The Shoebox

by Lisa Fernandez

  Peter touched it with his finger, and they both closed their eyes.

  “Daddy!” Madeline appeared in the doorway in sweatpants and T-shirt, her hair unbrushed and her face puffy.

  “Hey, sunshine.” Amy smiled and took Madeline tightly into her arms. Madeline broke out in tears, and even as Amy comforted her she cried louder.

  “Sweetie, sweetie. I don’t want Grandma to hear you.” Peter rubbed her head gently. “If she sees you like this, it’ll be hard to calm her down again.”

  Madeline let go of Amy and wiped her face with her T-shirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset her.”

  “Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Amy smiled, sniffing. “Your Daddy and I are holding on by a string ourselves, believe me.”

  “Hey, everybody!” Jake’s voice rang through the house from the front door. Peter turned with a sad smile to see Amanda in the doorway with her arms open. He opened his own to her, and she crossed the kitchen straight into them.

  “How’s my Madeline?” Jake spoke in a quiet, deep voice as he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her face into his shoulder.

  She began to cry uncontrollably. “Uncle Jake,” she cried, clutching him. “Uncle Jake.”

  “Shhh! baby.” Jake patted her tenderly. “Your Uncle Jake is here. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Amanda.” Amy stepped around the island, and she and Amanda hugged without a word. Peter paused with a hand to his mouth, and the house stood silently around the small knot of figures that surrounded the sobbing girl.

  “What’s wrong with Madeline?” Sheila appeared in the kitchen doorway, and when they turned to her they all froze. She wore a black skirt and blouse, her blouse buttoned crookedly and the zipper of the skirt caught in the fabric.

  “Grandma!” Madeline ran to her.

  “My little girl,” Sheila said with a glazed look. “When did you get here? Why aren’t you at home?”

  “Grandma, we had dinner together last night. Remember?”

  Sheila smiled and looked at Amy. “Something isn’t right?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll fix it. Okay?” Amy began to unbutton and rebutton Sheila’s blouse, pulling the fabric loose from the zipper.

  “Mom, would you like coffee?” Peter began to fill a mug for her. “Amy brought bagels from D’Alessio’s. You have to eat something. We have a long day ahead of us.”

  “April showers.” Sheila sang lightly as Amy adjusted her skirt.

  Amy glanced at Peter, and he turned away with a look of despair. Jake and Amanda met each other’s eyes in compassion.

  “Sit here. I have some coffee for you, and you can have a bagel.” Peter led Sheila to a stool by the island. She took his hand and, pulling it close to her face, suddenly began to cry.

  “Mom, we’re here for you.” Amy put her hand softly on Sheila’ shoulder.

  “Whatever you need.” Peter stroked her back. “If I have to stay here and commute every day into work, I don’t mind. We’ll take care of you.”

  Sheila lifted her head and looked from one to the other. “What do I do? I’m one of those lonely old women now, sitting alone, eating alone, and sleeping in a wide, empty bed all alone. I can’t do that!” She dropped her voice and whispered to herself. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “You won’t have to.” Amy put her arm around the thin shoulders. “We’re all here together.”

  “I’m here too, Grandma.” Madeline leaned across Amy to kiss Sheila’s cheek. “And there’s Victoria and Matt and Uncle Lance, and there’s Hope and Janie and Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jake. You won’t be alone.”

  Sheila looked up and smiled, but her eyes had already shifted again, and her gaze was distant.

  Later, just before they left for the cemetery, Amanda stood at the kitchen island with Amy, talking softly as they sorted silverware. The house was clean and quiet.

  “How’s Ma?” Peter came through the back door and set down a pile of aluminum-covered trays.

  “Upstairs,” Lance said from where he was sorting papers at Sheila’s telephone table in the corner. “We gave her a sedative to calm her nerves.”

  Jake came through the doorway behind Peter with another stack of silver foil-covered trays. “Holy cow! How many people do you all know?”

