by Mimi Flood
I watched him deep in thought as if he was letting his words sink in once more. Maybe he was hoping that had he done things differently back then, maybe the outcome would have been different.
Then, I remembered how he had seemed to have forgiven her rather quickly and how that had never sat well with me. It didn’t make sense that such a kind person like my father could get hurt like that, and get over it so effortlessly.
“Still,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “Even if you could accept that it was somewhat your fault, you didn’t need to forgive her. You didn’t need to stay with her.”
He smiled and looked down at his hands. He started playing with his wedding ring, turning it in circles around his finger.
“It’s a shame that you’ve never been in love.”
“I’ve been in love,” I replied defensively, a little insulted by the assumption. “I’ve been with Paul for years.”
“That’s not love,” he said. “I’m not sure what that is, but it’s definitely not what I mean when I say love. You’re not happy with the guy and I don’t blame you. He’s not right for you.”
“Be it as it may, there have been others before him.” He looked at me as if he wasn’t buying what I was selling. “There have been!”
“If that were the case, honey, then you wouldn’t be sitting here, asking me why I forgave your mother and why I needed to stay with her. You’d know.”
Inside the house, a light inside was turned on and we both knew it would be my mother, coming down to check on him.
“That’s my cue,” he said, standing up.
He kissed me on the forehead, gently, lovingly. He lingered if only for a second. After a moment, he wished me a good night and went in.
I put my legs up on his chair, wrapping the blanket tightly around me. I felt the weight of my father’s words drop down on my shoulders. In the past few days, I had discovered Dolores had been an entirely different woman than I had known. She wasn’t deeply honest, loyal or even generous—at least not without conditions. I felt like she had betrayed me, as had everyone who had known about her secrets but hadn’t cared enough to share. I wondered if Devon knew about all of this. Surely he hadn’t or else why would he have had such respect for her?
Then again, what did I know?
Maybe he was fully aware of all this and instead chose to ignore it. He did live in this town where secrets didn’t stay secret for very long—it was almost inevitable to have heard rumours or been privy to the gossip.
Devon.
My brain returned to earlier, in his home, the feeling of excitement, of pleasure and comfort I had felt. How I had not wanted to leave. A cold gust of wind suddenly kicked up, amplifying the goosebumps I already had. Was my dad right—had I never really been in love before? I had always thought I had been. I had said the words more than once and not just to Paul. I had always believed I was happy and content in my past relationships. There had never been any doubt, at least not in my mind, that there had been love present. At least, there had been no doubt until now.
My father’s attachment and devotion to my mother, something I had always seen as weakness, was strong and there was no doubt in his mind that he was meant to be with her. Was that it? Was that the way to know for sure if you were in love? That you would go through anything, forgive anything, to be with them?
I was growing more and more tired, but I knew I wouldn’t get much sleep as long as these thoughts kept running around in my head. Still, I went inside with hopes that maybe I could at least quiet this unexpected heaviness I now had lingering in my heart.
Sunday, April 23rd
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I wasn’t sure I had gotten much sleep if any at all, but my day started with me feeling more confused and uncertain than I had the previous night. Now, everything felt new and messy. After a quick shower, I put on my black dress and a cardigan. The sun was bright and shining, announcing yet another beautiful spring day.
My father was making breakfast in the kitchen. My mother, on the other hand, was in the bathroom getting ready. With no sign of Paul, I took the opportunity to pick up where we had left off the night before.
“Good morning,” I said, pouring some coffee. “How did you sleep?”
“Morning, sweetie,” he said, putting some whisked eggs into a pan. “Not too bad considering. How about you?”
“I’ve had better nights.” I sat down at the kitchen island and watched my dad cut some fruit. “I can do that if you want.”
“Thanks, but I need to keep my hands and head busy.” He lowered his head, his eyes glassy, and I immediately wished I had taken the time to speak to him earlier.
“Dad, I know I haven’t said it before, but I’m really sorry about Grandma.” I reached across the island and placed my hand on his.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, smiling but I could tell it was a front.
He was sticking to his macho guns and refusing to let his emotions show. I couldn’t blame him.
“What am I going to do?” I asked.
He didn’t need more explanation. He knew very well what I meant.
“You’ll do what you can and make her proud. That’s what you’ve always done.”
“Why does everyone make it sound so simple?”
“Who’s everyone?” his eyes perked up.
I clammed up, trying desperately to find a way out.
“Is that where you went off to last night?” he said, scrambling the eggs and letting them simmer. I looked away, pretending I hadn’t heard his question. “Fine, fine, don’t tell me. But I will say you seemed pretty happy when you came back. I’ve never seen you look that happy.” He turned the burner off and brought the eggs to our plates. He added some bacon and fruit and handed me my breakfast. “Bon appétit, ma belle.”
