Kat found me outside in our backyard, shooting hoops. It was well after midnight, but she didn’t admonish me. She positioned herself near the hoop and tossed the ball back to me wordlessly after each swish. We continued this for at least twenty minutes.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
I shook my head.
“A whiskey?”
I was about to say no, but then I thought better. “Sure. Roger would like that.”
We sat at our kitchen table with the lights off. A sliver of moonlight danced on the wall behind Kat’s head.
“What are you thinking about?” Kat asked, yanking me out of my fog.
“The first time I tasted whiskey. It was after winning State during my freshman year. We had a big family celebration, and Roger whisked me outside to shoot hoops. No one questioned him. Instead of handing me a basketball, like he’d done so many times in years past, he placed a tumbler in my hand. ‘Well done, Cori. Well done.’ I can still picture the pride on his face. The game came down to a foul in the final seconds.”
“And?” Kat leaned her forearms on the table.
I laughed, spraying snot. After wiping my nose and dabbing my eyes with my shirt, I said, “I sank both. Nothing but net, baby.” My vision blurred. “When I was on the line, I kept hearing Uncle Roger’s voice saying, ‘You got this.’ He always believed in me.” I sucked on my quivering lip and lifted the whiskey to my mouth with a shaky hand.
“He still does.” Kat squatted in front of my chair and patted my knees. “He’ll always be with you.” She placed her hand over my heart and then rested it on my forehead.
I blinked away a tear.
“Hey, it’s okay. Let it out.” She pulled me into her arms, unleashing the flood.
“I can’t believe he’s gone. He was a second father to me. Always there. Roger was the one I called when my car broke down or when I got busted for drinking when I was sixteen. He never told a soul about that.”
Kat clutched me tighter.
“And Barbara… they’ve been best friends for forty years and now she’s—” A sob rendered me speechless.
***
“The other driver was drunk.” Kat’s muffled voice from the hallway drifted into the bedroom.
I’d asked her to cancel our Sunday barbeque with the gang. She was either on the phone with Harold or Sam.
It was a hair past nine, but it seemed like I’d been up for hours, if not days. Maybe I had drifted off to sleep for an hour or two, but what rest I got was fitful. For the first time in over a year, I’d skipped my run.
“Hey, you,” Kat said when she sat on the edge of the bed, causing it to lurch to the right.
“Thanks for calling everyone.”
She waved. “Everyone wants you to know if you need anything, just ask.”
The phone rang, and Kat flinched.
I sat up and looked at the caller ID on my cell. “Morning, Dad.”
“How are you, sweetie?”
It made me smile. I’m not sure he’d ever called me sweetie before.
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s at your aunt’s. I’m calling to tell you the driver died.”
A rush of relief whooshed through my mind, quickly followed by a twinge of guilt. It was a relief to know my aunt wouldn’t have to endure a trial and all the sensationalism that would bring. Roger’s family was wealthier than ours, and the press had jumped on the story quickly on a slow news day in a desperate ploy to garner more viewers. Until the news broke, the biggest story had been about a stray cat that had moved into the governor’s mansion.
“I see,” I said.
Kat slanted her head, seeming disturbed by the roiling emotions that must have flashed over my face.
“Do we need to bring anything?” I asked Dad.
“No, that’s been taken care of. I’ll see you when you get there. I’m heading over now.”
Before I had a chance to end the call, Kat asked what was going on.
“The driver died.”
Roger had died instantly in the crash. He’d probably never even known what happened, according to the cops. But the drunk driver had been rushed to the hospital.
We learned from the ten o’clock news last night that the driver’s twenty-six-year-old son, who’d recently returned from his third tour in Afghanistan, had just committed suicide. The press was desperate to get an exposé and one merciless reporter had even tried to interview the man’s wife in the hospital. After seeing it on the television, I vowed to only watch sporting events and nothing else. Ever.
“His poor wife.” Kat circled the pad of her thumb on her other palm. “First her son and now her husband.”
I pulled her to me, not speaking. Words were of no use in these situations.
