Christy Miller Collection, Volume 1

by Robin Jones Gunn

  Aunt Marti stiffened. “Fine. I’ll just go by myself then.”

  Christy pulled herself out of the car and somberly opened the front door as the silver Mercedes lurched from the driveway and sped down the street. A pounding ache crashed against the insides of Christy’s head. She retreated to her room, where she spent the rest of the day with the door closed. For a long while she lay on her bed, staring at nothing. Like a scratched CD that skipped back to the same place over and over again, Shawn’s death would not stop playing itself over in her head.

  So many thoughts pierced her. Why Shawn? He was only sixteen. Sure, he had been smoking dope, but it was still an accident. Couldn’t God have kept it from happening? We all make mistakes. And where was Shawn now? Was he in heaven or … Was hell a real place? Do people really go there when they die? How could he have died, just like that? It didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real. Maybe if she could write everything out, take a look at all the events of the past few days on paper, they might make sense—or at least stop spinning around in her head.

  She wrote everything out in a letter to Paula. It took hours, and her hand cramped from holding the pen so tightly.

  “Christy?” her uncle called softly from the other side of her closed door.

  She glanced up from her stationery pad.

  “You want me to get you anything?” he asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Anything to drink? Are you hungry at all?”

  “No. I’d like to be alone, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I won’t bother you again. But be sure to holler if you want anything. Anything at all. Okay?”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  She continued writing. It was the longest letter she had ever written. Twelve pages on both sides. Yet, as she reread it, the answers she was looking for weren’t there.

  The sun was starting to set when she looked out her window. Everything in the outside world went on. The waves kept coming in and rolling out. The seagulls kept circling the trash cans. The joggers arrived for their evening jogs, right on schedule. Nothing stopped. Life kept going for everyone else. It didn’t seem right.

  Finally the fatigue of the day overtook her. She went into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth with warm water, and held it against her face, breathing in the steam. Everything seemed harsh and severe. Even the washcloth felt coarse and prickly.

  She barely knew Shawn, and yet she was overwhelmed with emotion. What would it be like if the death had happened to someone I was really close to?

  She stumbled into bed, pulled the comforter tightly around her shoulders, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

  The next few days passed like a mist over the ocean. It was as if Christy knew things were happening, but all she could see were faint outlines, distorting the true forms of things. Nothing was clear or in focus.

  Uncle Bob and Aunt Marti had reconciled after their tiff and had both come to Christy with their apologies. Aunt Marti laughed it off, while Uncle Bob’s words flowed with genuine concern for Christy’s feelings.

  Aunt Marti suggested they fly to San Francisco for a few days. She wanted to leave the next day and had already made airline arrangements. But, with Uncle Bob’s help, Christy persuaded her to take a later flight so Christy could go to Shawn’s funeral.

  On the day of the funeral she stood in front of her closet for the longest time, trying to decide what to wear. She had only been to two funerals before, but they were for old people and were too long ago for her to remember what she wore. She didn’t have any idea what would be appropriate. She finally decided on the old skirt and long top she wore the day she and Aunt Marti had gone shopping. Maybe it wasn’t stylish, but it was familiar and felt more secure than her new clothes.

  Meeting Uncle Bob in the kitchen, Christy discovered that Aunt Marti had prepared her a protein drink for breakfast and was busy packing for their trip. Only Uncle Bob accompanied her to the funeral. Neither of them said much in the car. When Bob parked in front of the stark white, colonial-style mortuary, Christy had a strong desire to ask her uncle to turn the car around and go home. But there on the front steps stood Todd and Tracy. Christy hadn’t seen Todd since that morning in the hospital, and he had called only once to tell her the time and place of the funeral. She sucked in a deep breath and headed for the steps.

  Todd smiled when he saw her. “I’m really glad you came, Christy.”

  He looked exhausted. Christy wanted to cry, but instead she boldly held out her arms and let Todd fall into her embrace. They held each other for a long time. Then, without words, they pulled apart, and Tracy gave her a strong hug while Bob and Todd shook hands.