I dug into the food, happy to have something to fill my mouth and help me avoid his questions.
My mother walked in, dressed in a black pantsuit and cream-coloured shirt, her eyes puffy but her makeup impeccable. “Good morning.”
Kissing her on the cheek, my father held her against him for a moment. It was a rare sight, I felt, but I saw something between them that I had not seen in what seemed like ages.
“Sleep well?” my mother asked, sitting next to me, as my father prepared a plate for her.
“OK, I guess,” I lied. “You?”
“Not a wink. Today’s going to be hard for all of us.”
Her words couldn’t have been truer. We ate in silence and I thought about the gravity of what we were about to face.
Heavy footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted our peaceful moment. I had completely forgotten about Paul. He walked into the kitchen wearing a navy blue suit and white shirt. He was well-groomed and smiling. I soon lost my appetite.
“Good morning,” he sang, kissing me on the forehead. He poured himself some coffee and leaned against the counter. “It must be the country air because I haven’t slept that well in ages!”
“I’m sure the scotch didn’t hurt, either,” I added, sarcastically.
He laughed a fake laugh while taking some bacon from my plate. I rolled my eyes, wishing him gone.
“Honey,” my mom said, clearing the counter. “I hope you don’t mind, but can you drive to the church with Paul? We have to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Green. Their car won’t start.”
“No problem, Corinne,” Paul answered, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Liz can give me a quick tour on our way.”
“Great,” I said, not even trying to hide my disappointment. I knew I should insist and take my car, but I also didn’t want to press the matter in front of my parents. Being alone with Paul would give me the opportunity to make it painfully clear just how over we were.
Sitting in Paul’s car, feeling anxious, I couldn’t wait to get out of the small box he called Baby.
“Paul, we really need to talk,” I said, but he cut me off as if he hadn’t heard me.
“Where did you go last night?�
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“Last night?” I paused. “Nowhere.”
I had been positive he was asleep when I had returned, but maybe he had been faking it. He was good at that.
“Come on, Liz,” he said, challenging me. “Don’t lie to me.”
I sighed and wrestled with the last ounce of respect I had for him. I wanted him gone and out of my life, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him what had happened between Devon and I. No matter his faults, I didn’t want to hurt Paul, even though I knew it made no sense.
“I went for a walk,” I lied, hoping he would drop it. We were seconds away from the church now; I could see the steeple rising over the green hill ahead of us.
“A walk?” he snickered. “In the middle of the night?”
I was growing irate with his insistence.
“Yes, a walk. Paul, you and I are not together anymore,” I spoke each word slowly and carefully as if trying to explain something to a child. “It’s none of your business.”
“It’s really amazing. You’re horseback riding, you’re drinking scotch, you’re taking walks alone at night,” he laughed. “It’s like you’re a completely different person out here.” His tone was sarcastic and displeasing as we pulled into the Church’s parking lot.
“Maybe I am a different person out here. What difference does it make?”
“None, really,” he said, parking the car. “I’m sure once you’re out of this shit-hole, you’ll get back to normal. I like you better that way.”
I looked at him, completely repelled by his words. Though in the past I had been known to call Frelighsburg a hole-in-the-earth, I now found I was growing attached to the small town—feeling protective of it in a way.
“I thought you loved the country air,” I asked, reminding him of his choice of words.
He rolled his eyes.
“I guess you’re as gullible as your parents.” He laughed as he got out of the car. “You’d believe anything, wouldn’t you?”
I sat still, unable to coalesce this man with the man from last night. I had known Paul was laying it on a bit thick with my parents but to have him mock them now, and me for that matter, filled me with such anger, I had to remind myself of where I was and of how I was supposed to behave.
Sure, he had always been more or less a jerk, but I had never known him to be so blatantly two-faced and mean, especially toward me. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed his attitude was because I had refused to take him back. I told myself he was acting out because of his arrogance and not because of some malicious reason. I stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath and walked over to him, brushing away his outstretched hand.
“Paul, I need you to open your ears once and for all,” I ordered. “What I do, where I go and whether or not I am myself is of no damn concern of yours.”
“Lizzie, calm down, people are watching,” he said, looking genuinely concerned with the attention I was attracting.
“Good, let them watch.” I noticed the on-lookers but paid no mind to them. Before joining my parents at the church’s entrance, I turned one last time to shout, “By the way, it’s Elle, not Lizzie!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The church was filled to maximum capacity. People who couldn’t find pews to sit in were left standing at the back. I had not been in this church for a long time and thought back to the last time I had been within its walls.