We’d lost a child, but we still had each other. I sighed and Kat pressed harder against me.
After we had showered, as Kat buttoned up one of my blue Oxford shirts she usually wore when she was down in the dumps, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” I yanked a gray Harvard T-shirt over my head.
“You haven’t eaten…” Guilt clouded her eyes.
“I know. You haven’t either. Should we stop and pick up something?”
She nodded. “But what?”
“Good question. Nothing sounds good. You could feed me sandpaper and I wouldn’t notice.”
“I could use a medium regular.”
“Dunkin’ Donuts it is.”
***
We stepped into the Dunkin’ Donuts on Beacon Street, near the Reservoir stop. Kat, on a good day, hated making up her mind, but when stressed or upset, she flipped into panic mode. She started to point to everything. “One of those, one of those, one of those…”
“Maybe we should get a dozen. All different, though, and a dozen munchkins,” I suggested to alleviate Kat’s stress.
The pimpled teen didn’t say a word, but her eyes conveyed sadness and understanding.
An antiquated TV, muted, sat on a flimsy shelf in the corner. Roger’s accident was still the highlight of the local news, and grisly footage of his mangled car played on a never-ending loop.
I turned my back. Kat grimaced and yanked out a credit card. I grabbed the two bags and a tray of coffees while Kat finagled the rest.
The Uber driver picked us up outside, and no one said a word all the way to Barbara’s.
“Goodness, there are more donuts, bagels, muffins, and munchkins than we could ever possibly eat.” Mom plucked two coffees from the holder. After handing one to my dad, she sipped her drink. “Hits the spot. Always does.”
Earlier in my life, I never realized how much the donut chain was ingrained in New England culture. Then, one of the girls on Harvard’s basketball team made a comment that got me thinking. She was from California, and she said the first time she was in New England she got lost and every person she’d asked for directions used Dunkin’ Donuts as a reference point. I could still hear her mimicking them in her surfer girl voice, “Turn left at Dunkin’ Donuts, when you pass the second, turn right. Dude, there’re more Dunkin’ Donuts than churches and gas stations in this state.”
Kat quirked an eyebrow, and I realized I was smiling.
My father also had an awkward grin on his face. “Do you remember the time we dared Roger to eat a dozen donuts?”
Roger was a donut fanatic—not that you could tell, since he was stick-thin. Weekly tennis matches, golf, and the gym had helped maintain his athletic build.
“Oh, he didn’t eat a donut for months after that,” Mom said with a smirk.
“But he finished them all,” Dad boasted. “Every last one.”
“He moaned on the couch for hours, holding his stomach.” I took a sip of my coffee and held up a glazed donut. “For Roger.” I chomped off half of it in one go.
The four of us slipped into silence.
“Where’s Barbara?” Kat asked.
&n
bsp; “With her attorney.” Mom nibbled on a blueberry muffin.
None of us looked at anyone else. The thoughts racing through my mind made my stomach churn, and from the palpable fear hanging over everyone’s heads, I was fairly certain the same ideas were running through their minds. Had Roger left any money to his mistresses? I never sussed out his pattern. Did he have lots of flings or steady relationships over the years?
“Do you remember the time that seagull pooped in Roger’s mouth?” I asked to divert everyone’s attention.
Kat’s eyes boggled. “Pooped in his mouth? How?”
Mom cackled and my father smiled broadly.
“There was a seagull flying overhead, squawking like mad, and Roger looked up, curious. His mouth was wide open—”
“Oh, no.” Kat covered her mouth.
“Oh, yes!” Dad said.
“Roger kept spitting the rest of the day.” I took another bite of donut.
We burst into laughter right as my aunt and her attorney came out of the office on the main floor.
Instantly, we snapped our mouths shut like naughty school children who’d been reprimanded during a field trip to the museum.
Barbara’s eyes were red but dry. She cocked her head at my mother and then turned to the man, her hand held out. “Thank you, Neil. I’ll be in touch.”
Neil shook her hand, nodded in our direction, and flew the coop.