  They shuffled into a small room glutted with monstrous flower arrangements. The air seemed to push against Christy’s chest, choking her with its pungent sweetness. Organ music, slow and monotonous, pounded the insides of her head. She wanted to throw up.

  A bald clergyman wearing a black robe delivered a short message. Shawn’s mother sat in the front row, sobbing all the way through. Then a large, red-haired lady in a dark gray dress sang a morose song, clasping her hands together as if this were an opera rather than a funeral.

  The clergyman stepped back onto the podium, announcing that one of Shawn’s closest friends had asked to say a few words. With his firm, sure manner, Todd walked to the front. He looked confident, but Christy noticed his hands were shaking.

  “I’ve been friends with Shawn for a long time,” he began and then paused to clear his throat. “I was there the night he died, and I’ll probably never forgive myself for not doing more to stop him.” His voice cracked. “We were really tight. We did everything together until last summer, when I became a Christian. I really wanted Shawn to become a Christian too. I don’t know if he ever did.”

  That’s when Todd broke. He let out a deep, choking sob and quickly wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. Christy blinked away her own tears and looked over at Tracy. Tears streamed down Tracy’s face. She didn’t even try to stop them.

  Uncle Bob touched Christy’s arm gently, offering her his handkerchief. She looked up at his face to signal her thanks and was startled to see how controlled he seemed. None of the emotion Bob had expressed at the hospital now showed on his face.

  Todd was standing still, his head down, his jaw clenched, trying hard to get back in control. The clergyman had stepped back onto the podium and was motioning for Todd to sit down. Todd wiped his tears away and held up a moist palm as if to say, “Just a minute.” He drew in a deep breath and said, “I want to read something. I …” He cleared his throat. “I found a verse in the Gospel of John that has helped me.”

  With trembling hands, Todd leafed through his Bible. When he found the verse he placed the Bible on the podium and looked up. His eyes misted with tears all over again.

  “It’s in chapter eleven. One of Jesus’ closest friends died, and what blows me away is that Jesus cried. It says here that Jesus wept. It’s okay for us to be upset when someone we love dies.” Todd brushed away his trickling tears and kept going. “But the part I want to read is what Jesus said to His friend’s family. He said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me shall live even if he dies.’ ”

  Closing his Bible, Todd looked over at Shawn’s parents. His eyes were clearer, but Christy couldn’t believe how pale he looked.

  “What I want to say is that I wish I had this whole last week to live over again. I wish Shawn were still alive. I wish he’d believed in Jesus and turned his life over to Him.”

  Todd squeezed his eyes closed, as if trying hard to find the right words. “I’m not making this very clear, but I know that Jesus radically changed me. All I did was pray and ask Him to forgive my sins and take over my life. I just totally believed. And now I know I’m going to spend eternity with Him in heaven. I just wish …” He choked up again. “I wish Shawn … I wish all of you …”

  Todd couldn’t finish. He grabbed his Bible, stepped down from
the podium, and shakily made his way back to the pew. Covering his eyes with his hands, Todd wept.

  Christy thought she couldn’t stand it another second. The clergyman stepped forward and, in a deep, controlled voice, offered a lofty-sounding benediction. The group dispersed. Many were sniffling, and most looked down rather than at the people around them.

  Christy walked briskly to the car, swallowing back the tears. She wanted to leave—now. No way could she go to the gravesite. Bob didn’t even ask. He drove home in silence.

  Not until Christy was on the plane to San Francisco, looking out the window at the Pacific Ocean below, did she release the emotion she had choked down at the funeral. Turning her face to the window, she let the tears flow. Through bleary eyes she tried to focus on the miniaturized California coastline below. From up here the waves looked like a thin line of soap suds. Harmless. Soft and foamy. How could those same waves have taken Shawn’s life? Is this how God sees everything? From such an exalted distance that it all looks insignificant? Unimportant? Did He really care about how people felt? Then she remembered what Todd had said: “Jesus wept.” God must care.