  “Someone will eat it, believe me.” Amanda laughed. “We’ll spread it out on the kitchen table with plates and utensils and let them hack at it themselves.” She put her arms around Peter and looked into his eyes. “I spoke to Tara ten minutes ago. She’s resting comfortably. I’m glad she won’t be out in this weather with us.”

  He smiled down at her, the unspoken question asked and answered without words.

  Amanda helped Amy move trays onto the table, removing the foil carefully.

  Jake stood at the island with Peter, putting plastic cups together and taking soda bottles from the grocery bags. “Peter, can I do anything? Do you need me to take care of anything for you?”

  “I’m a little worried, that’s all—” Peter suddenly signaled to Jake to lower his voice as Madeline came through the kitchen doorway with Janie and Hope.

  “Has anyone checked on Grandma?” Madeline ran to Peter.

  “She’s resting up, honey,” he answered over her head, holding her close. “Today is going to be a long one for her.”

  “Too long for anyone.” Madeline rested her head sadly on his shoulder.

  Peter glanced down at the top of her soft brown head. “Your mother’s doing okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Aunt Amanda just talked to her, and I spoke to her a little while ago.”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t put you on the phone because she was too tired. She said to tell you she loves you and she wishes she could be here with us. I can tell she’s feeling better.” Peter smiled as he caressed Madeline’s cheek.

  “Janie!” Amanda said, reaching to slap Janie’s fingers picking celery out of the potato salad. “Take a plate and a napkin.” She shook her head at Jake.

  “Wolverines.” He watched fondly as Hope and Janie filled their plates.

  “We’re growing girls, Daddy.” Hope nuzzled his arm.

  “Dig in.” Peter ruffled her hair and turned to Madeline. “Aren’t you hungry, sweetheart?”

  “Maybe later. My tummy’s shot.” She rubbed her stomach as she passed Amy and Amanda, and Amanda brushed her brown hair back with her hand, looking into the lovely almond-shaped eyes.

  “Still having trouble?”

  “I can’t help it, Aunt Amanda.” Madeline paused to lean on her, and Amanda pulled the girl to her.

  “Do you want me to get you some antacids?” Amy touched Madeline’s arm.

  “Thanks, Aunt Amy. I had some ginger ale. I’ll be okay.” Madeline smiled up at her as Amy laid a finger softly on one of the shadows under her eyes.

  “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “Come on, pip-squeak. Let’s find Victoria and Matt.” Hope looped an arm around Madeline’s neck, and she and Janie hustled her into the dining room, their paper plates balanced precariously between them.

  Peter smiled as he watched them go.

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “—And you were saying?”

  “I was saying—” Peter took a moment. “I was saying I didn’t want to speak in front of Madeline about my mother. My girl’s been through so much. The last thing she needs is to see her grandmother break down.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  Peter shook his head. “She’s completely out of it. I know the doctor put her on an anti-anxiety pill, but there’s something more. Even in the hospital she was spacey.” Peter measured coffee for the rented coffee urn, and Jake carried it to the sink to fill it with water. “I just keep thinking how fleeting life is, you know? One moment you’re looking up at a snowy
moon feeling like you’re on top of the world, and the next you’re buying roses to put on your father’s casket.”

  “I know it’s been hard.” Jake tried to fit the lid on the urn awkwardly until Peter took it out of his hands. “It’s all relative though. This might sound cheesy, but he’s not gone. He’s just somewhere else. I’m sure he’s looking at you and is proud of you, proud of what you’ve done with your life.” Jake plugged the urn into the wall and turned to Peter. “It makes you think how special the time we have here is, right?” He patted Peter’s arm.

  Peter nodded. “It makes you realize you shouldn’t waste time on things that aren’t important. You should do the things you want. Spend your life with the people you want to be with, no matter what.”

  The sound of the hissing coffee urn resonated through the kitchen. Peter looked at Jake, and Jake nodded, their eyes locked.

  The priest completed the burial service in the rain, while raindrops hit umbrellas and the wood that held the casket in the grave. The sound of rain grew louder as he gave instructions for each mourner to place a rose on the casket.

