Life and Other Inconveniences

by Kristan Higgins

  If Clark still had nightmares about that rock, that shove, it was just because his mother should’ve hired a shrink and paid more attention to him, instead of staring out the window, missing her perfect-not-perfect firstborn.

  Oh, and she got her way. Clark never called his mother Mama again.

  CHAPTER 39

  Emma

  Gigi drank a little water and took a few spoonfuls of soup, but that was it. She kept trying to talk, but her words were incomprehensible. I told her she’d be better tomorrow, but I had no idea if that were true. Dr. Pinco came again late that evening but said outside of brain surgery, there was nothing to be done.

  And I wouldn’t put Genevieve through brain surgery.

  I slept in her bed next to her. Strange, that it was the first time ever. Around two a.m., she woke up and looked at me.

  “Mama?” she said, and I almost sobbed.

  “I’m right here,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.” I smoothed her white hair back as if she were Riley, and she smiled at me and closed her eyes.

  Mac slept by the bed; Minuet snuggled between Gigi and me. The other dogs were with Donelle and Riley. Pop stayed overnight, and Miller came by in the morning and hugged me a long minute when I ran downstairs to get breakfast. He’d brought yellow roses, which were Gigi’s favorite, and his kindness made me crack a little . . . just the fact that he knew and remembered.

  “I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’ll call you, though.”

  “Good.” He kissed me and hugged me again, and I tried not to cry.

  Gigi mostly slept, and we all gathered in her room, Helga, Charles and Donelle playing cards. Pop came in and held Gigi’s hand.

  “You’ll be all right, old girl,” he said, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny.

  Around one in the afternoon, she opened her eyes. “Where . . . Sheppard?” she asked.

  Riley and I looked at each other.

  “You’ll see him soon,” I said.

  “Tell him . . .” She tried to get more words out, then closed her eyes.

  Dr. Pinco came. No change. Her heart sounds were faint. “You may want to prepare yourselves,” he said. “She’s winding down, but she’s not in any pain.”

  Jamilah came by, and Beth, and Calista called twice, confirming what Dr. Pinco said. The hours dragged and sped. Miller came by again, this time with huge flower arrangements from the garden club, Rose Hill, the historical society, Franklin’s General Store. I debated getting Hope, then decided against it, then called to ask her pediatrician his thoughts, which were to keep her put.

  I called Brooklyn Fuller, Genevieve’s attorney, and asked her to draw up some papers.

  It was brutal, this waiting, hoping she’d slip away, hoping she’d revive and scold us for messing up her room. There were glasses and half-finished sandwiches and dog hair everywhere. Pop opened a window so she could smell the salt air, and I put another blanket on her bed. For the first time in ages, Donelle tidied the room.

  The Talwars came over, bringing a boatload of food, and offered to have Riley come to their house for the night, but Riley wanted to stay. Of course she did.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow,” Saanvi said, hugging me. She kissed Genevieve’s forehead and said, “Thank you for making us so welcome in your home, Genevieve.” A tear dripped onto my grandmother’s forehead, but she didn’t stir.

  Around six, I told everyone to go have dinner, and I’d stay with Genevieve. Give her some quiet time. The dogs went, except for Mac and Minuet, her favorites.

  I lay down beside her and held her hand, straightening her engagement ring.

  A quiet knock came at the door, and I looked up to see my father.

  He was thicker than he’d been last time I saw him, and his hair was silver, but he was a good-looking man, still.

  I jumped off the bed, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hall. “She’s dying,” I said without preamble. “She had one wish—to see Sheppard again.”

  My father rolled his eyes. He wore a cashmere sweater and smelled like cologne, and his nose and cheeks bore the signs of a life of hard drinking. Only the best liquor, of course, and all funded by Genevieve.

  “Clark,” I hissed, “you have never in your life done something for someone else. That changes right now. If you don’t go in there and pretend to be your brother, I’ll contest the will, and I have a pretty good feeling that I’ll win.”

  “I’m supposed to be a boy who died more than fifty years ago?”

  “Yes.” It was amazing how little I felt seeing him. In fact, the only thing I did feel was a fierce sense of protectiveness for Gigi. Mac growled, and I knew exactly how he felt.

  “Will you do it?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Sure. Whatever. She always loved him best, anyway.”

  It was good enough. I led my father back into her room, and patted Genevieve’s shoulder. “Gigi, wake up. Guess who made it? It’s Sheppard. Your son is here.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “He’s right here, Gigi,” I said, pointing to my father. “Sheppard’s here.” I pushed him in the chair next to her bed.

  She struggled to sit up, so I boosted her up on the pillows. She reached for his hand, but she was too weak.

  Clark took it. “Hello, Mother,” he said.

  “Sheppard?”

  “Yep. It’s me. Sheppard. Your favorite son.” His tone dripped with derision, and I wanted to kick him.

  “You . . . safe?”

  My eyes filled with tears. All these decades, and all she wanted to know was that her boy was safe.