  “Christy—” Aunt Marti interrupted her thoughts as she tapped Christy on the shoulder. “I have something to say to you, dear. You mustn’t get all worked up about this funeral. Your parents raised you to be a nice Christian girl, and you don’t need to dwell on ugly things like death.”

  Christy glared at her aunt. How can you simplify all of life like that to make it fit into your compact Gucci bag? There has to be more to life than money and clothes and being popular and all the other things you’ve drilled me on. She reclined her seat with a jerk and put the headphones on, letting the beat of the music pound away her heavy thoughts.

  Christy felt like a robot, moving through the San Francisco airport and into the taxi that took them to the St. Francis Hotel. Her head ached, and her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She should have been awed and impressed with the plush carpet, high, ornate ceiling, and tinkling chandeliers of the hotel lobby. She should have been taking mental notes so she could tell Paula all about it. But she didn’t care. She dejectedly stood to the side, waiting for Aunt Marti to check them in. Christy fingered her purse strap and tried to close her ears to all the commotion around her. People spoke in foreign languages, bellhops bumped luggage onto wheeled carts, and at the other end of the lobby someone played a piano in one of the hotel restaurants.

  As soon as they got to their suites, 1133 and 1134, Uncle Bob opened his bag and pulled out aspirin for Christy.

  “These should help,” he offered and then retreated to his and Marti’s adjoining suite.

  Christy unwrapped the glass in her bathroom and filled it with water. She swallowed the aspirin and looked herself over in the mirror. She didn’t look too great. Swollen, red eyes. Downturned mouth. Even her hair looked droopy. She didn’t feel too great, either.

  Walking around her big room, Christy touched the glass doorknobs and smoothed her hand over the velvety, salmon-colored love seat. Then, pulling back the heavy drapes, she looked down on Union Square just as Bob knocked on the door.

  “Ready to see the sights?” He walked in with Marti right behind him. Marti had changed clothes, and the room filled with the fragrance of her perfume.

  “Are those all department stores out there?” Christy pointed out the window at the tall buildings that framed the park in the middle of Union Square.

  “Yup,” Bob said. “Why do you think we always stay at the St. Francis?”

  “The Macy’s over there is wonderful,” Marti added, pointing to the right. “But we’ll have to shop at Nordstrom and Saks as well.”

  “Wow!” Christy exclaimed. “I’ve never seen so many big stores—and all in one spot.”

  “Come on,” Uncle Bob suggested. “Let’s go for a cable car ride.”

  Even though it was mid-July and only four in the afternoon, they all took jackets. After a forty-minute wait they pushed their way through the crowd onto the cable car and headed for Fisherman’s Wharf. Christy stood on the outside, her arm looped around the pole. The cable car jerked and swayed as the underground cables pulled it up the steep hill and pointed it toward the bright blue bay ahead. Breathless, Christy held on to the pole for dear life. What a ride! And what a festive feeling in the air! Did it come from all the tourists chatting with each other on the cable car? Or from the brisk wind chasing them down the hill? Perhaps it was the way all the houses they passed looked like something from a Victorian storybook, making the cable car ride seem even more enchanting and fanciful, as though it was taking them into a fairy tale. Whatever it was, Christy’s exhilaration was quite evident to Aunt Marti.

  “Didn’t I tell you, Bob?” she whispered to her husband. They were seated on the wooden bench seat of the cable car directly behind Christy. “Poor thing merely needed to get away from all that stress. It’s not good for a girl her age. Might cause premature wrinkles, you know!”

  Uncle Bob smiled his agreement and then turned to the cable car driver, who was standing directly behind him, working the levers with his strong, gloved hands.

  “You took that corner quite well,” Bob noted. “You been doing this long?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the large African-American man, who wore a jaunty beret and snappy brown uniform, “ever since 1985, when they opened the lines back up. They were closed down for refurbishing for two years, you know.”

  “Yeah, I remember hearing that.” Bob seemed genuinely interested.

  “We’re pretty proud of our system. It’s the only working cable car line in the world,” the driver said.

