry to see her lying in a coffin.
The room was abuzz. Simon’s brother’s funeral was similar. Paul died suddenly when a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit him as he was walking home from school. He was only fifteen and the family had been devastated. The coffin had been open and he lay surrounded by various sports equipment. A gesture she found odd. Did they think he was going to play on God’s baseball team? She had no time to ponder any of it, with Simon sobbing over his baby brother’s death. Her inability to find the right words to comfort Simon made her feel inept. His body shook and he held her hand so tightly the blood stopped flowing to her fingers. Right now she wished her hand was numb in his.
Her mother’s funeral—truth be told—was a welcome event. Alex had been an accident, a fact her mother missed no opportunity to remind her of. She never knew her father because her mother had no idea who he was. All she knew was it was some “John” and her birth had put her mother out of work for three months. Evidently no one wanted to screw a pregnant whore. Before she understood what her mother did for a living she used to dream of her father coming to take her away to live in a wonderful home. Only when she realized the true nature of her mother’s work did she know her father would always remain a mystery. How could he be looking for her, when he didn’t even know she existed? She stood for hours that day studying the painted lady in the coffin. She was unable to move for fear her mother would wake, reach out, grab her and pull her in.
Moving further in to the room she recognized the faces of people she had known as a teenager.
There was the heavy-set woman in the corner, practically poured in to a black dress, her breasts pushing against the bodice in an attempt to break free. On second glance she identified her as Mrs. Goldberg the town baker. The standing joke among the townspeople was she ate more than she sold. Alex had a soft spot in her heart for Mrs. Goldberg because Mrs. G. would always sneak a donut or a pastry to her whenever she knew her mother had kicked her out of the house.
Standing next to her was a tall skinny young man, whose suit hung off his body, suggesting he had lost a considerable amount of weight recently, or he was wearing someone else’s clothes. His pale blond hair seemed to melt in to his sallow complexion making him look ghostlike. Alex wondered if he had been, or still was ill. Either way he was tall enough and alive enough to delight in Mrs. Goldberg’s breasts as he was at the perfect angle to see straight down her dress.
Her heart stopped—thinking she had indeed seen Mrs. Martineli—then she remembered the woman standing at the beginning of the receiving line was Mrs. Martineli’s sister Louisa, who bore a striking resemblance to her sister. Aunt Louisa had lost her husband at a young age and never dealt with her anger. No one ever said how he died: the subject was forbidden to be discussed. Alex had always imagined it was a tragic accident or untimely disease. The last Sunday of each month was spent at Aunt Louisa’s eating a feast fit for a king. Heaping plates of Italian delights which made the monthly trip worthwhile.
Louisa caught her eye and smiled warmly. Then Louisa tipped her neck in the direction of her niece.
Mindy stood at the end of the receiving line. Five years had past since they’d last spoken. Five years since Mindy had violently ended what Alex thought would be the longest relationship she would ever have with any human being.
Mindy wore a black chemise dress with a scoop neck, the dress tapered down to a belted waist, and flared back out again. There was no evidence she had born two children as she still had an hourglass figure. Despite all that had happened, Mindy still took her breath away.
Mindy’s dress blended in to the slate-black suit of the tall, sturdy man against whom she leaned for support. The somber colors and his state of upset cast a harshness on his fair features. Alex thought that under more pleasant circumstances his straw blond hair, Nordic face, with the chiseled, dimpled chin would make him look like he stepped out of the pages of Gentleman’s Quarterly.
Regaining the use of her feet Alex moved slowly toward them. She knew Mindy had married, and it was her husband Mindy leaned against. What she was unprepared for was the sudden hostility she felt toward him. Mindy had been everything to Alex.
Mindy’s skin looked as inviting as the day Alex first touched it. Mindy had let her hair grow, but pulled it back in to a conservative bun, hiding the finest black curls.
Moving in front of Mindy, she stared in to the tiny oceans of blue she had once spent hours adrift in. Now the seas were murky, as they always had been when something upsetting happened. She watched Mindy’s eyes brighten at the sight of her.
The two women stood staring at each other. After a five-year silence, words did not come easily for either of them.
She wanted water to ease her dry mouth in to speaking. Instead she reached out a hand and managed to choke out, “Mindy, I’m sorry.”
Mindy ignored the hand being offered and instead drew her close, closing the distance between them, and through her grief she whispered, “You came.”
“I had to,” Alex said, letting the familiar warmth take her to a time and place she thought no longer existed.
“Thank you.” Mindy brushed her lips against Alex cheek.
And then, for the first time in their entire relationship Alex pulled away first, setting Mindy back against her husband. Reminding her of where they each were in their lives now. And she knew she had to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Mindy introduced Alex to her husband. He enfolded Alex’s hand in a warm handshake and expressed delight at finally meeting her. Numbly, she thanked him and turned to make her escape.
She cursed herself for having told Simon not to come, wanting nothing more than to feel his strong arms around her. Having no desire to see Mrs. Martineli painted up and laid out like one of Madame Tussaud’s wax figurines she moved though the beveled glass door in to the cool night air. Wolfe was right. ‘You can’t go home again.’

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