It was for Christmas mass and I must have been twelve or thirteen. Ironically, it had been my grandmother who had dragged me there when all I wanted to do was sleep off my turkey coma. She had forced me to sit next to her and listen to the priest drone on and on. My parents had never shared her religious beliefs, and by extension, neither had I. And though I had appreciated the choir and the lighting that lent a certain beautifully esoteric quality to things, I had never returned to the church with her again after that night. It was a touchy topic and we had shared a few arguments about it, and even if she had never truly accepted my beliefs, she did eventually respect them.
Now, as I walked down the aisle to the front of the church, ironically toward the same pew I had sat in that Christmas, my heart drummed loudly in my chest as I fought back tears.
“Just as she’d have wanted it,” my dad commented, “Standing room only.”
He smiled reassuringly as he took my hand. We found our seats, accepting handshakes and condolences as we walked by. I glanced to the back and noticed Paul entering through the opened doors, hesitating. Maybe he was thinking of joining us, but thought better of it and instead stayed where he was.
Pastor Marcoux, a young and kind-looking man, stepped up to the lectern and began to address the crowd.
“Good morning,” he said, the congregation quieting down. “We are here today to pay our respects to a wonderful woman, a sister to us all, Mrs. Dolores Williams. It is truly befitting of her grandeur to have you all here today, for we are all aware that to know Dolores was to indeed love her.”
I looked around and saw that nearly everyone was crying and nodding their heads in agreement. The pastor continued.
“We are also here today to show our love and support for her family, the ones dearest to her heart: her only son Alexander, his wife Corinne and their daughter, Elizabeth.”
I felt everyone’s eyes on us, making my emotions rise up. My father’s grip on my hand tightened. I squeezed his hand back.
“Not only are we all individually feeling our own grief over Dolores’ passing, but our hearts sympathize with the Williams’ family. I hope we can all, in our own respectful way, show them that they are not alone during this difficult time.”
He paused before continuing.
“It is said that the measure of a life is not its duration but in its donation. Therefore, it is important that when we all think back on what Dolores contributed to this community, to her friends, and to her family, we remember that we have much to be thankful for. That being said, we will now hear from the ones closest to her who have come here today in hopes of sharing their memories.”
Father Marcoux stepped down from the lectern and took a seat beside it. A few friends and employees stepped up to say their goodbyes, recounting their own personal and heartfelt stories. The emotion in the room felt thick, and I could feel it gnawing at me as my mother handed me a tissue. It was bittersweet to see the impact my grandmother had had on this town and on each individual. In some selfish way, I had never given much thought to how important she had been to others. She had been surrounded by so much love, a fact that relieve my grief a little but also made me miss her even more.
“Goodness, he is handsome,” an elderly lady behind me quietly said to her friend.
The random comment made me glance over my shoulder. Devon made his way up to the pulpit. He looked solemn, dressed in a dark grey suit, his white shirt’s top button undone. Around me, I saw many different women of various ages perk up as he addressed the room. I had known he would be here, obviously, and even though I thought I was prepared, his presence made me incredibly nervous.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling as everyone replied in unison. “Dolores always knew how to fill a room, didn’t she?” He laughed lightly, the sound breaking the sombre mood. “As I’m sure most of you know, I have worked for Dolores for a long time and she was there for me during the most difficult period in my life.”
He looked at his sister, sitting in the first row, and she smiled back, with a nod. “Luckily for me,” he continued, “she kept me from a very dark place. Though I am not a deep believer in all this,” he pointed behind him to the large, emaciated effigy of Jesus, “I am sure we can all agree that she was here to help us in any way she could.”
The congregation agreed with an audible sound.
“Personally, I know that even with her gone, she is still affecting my life; bringing good things and good people into it.” He looked directly at me before continuing. “She has taught me that sometimes good things are few and far between and when we stumble o
n them it is important not to let them slip through our hands.”
I heard sniffles all around me, but couldn’t look away from Devon. His eyes were locked on mine and I wondered how much of that speech was about my grandmother and how much was meant for me.
“We miss you, Dolores,” Devon added, finally diverting his eyes away from mine, “But we know that you are still hanging around, making sure we don’t fuck up.”
He winked at me, making me smile. I saw Father Marcoux shake his head and laugh. Devon walked past me, stopping for a moment to place his hand on my shoulder. He squeezed it softly, reassuringly.
Before I knew what I was doing, my cheek was on his hand, feeling his warmth. I was already teetering in a sea of calm and torment, and so I didn’t look at him as he returned to his seat, not trusting how I would react.
When the service was over, my parents and I led the congregation outside, walking solemnly across the grass to the cemetery. I knew it was unavoidable, but I was still secretly desperate to find a way out of seeing the coffin being lowered into the ground.
We took our seats, sitting on hard, metal folding chairs, my parents holding each other. I tried to stop but I couldn’t help but stare into the large hole that was waiting to welcome my grandmother’s body. Fighting the urge to throw up, I kept wishing I could be anywhere but there.