“What’s going on?” Barbara took the last coffee.
“The seagull,” I confessed, more to my shoes than my aunt.
Confusion clouded her eyes, and then it cleared as she remembered. “That was funny.” Her face tightened.
None of us reacted or spoke… until she cackled with laughter.
It lasted a good minute before she wiped her eyes and perched on the arm of a leather chair. “I can still see him spitting. Oh, and the cursing. I think he drained an entire bottle of Listerine as soon as we got home.”
Barbara wiped away a solitary tear. Kat threw an arm around her shoulder, and my aunt patted her hand.
“It’s odd not hearing his voice,” Aunt Barbara said. “I woke up late, and I expected him to say something sarcastic like, ‘You’re burning daylight,’ but all that greeted me was silence. Not sure I’ll get used to that.”
Silence filled the room.
Chapter Sixteen
“Cori, are you ready?” Kat shouted from our front room.
“Yeah, coming.”
Kat wore a dark navy skirt and blazer. Her hair was pulled into a librarian bun. It was odd to see her looking so respectable and ordinary. She slipped on a pair of black-framed glasses. Her eyes were beyond bloodshot, making it impossible to wear contacts.
“You look nice,” she said.
I glanced down at my black trousers and suit jacket, fidgeting with the house keys in my pocket. “Thanks.”
Kat put her hand out. “Here,” she commanded.
I handed over the keys, and she dropped them into her purse.
“We can’t have you clinking your keys during the service.”
I nodded.
She eyed me. “You going to be okay speaking today?”
“I guess so.” I shrugged.
“If you don’t want to speak at Roger’s funeral, it’s all right. No one will think less of you.”
“I will.” With that, I headed outside to wait for the limo Mom had arranged.
It took us less than thirty minutes to arrive. My heart skittered, and my hands were clammier than a clam. I wiped my palms on the seat cushion and plastered on a be strong face. Kat met me in front of the car and slipped her hand into mine, tightly lacing our fingers, our wedding rings rubbing together.
Dad stood outside, and he wrapped me in a bear hug as soon as we exited the car. “Here, you may need this.” He shoved a handkerchief into my trouser pocket. My father wore a black suit and a somber gray tie. I tried to remember the last time I’d seen him in a suit, regretting it instantly—the memory of Charlotte’s funeral rattled my soul.
A smattering of people were taking their seats inside the church. We were early, but hundreds of people were expected for the service. I did my best to block that out of my mind. The only people that mattered to me at the moment were my aunt and uncle. I wasn’t a religious person by any means, but I had this odd sensation Roger was watching me from somewhere.
Maybe Kat was in tune with my thoughts, because she squeezed my hand and glanced up toward the ceiling. My gaze followed. I could see why people believed in God. The gothic revival church was spectacular, exuding confidence, reverence, and tranquility. Standing in the middle, I fixed upon one stained glass window and then another, feeling small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Roger hailed from a prominent family and was a well-respected businessman. In the nineties, he’d served in the House of Representatives for a couple of terms. The funeral wouldn’t be along the scope of Edward Kennedy’s, but it would be attended by many prominent and important people, and the governor of Massachusetts had agreed to give a eulogy. News crews were camped outside.
After taking in the church, I let my focus wander to the front.
More people started to arrive, and I figured we should try to locate my mom and aunt. Barbara stood in the front pew, next to my mother. Both wore simple black dresses with a single strand of pearls and both welcomed and hugged friends and associates.
“You ready?” My mom rubbed my back to be supportive, but it was disconcerting that Nell Tisdale was toning it down completely for my benefit. Not once over the past several days had she tried to divert all the attention to herself. She wasn’t even speaking today. Only my father and I were included in the program for remembrances.
The church was finally at capacity, and violins, violas, cellos, and a clarinet began to play Mozart. Usually, music soothed me; today, it was as if every note swirled around my head and pulled each thought in six different directions. A commotion at the entrance alerted me Roger’s casket had arrived. Slowly, the pallbearers, including my father, led my uncle’s remains to the front.