  Peter stood with his arms around Sheila under an umbrella, Madeline crowded against him. The rain created tiny drops of mud on his shoes as he watched the mourners form a line to place their roses. Hope and Janie laid their roses together, and Amanda glanced at Peter as she passed in front of him, her eyes brimming. She smiled faintly. Mr. Grant placed his flower and nodded his head at Peter as he waited for his wife. Tim Ryan placed his flower and bowed his head briefly. Each of Peter’s co-workers from the architectural firm took his hand as they made their way through the crowd, dodging the rain that became heavier and brought with it a cold breeze.

  Peter felt Sheila begin to tremble against him. “Let’s get you out of the weather,” he said quietly into her ear.

  “I have to be the last.” Sheila’s voice was uneven and shrill.

  Amy heard and signaled to Peter to wait for Matthew and Victoria, who shared an umbrella at the end of the procession, Matthew was now a head taller than Victoria, their hair the sleek brown that Peter’s had been when he was young. Victoria brushed the bangs back from her face with Amy’s adolescent grace.

  Peter saw Richard’s calm expression on Matthew’s face as he leaned in to Sheila when they reached the grave and spoke gently. “It’s all right, Grandma.”

  Sheila stared straight ahead at the casket, her eyes filled with tears.

  Peter tightened his arm and glanced below the wooden planks under the casket. Although they were covered by a tarp, he could see a tiny opening flapping in the wind. When it was his turn to step forward, he exhaled, closed his eyes, and touched the casket, hearing that tiny opening as it flapped.

  A bright crack appeared in the sky, and thunder echoed a moment later.

  “May our beloved Richard Michaels rest forever in peace,” the priest said quickly. “Now please, everyone, get safely to your cars.”

  When Peter squeezed Sheila’s elbow, she nodded and took a few steps toward the casket, and Peter extended the umbrella while Matthew held her elbow on the other side. Sheila reached out her hand and caressed the top of the casket, laying her rose neatly on top.

  As she let go, she let out a loud, unexpected cry. “Oh, my Richard! My darling Richard, until I see you again!” Her legs failed as Peter and Matthew tried to pull her away from the casket, and she barely missed the ground. She squirmed childishly, and her cries echoed across the cemetery.

  Peter handed Matthew the umbrella and scooped Sheila up in his arms, wincing at the sharp jolting pain in his knees, and Amy held the limousine door open as he ran with Sheila through the downpour to set her carefully in the back seat. Madeline hurried to the other side of the car with her arm around Victoria, their hair plastered to their heads, and Amy and Matthew slid into the limousine behind Sheila just as another bolt of lightning appeared, thunder a moment later shaking them all.

  Peter paused in the rain outside the limousine with his hand on the open door and looked back, water pounding his head and dripping down his face. His stare was steady. He could hear the sound of the tarp below Richard’s casket flapping in the wind.

  Then Peter sighed, and he, too, ducked inside. After a moment, the long black car pulled slowly away from the curb and moved down the gravel path under the line of dark trees.

  Chapter 38

  Warnings

  2004

  Madeline dangled her cap and tassel above her lap in the back seat of the car as Peter and Tara buckled them into the front seat. Around them, crowds of high school graduates in their shining black gowns filled the sidewalks among their parents, laughter and congratulations ringing out in the warm spring air.

  “I’ve never seen such a lovely graduate cross a stage in my entire life.” Peter reached over his shoulder toward Madeline as he pulled away from the curb with one hand.

  Tara sighed. “Just like a beauty queen.”

  “Oh, you guys have to say things like that. You’re my parents.” Madeline waggled her tongue at Tara in the rear-view mirror, while she made a face back at her.

  “Honey, I have never been more proud of you.” Peter maneuvered carefully between graduates and their families crossing the street in front of the high school. “The way you delivered that speech was so moving.” Once they had passed the intersection, he speeded up to blend into the traffic of the wide, busy street.

  “Your father cried like a baby when you thanked us.” Tara nodded.

  “I didn’t!”

  “You certainly did.”

