Copyright © 2008 Megan Whitesel. All rights reserved.

I hate funerals. I hate everyone telling me how sorry they are, and how whoever died is "in a better place now." I despise potted plants and fruit baskets and all the food. I hate viewings, burials, and wakes. I hate that everyone assumes that people want to eat when death knocks. Give me a stiff drink or two.

The only good thing about a wake is the free booze.

After six years of marriage, my husband is dead. He was killed in a freak car accident by a drunk driver. Well, that’s what the papers said, anyway. A matter of circumstance—some incredibly drunk asshole hit him head-on. Three people were killed on impact, and there was nothing left of the cars except a few heaps of metal and scraps of leather and vinyl. The police called me at 3:42 AM last Saturday morning, asking if I knew my husband’s whereabouts. I told them, "No," and asked, "Is something wrong?"

I flew my BMW convertible to the suburban hospital thirty miles outside of the city limits to identify what remained of my dead husband. He was so mangled and burned, they had to do dental impressions. I, on the other hand, confirmed his by looking at the gold wrist watch on his left arm. It was a Christmas present I gave him. I proceeded to sob and scream, and I’m told I even fainted. Now here I sit, two days after the funeral and wake, listening to our lawyer read the opening lines of his will.

"I, Joseph ____, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament…"

We all know where this is going. He leaves whatever to whomever, but I get the bulk of our funds, assets, and control of the company. The son of a bitch never saw it coming. No one else in this room but me knew his fate. The accident, his death, and this moment are all my doing.

Never underestimate the power of a homemaker when she knows her husband has been having an affair. Women are both weak and powerful creatures—just ask Adam and Eve. I’m sure if they were alive, they could tell you all about it. That stuff you learn in about women in the Bible? It’s all true. When you get to Hell, Delilah can fill you in.

Don’t get me wrong: I love Joe more than anything. I just snapped when I found out about her, this Sheila. My husband’s fate collided with him on his way home from their rendezvous in the suburbs. Sheila—white, middle class mother with two children and a husband. I remember the look on her husband’s face when he found out. Well, when I found out. He knew for months before me, and sought me out on his own accord.

People do strange things when they realize their spouse of so many years is sleeping with the CEO and founder of a top Fortune 500 company. Lewis was at his poor wits’ end when we met for dinner that night. He cried and didn’t touch his food. It was obvious that he hadn’t eaten for days. When a person reaches the end of his rope, he refuses food and begins talking about death. Lewis told me he wanted Sheila dead. My feelings concerning Joe were starting to become mutual. We met frequently, plotting our lovers’ demise.

I said earlier that women are powerful creatures. We can persuade a man to do anything we want if we pick the most opportune time to sleep with him. With Lewis, it was too easy. He had no problem climbing into bed with me after a few glasses of dry gin and the comfort of knowing I wanted them dead as much as he did. After several sessions in a cheap motel bed, we reached an agreement.

His newly found drunken, suicidal tendencies led him to "volunteer" himself for our cause. He opted to be both martyr and executioner on the grounds that his two children would be "well provided for." Having money to burn post-funeral, I happily agreed. Each child would get one million dollars at the age of eighteen from a bank account set up by me after their parents (and my husband) were gone. I thought it was fair enough, considering the circumstance.

I already explained the night’s events in some detail. Lewis got smashed and plowed right into my husband’s Mercedes. Cars went up in flames, glass shattered, and the rank smell of charred human flesh rose into the air. No one suspected a thing. My husband was loved, and people are sorry for me. Even Lewis’s two children showed up to the viewing. I’m glad I went to their father’s funeral. Lewis was a good man, and I made sure his kids knew that. I sit here now, in reality, as the lawyer reads:

"I leave my real estate to my beloved wife, my company to my Vice CEO and brother, James ____, and the rest, residue and remainder, consisting of the bulk of my fortune and estate, to my two children, Maxwell and Kayla ____."

The lawyer stops when I ask, "Who?" Not getting the company is one thing, but who the hell are Maxwell and Kayla? Then it clicks—they have Lewis and Sheila’s last name.

Joe, you’re a son of a bitch.