  My father’s voice changed a little. “Yes. I’m safe. And I’m right here. With you.”

  “Missed . . . you.” Her voice was so weak, her breathing fast and shallow. “Love. Love.”

  He swallowed. “I missed you, too. I . . . I love you, too, Mother.” At least he was playing his part.

  Her eyes kept trying to close, but as always, her sheer force of will kept them open. “Tell Clark . . . I . . . sorry. Bad . . . mother.”

  My father looked at me, then at her, and something in his face fell. “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “Tell Clark . . . sorry.”

  “We’ll tell him, Genevieve,” I said, wiping my eyes. “We’ll tell him you’re sorry.”

  “Clark is sorry, too, Mom,” my father said. “I know he is.”

  She sank back against the pillows and fell asleep once more.

  My father kept holding her hand for a long, long time.

  When Riley, Donelle and Pop came up, my father stood. My grandfather made a disgusted sound and looked out the window. If Clark was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. Then again, he might not have recognized his former father-in-law.

  “Good to see you, honey,” Donelle said, the only one who spoke.

  “Hey, Donelle,” he said. “Well. I guess I’ll stay in a hotel tonight.”

  “Stay here,” I said.

  “No, I uh . . . I’ll stay in town. I have a meeting tomorrow, but I can come back in the afternoon, maybe, or Sunday.”

  I got it. He was leaving again, and he wouldn’t be back.

  “Come with me, Clark,” I said, and we left the room and went downstairs to his father’s office. “Before you go, you need to sign this.” I pushed the papers Brooklyn had drawn up across the desk.

  “What is it?”

  “It terminates your parental rights to Hope.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I’m her guardian now. I don’t want you involved.”

  He didn’t move. “Is she . . . okay?” Something flickered across his face, and for a second, I felt pity for him.

  Not everyone was strong. Not everyone rose to the occasion. Not everyone could carry the burdens of life. And weakness was a bu
rden unto itself. Gigi, though imperfect herself, had done me a favor by paying my father to stay away. She’d been strong. Every damn day. And no matter what I’d been through in life, here I was, strong, too, and filled with love for the people around me. Even this pathetic man here.

  “Hope is doing really well,” I said. “She’s happy and safe, and I’ll be living in Connecticut now, so I’ll take really good care of her.”

  Still, he hesitated.

  “We both know you’re not really father material, Dad,” I said.

  He looked down. “No. I guess I’m not.” He leaned forward and signed the papers where Brooklyn had marked.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I did my best.”

  “You did nothing, Clark,” I said. “Let’s at least be truthful, shall we?”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Thank you. By the way,” I added, “there’s no inheritance. Genevieve’s broke, the house is reverse-mortgaged, as are all its contents.”

  He closed his eyes. “Shit. I wondered if I was out of the will, but I didn’t think the money was all gone.”

  “It is.”

  Knowing my father, he’d find someone else to pick up his tabs. He’d marry a wealthy woman and keep living his life.

  But once, I’d loved him, even if I didn’t really know him. “Take care of yourself.” We looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean it, Dad,” I added.

  “You too.” He stepped toward me, and for a second, I thought he would hug me, but he didn’t. “I . . . I hope things work out for you.”

  “They will. You should go now.”

  He nodded and left the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close, then the purr of an expensive car engine, and my father was gone.

  CHAPTER 40

  Genevieve

  I’m in the backyard of Sheerwater, and the grass is so green. The air smells divine, rich with the scent of lilacs and wisteria. The Sound is brilliant and sparkling, the flag waving cheerfully in the breeze. I’m dressed in a green and blue dress, and it flutters around my legs.

  I’m waiting for someone . . . but I don’t know who. Something wonderful is going to happen, though. I can feel it.

  “Are you ready for your surprise?” Emma says, smiling, and Riley is there, too, looking so lovely. She squeezes my hand.

  Then, down by the rock wall, where Garrison and I sit each night, the gate opens of its own volition.

  A boy comes running through it, his hair white blond, his arms stretched open, and his eyes . . . his eyes are so blue! He laughs as he runs, runs right toward me, and I drop to my knees as finally, finally, my boy is back. He pulls back and looks at me, his face just as I remembered, and the feeling of him in my arms is everything. Everything.

  Then Garrison comes through the gate, so handsome, grinning, striding across the lawn, wearing his linen suit and red tie, and I can tell he was in on the surprise.

  “Is this real?” I ask Emma.

  “It is, Gigi. It finally is.”

  Then Garrison has Sheppard and me both in his strong arms, and I can feel us lifting, lifting away, and the sun is so bright and warm, and finally, finally, I am home.

  CHAPTER 41

  Emma

  Genevieve died that night just before midnight, with Riley and me holding her hands, and Donelle crying softly at her side. Mac let out a mournful howl, and Minuet put her head on her paws and sighed.

  We covered her in a sky-blue cashmere blanket and fixed her hair, crossed her hands. Then I took my daughter in my arms, and we cried for the loss of our Gigi.

  * * *

  * * *

  A month after she died, we had the memorial service.