  Tara and Madeline laughed out loud as Peter blushed and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

  “Dad, would it be all right if I didn’t go to the hospital with you and Aunt Amy? If I just went home with Mom?”

  Peter glanced over at Tara, who nodded.

  “Don’t give it a second thought, honey.” He met Madeline’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You’ve had a long day, and I would assumed you had plans with your friends. Besides, I don’t think Grandma knows what’s going on lately.”

  Tara’s reassuring hand gripped his shoulder when he pulled up in front of their house and stopped the car. “How are the new meds? Any change?”

  Peter sighed as he set the brake. “Amy says they make her even more lethargic than before. The last time I visited, all she did was stare out the window at squirrels. I don’t think she said a single word to me.”

  “I’m sorry, babe.” Tara leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and then opened her car door.

  Maddy threw her arms around Peter’s neck from the back seat and kissed him resoundingly on the cheek. “I love you, Dad. Thank you for everything—for my entire life.”

  Peter cupped her face on his shoulder with one hand, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her in the rear-view mirror, her almond eyes so large and intense, her dimple flashing in her cheek exactly like Tara’s, only no longer a baby-face.

  “I am so proud of you, honey. Go have a good time, okay?”

  Madeline smiled as she stepped out of the car, and he could see her waving, her shining black gown swaying with the motion, as he pulled away.

  Amy had missed Madeline’s graduation to stay with Sheila, who had been having a particularly bad morning. The days since Sheila’s diagnosis of dementia and, eventually, her placement at an assisted-living home had folded into weeks and now months. It was getting harder to go every day, more stressful to acknowledge the fact that their mother no longer recognized who they were.

  The pain Peter felt every time he visited Sheila had become burdensome. Ever since Richard’s death, Peter had detested hospitals. The smell of disinfectants hurled him back to Tara’s laborious, endless chemotherapy treatments, to that terrifying moment in the doorway of Richard’s room listening to the doctor shout, “Clear!”

  He was relieved to know that Sheila lived in a ver
y different environment. The assisted-living center he and Amy had chosen had the feel of an apartment, with individual suites equipped with sleeping, sitting, and dining areas. Although it was expensive, they had discovered when they settled Richard’s legacy that he had planned for his insurance to cover Sheila in any medical emergency.

  “Your plan is your road, son.” Peter heard Richard’s voice echoing through his mind as he pulled around the box hedge into Amy’s driveway. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

  Amy appeared at her front door, shielding her eyes with one hand, while Peter clicked his car alarm and moved as quickly as his arthritis would let him up the walk. Her eyes were filling with tears as he approached the steps.

  “What is it?” Peter reached around her for the storm door.

  Amy blocked the doorway, tissues wrapped between her fingers. “It’s Mom.” Her chest heaved as she broke into sobs. “Peter, this afternoon during her nap—Mom passed away.”

  Peter and Amy sat on the old Queen Anne sofa, Amy resting her head upon Peter’s shoulder as he gently held her right hand in his. She had finally quieted down. Her muffled cries gently subsided as Peter had rubbed her head and whispered in her ear a few comforting words. They sat quietly in their parents’ living room near the old leather recliner that used to nestle their father every evening in front of the television set, creases still intact in the leather.

  The sound of rain echoed as raindrops tapped the windows. The living room seemed so empty, so quiet. Peter had never realized before how quiet that room could be. It had always been filled with noise and people and a fire crackling on the hearth, but now with the lights dim and shadows dancing against the curtains, it was painfully desolate. He stared at the grooves in the wide plank floor, so many markings that gave the floor its character. He looked at the moldings on the high ceilings and the drapes his mother had sent away for, made especially in Boston. He had lived in this home for so many years and taken for granted so much of its meaning.

  Amy turned her head for a moment and looked up at him. She looked exhausted and frail. Her eyes spoke volumes. After a moment, she leaned back into her spot against his arm, and he pulled her over the old tricolored granny-square afghan that their mother had crocheted. Amy looked up and smiled, her eyelids partially closed. She stretched the afghan over his legs as well.