  “It sure is fun!” Christy yelled as the driver rang the brass bell. Ding-ding-ding-ding. Christy laughed.

  “Hold yourself in there, young lady!” the driver warned. “We’re passing another cable car.”

  Christy pulled her torso in until her stomach pressed hard against Aunt Marti’s knees. The other car brushed past them, and Christy could feel the bump of a shoulder bag from someone hanging on to the passing car.

  “That was close!” Christy exclaimed.

  Uncle Bob squeezed her arm. “Glad to see the smile back on your face. What do you want to do? Eat first or browse through all the tourist traps?”

  “Let’s browse a bit first, don’t you think, dear?” It was evident that Aunt Marti had already set an itinerary in her mind. “Bob, you can go check on your fishing boat, and then at, say, six-thirty, we’ll meet you at Alioto’s for dinner.”

  “Sounds good,” Uncle Bob obliged, and as the cable car came to a stop they stepped off and went their separate ways.

  “These little places are rather junky,” Aunt Marti whispered to Christy as they entered a small souvenir shop. “But I thought you might find a trinket to take home. Tomorrow we’ll do some real shopping in the heart of the city. Now, when you see something you like, you let me know.”

  Christy picked up a small, brightly colored music box with a cable car that moved up and down a ceramic hill as it played “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”

  “Look, how cute!” Christy exclaimed.

  Aunt Marti caught the cashier’s attention. “Do you have a box for this, and could you pad it well for us?”

  The cashier carefully wrapped the music box as Christy softly hummed the familiar tune. Actually, I left my heart in Newport Beach. She dreamt of how wonderful it would have been to stand next to Todd on the cable car and to feel his arm around her as they rolled down the hills.

  Aunt Marti brought her back to reality as they hailed a bicycle cab and rode in the rickshaw-type seat down to Pier 39. Bright, fluttering kites flew high in the summer evening sky while a variety of street performers gathered crowds. Christy found herself fascinated with a juggler who tossed meat cleavers into the air, but Aunt Marti was quite insistent about moving along.

  They entered a shop specializing in every kind of Christmas ornament imaginable. Aunt Marti had a sudden inspiration to pick a theme for he
r Christmas tree and buy all the ornaments now. After much deliberation she chose lambs rather than angels and selected enough to fill an entire tree.

  “I’ll be at the register, Christy.” She seemed quite pleased with herself. “Find anything you would like?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Christy toyed with the ornament in her hand—a wooden teddy bear with the name Todd painted in fancy black letters. Except for her dad and brother, Christy had never bought anything for a guy before. She really wanted to get something for Todd. But a teddy bear ornament? What would Todd think of such a gift?

  “Well, dear?” Aunt Marti called from the register, where she filed through her credit cards.

  “No.” Christy put the ornament back. “I didn’t find anything here. Maybe at the next store.”

  The next store turned out to be a sweatshirt shop. Hanging from long wooden pegs on the walls was an incredible display of every color and size imaginable.

  “This one’s great!” Christy held up a black and white sweatshirt with bold letters across the front saying, “ESCAPED FROM ALCATRAZ.”

  “Well …” Aunt Marti wasn’t convinced. “It’s not very feminine, dear, but if that’s what you want, I guess—”

  “No,” Christy said and laughed, “it’s not for me! For Todd. Can I get it for him? Please?”

  “I see.” Aunt Marti surveyed the sweatshirt. “Yes, I suppose that would be all right. Why don’t you pick one out for yourself too, dear. That blue one with the white sailboat is darling, don’t you think?”

  No, Christy didn’t think the blue one was darling. She considered getting an Alcatraz sweatshirt for herself as well, so she and Todd could show up at the beach in matching shirts. But that seemed like something Paula would do and not what Christy could see herself doing.

  Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a window booth in Alioto’s, buttering warm sourdough bread and watching the misty fog creep in on the bay. Christy ordered crab legs, something she had never eaten before. She carefully cracked them and pulled the steaming, tender white meat from each leg, dipping it in the drawn butter. What a feast!