At least the casket would remain closed. The accident had been horrific, and my aunt couldn’t bear for all to see Roger at his worst. She wanted people to remember the vibrant man she knew and loved, not the Roger that morticians had to glue back together and slather in makeup to make him look halfway human.
Kat gripped my hand, and I nodded, afraid if I spoke, I’d break down.
The cardinal welcomed everyone and spoke briefly. The clock was ticking. In minutes, it would be me who had to stand before this crowd. I prayed I’d be able to keep my emotions in check. Just get through it. You can break down later, Cori. In private.
The psalm, Old Testament, and gospel readings were over before I had a chance to breathe, it seemed.
Then it was my turn.
Kat squeezed my hand, and my mom patted my back as I slipped by to make my way to the front.
I’d spoken at author events over the past few years, and I lectured at Adams University, but when my eyes panned the sea of black I couldn’t kick the sensation I was an alien who had popped onto the wrong planet.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat and glanced to my left, where Aunt Barbara was smiling and nodding at me. “I want to thank you all for coming today to celebrate the life of Roger Ginnetti.” I stared down at my notes, frozen. Everyone was silent, except for the occasional sniffle. My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for women who looked out of place, wondering about their connection to my uncle.
Stop, Cori!
I cleared my throat again. “Roger touched many through his charity work, businesses, and his overall zest for life. The past few days have been emotional, and so many have shared their personal stories about how Roger affected their lives. My uncle was blessed to have so many wonderful friends and associates, and it’s an honor to stand before all of you.” I dabbed my eyes with the handkerchief my father had slipped in
to my pocket.
“I was fortunate, growing up. Not only did I have two loving and supportive parents, but my aunt and uncle were like parents to me also. It was Uncle Roger who first put a basketball in my hands. He taught me how to box, so I could always defend myself. More importantly, he taught me the meaning of family.
“For me, our family is perfectly normal because I’m used to all the crazy. When I was in junior high, some of my classmates gave me a hard time. My mom, as many of you know, is a famous writer, and at the time, Roger was in the House of Representatives. I came home from school one day mad as hell because some kids had taunted me after I won a writing contest. They thought my mom had rigged the competition. Roger pulled me aside and said, ‘I know it isn’t easy being the center of attention, and you’re at an age where you want to fit in, but here’s the deal; you can never get rid of your family. When the chips are down, it’s your family who’ll always be there for you. No matter what.’ It took me years to truly understand what he meant.”
I looked to my aunt, who dashed away a single tear. “Roger’s life wasn’t easy. Before he became the man most of us knew and admired, he endured personal losses that would have broken many people. His only sister died before she could drive a car. His father passed the day before Roger’s nineteenth birthday, and his mother died less than a year later. Each tragedy could have destroyed his beliefs and his passion for life. But Roger wasn’t any man. He was a fighter. Every loss and hardship he experienced made him stronger and kinder. Ever since I can remember, Roger was always telling me, ‘Get in the game.’ Life for Roger wasn’t something to be endured. It was something to be lived to the fullest.”
I let out a long breath. “Roger was taken too soon, but he lived his life to the fullest. I’m saddened to say good-bye, but I’m thankful to have known and to have been loved by him. I’ve never been overly religious.” I gave a slight shrug and looked up to the left at a stained-glass window. The priest smiled knowingly and many chuckled. I looked down at my uncle’s casket, half expecting Roger to pop out and wrap his arms around me, saying, “You got this.”
“His absence will be felt by many here and elsewhere. He was so much to so many: an uncle, brother-in-law, friend, a confidant, a businessman, politician, neighbor, a Red Sox fan, and an overall sports nut. And a loving husband.” I nodded toward Barbara. “To me, he was my second father, and I’m not ready to say good-bye. So Roger”—I peered upward—“this isn’t good-bye. I look forward to our talks and to shooting hoops when we meet again.” As I walked past his casket back to the front pew, I whispered, “Take care of Charlotte for me, please.”
Confessions From the Dark Page 17