  It had taken some time, because we wanted to put together a proper tribute . . . and because we wanted Sheppard to be buried with her.

  The day after his visit, my father had sent a letter to the Connecticut State Police, detailing what had happened that day, all those years before. My heart actually ached for him, bearing that burden alone for so long. I knew there was no coming back from that kind of accident and subsequent trauma when it happens to a small child who doesn’t tell anyone about it. Tragedy and fear had been carved into my father’s soul, ruining him.

  It explained so much, though.

  He was in Europe now. No charges would be pressed, but he said he didn’t want to be around. His letter had told the police exactly where he’d pushed Sheppard into the water. Three days later, the bones of my uncle were brought up from under four feet of silt.

  An accident. A five-year-old pushed his brother and the brother fell. My poor father. If he had told, what a different life he might have had.

  But he hadn’t, and here we were. He didn’t come for the funeral, and I was glad.

  The church was standing room only. The Metropolitan Opera, one of the recipients of Genevieve’s generosity over the years, sent a soprano to sing from Verdi’s Requiem. Pop was one of the pallbearers, and so was Miller . . . and so was I.

  Riley gave the eulogy, and it was beautiful and funny and moving.

  The luncheon was held at Sheerwater, and I think the entire population of Stoningham came. Riley and I had till the end of the week to stay, and then Sotheby’s would come for the art and some furniture, and the bank would evict us. We’d be moving to one of the condos Miller was renovating in the old prison, living just the two of us for the first time ever, because Pop had decided to go back to Downers Grove . . . but only to sell the house and come back east.

  “Why would I live a thousand miles away from my girls?” he’d said.

  Miller stayed by my side the whole day, and when the last of the guests had left and Riley had gone to bed, we sat in the conservatory and he rubbed my feet.

  “You were a good daughter,” he said, and I burst into tears, because in a way, it was true. Genevieve was my mother. And in her last hours, I had been hers.

  On our final night in Sheerwater, Riley and I walked the grounds for the last time. Under the wisteria bower, now just vines for the winter, through the patio and the rose garden, past the pool. We went to the two Adirondack chairs where Gigi and Garrison used to sit, and I left a yellow rose on each seat, and one more for Sheppard. It brought a lump to my throat, thinking of them together at last with their son, lost no more.

  I put a bouquet of calla lilies on Ashley’s grave—the bank had promised to stipulate that the new owners would have to allow Miller access to that spot forever.

  “She’d be glad you and Miller are together,” Riley said.

  “You think?”

  “Sure. Who better? Except you inherit Tess.”

  “I love Tess.”

  “Me too. Glad I’ll be in college before you guys move in together, though.”

  “Who said we’re moving in together?”

  “Oh, Mom. You always need someone to take care of. Of course you’ll move in. Probably get married.”

  I didn’t argue. Maybe I would. Not for a while, though. Next year, my baby would be in college, and I didn’t want to rush off to try to fill the hole in my life. I loved Tess, and I loved Miller, but there was no need to hurry.

  My daughter and I walked hand in hand down to the dock and sat. There was no moon, and the stars shone brilliant and sharp. The wood of the dock creaked gently, and a loon called far away.

  “It was nice to live in a mansion,” Riley said.

  “Sorry you have to move.”

  She laughed. “It was fun while it lasted. And I have this as a souvenir.” She picked up the chain she now wore around her neck. On it was Genevieve’s engagement ring, the one thing my grandmother had bargained to keep so that she could leave it to the great-granddaughter she loved.

  It was worth an obscene amount of money—probably enough for at leas
t two years of college, maybe more. But I knew my daughter would never sell it. I wouldn’t want her to.

  “She was great, wasn’t she?” Riley said.

  “She was. She was strong. She lived through a lot of heartbreak, but she always did what she had to do, and she did it as best she could. And her best was usually pretty great.”

  Riley was quiet for a moment. “Are you still afraid I’ll be like your mom?”

  I looked at her sharply.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “It’s okay if we talk about it.”

  My wise daughter. I took a slow breath and lay back on the deck. Riley did, too, snuggling her head against my shoulder, that old familiar feeling of my sweet daughter fitting against me. The best feeling in the world.

  “My mother was a great woman, too,” I said. “She was all love. You get that from her. And the red hair. But you have Genevieve in you, too. Total badass.”

  “True,” Riley said, and I laughed.

  “You forgot the best part of me,” Riley said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You, Mama.”

  She didn’t even mind when I started to cry. But instead of blurring the stars, my tears made them brighter, shining with such beauty, such generosity, such benevolence, that a person just couldn’t ask for more.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  Genevieve copes—and teaches her family to cope—by soldiering on despite life’s hindrances. Do you think this helps or hurts her family? In what way?

  Genevieve’s treatment of her two sons goes from one extreme to the other. Do you think parents sometimes favor one child over another? Are we blind to our own children’s faults? Are we blind to our faults as parents?

  Why do you think Genevieve has so many dogs?

  In what ways are Genevieve and Emma similar?