by J. B. McGee
She nods. “He always loved the ties you bought him. He wore them every Sunday to church.”
I smile at the memory. “I think that first tie I bought him was his favorite. He wore it all the time.” Then it occurs to me that I don’t have it in me to have that tie buried with him. “Is it okay if I buy him a new tie?”
She pulls back and we wipe tears from each other’s faces. “I think he’d like that.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m going to the creek for a few minutes, and then I’ll go buy the tie. You should probably stay. I’m sure people will be dropping by to visit you.”
She takes the shirt back from me. “I’ll make you a list of things I think he needs.”
I nod. This is a drill we’re all too familiar with. It doesn’t make it any easier. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. Then I turn on my heel, trying to process what has just transpired in the last 24 hours.
For the first time in my life, I dread walking to the creek. This time he may be there. It doesn’t take long before I see that he’s not. I sit on my rock, and fiddle with stones. Stone. His name is Stone.
Now that I know, it suits him. There’s just something about that name that is so masculine, but to me, he’ll always be Drew. I don’t know that I can call him Stone. It doesn’t matter what I call him, it’s not like I plan on ever seeing him again.
My mind is circling around. His lie about his name meant I didn’t know the right name to ask for when I was recovering. People actually thought I was crazy. This stirs the rage within me. I pick the rocks up, and start throwing them as hard as I can into the water. Skipping stones isn’t appealing because all it does is remind me of him.
My credibility was questioned because he couldn’t be honest with me. I told him stuff I had told no one else. I bared everything to him, and he gave me nothing in return. Worst of all, he said he loved me. It seems to me that all he’s doing is playing with my heart and my emotions. I may seem weak, but I’m not. He will never have the power to hurt me ever again.
I walk to the field. It’s the same as it’s always been. Our spot isn’t as easily recognizable because he hasn’t picked all of the flowers for me this time. The spring air is much more refreshing than the steamy heat we had that summer. Sitting down, I thought I’d cry more when Papa died. Maybe it’s because I’ve already cried so many tears. Maybe it’s because I’m stronger than I thought.
I recline back and close my eyes, remembering times spent at the creek with him. It’s like a movie playing in my mind. Papa chuckles at me trying to skip a stone. Watching my dad so easily making the rocks dance across the top of the water. Then I see Drew. I feel him, and he’s holding me like he used to.
I open my eyes. He’s not here. Being disappointed that he’s not only furthers my frustration. It only angers me further that he makes me feel the way he does, even when I’m upset. Seeing him has only made me come to the conclusion I wasn’t as over him as I’d fooled myself into thinking.
I must admit that my head feels clear, like I’m my old self. The tears come when I least expect them. They have become a part of me. I’m convinced that my fate is to be a cry baby. If only life would stop dishing out so many crappy cards, then maybe I wouldn’t be. At least seeing him was confirmation that I hadn’t lost my mind. It solidified what I had thought all along.
It was nice to be able to go shopping, get out of the confines of a house, hospital, or rehab facility. What made it less enjoyable was what I was doing. Picking out a final tie. Picking out underwear for my grandfather. That thought makes me shake my head. No, that wasn’t awkward at all.
After I was done, I went back to the house to show my purchases to Memaw. She gave me final approval. We cried together. Then we went through the keepsake drawer in the side tables in the living room. There were so many pictures and programs shoved into those drawers. I wasn’t sure how she’d manage to close them.
I made a mental note in those few minutes to buy some photo albums for Christmas and put all the pictures in as close to chronological order as I could. Maybe we could even do it together. Planning for the future. That was certainly progress. Up until a few days ago, I wasn’t sure I had one. I smile as tears form in my eyes. If it hadn’t been for Papa, for Drew...er Stone being here...I might not have had this opportunity.
As if I wasn’t confused already, this just makes my head spin more. Should I be thankful to him? I push the thoughts of him out of my mind. I don’t have time to focus on him, or what we were or weren’t fifteen years ago.
I gather all the pictures, the things I bought while shopping, and put them into a small cardboard box. The suit is hanging on the door in a garment bag. I situate the box on my hip and hook the hangers onto my fingers. “Memaw, can you grab the door for me?” I ask.
She nods. “Sure.”
As I’m leaving, I’m almost knocked over by a body of steel. And a calmness floods my body, just before anger consumes me...like the calm before the storm.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
I glance down and see he’s holding a Rubbermaid cake plate. I must admit I’m curious. “What’s that?” I try to point, but my hands are full, so I nod.
He grins the most dazzling smile ever. “This is Memaw’s Red Velvet cake,” he says as he proudly holds it. “I’d hand it to you and leave, but I see you’ve got your hands full.”
How’d he get her recipe? The tension mounting between us is nearly palpable, but so is my heart rate. It’s racing in my chest. I wish I was immune to the smile, to the kind gestures, but I’m not. Thankfully, I have things to do. “That’s nice. Thanks. I’m sure Memaw will appreciate that.” I push him out of the way with my shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to take this stuff to the funeral home before they close.”
“Alex...” he trails.
I glance back over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“It’s a peace offering. We need to talk.”
I bite my lower lip and close my eyes praying for resolve and strength. “Not now I said. I can’t do it now.”
He interjects, “I only have a couple of weeks. I don’t wanna waste time.”
“Are you on leave, too?” I ask.
He nods. “We were only a few months away from our deployment being over when we got hit.”
I swallow. “You were hurt, too?” My chest starts to feel heavy, and so does all of the stuff I’m holding. I shake my head from side-to-side. “Drew...Stone...er whatever your name is,” I sigh. “I’ve gotta go.” I hold up the garment bag. “Can you leave the cake with Memaw, and let’s agree to do this once I have the next couple of days behind me?”
There’s a slight sparkle in his eyes, but also disappointment...I think. “Sure. Later, Alex.”
“Bye.” I roll my eyes as I walk to my car. I mutter under my breath, “Drew, or Stone.”
When I get to the funeral home, I walk slowly with my box of things, dreading what I’m about to have to do. I can feel bricks piling onto my chest again. I know that I can’t see him yet, he’s not ready. That’s why I’m here. Just knowing he’s in this building, and I can’t see him is about enough to kill me. My eyes become so blurry I can barely see where I’m going.
I take a deep breath and push through the side door, which leads straight into the chapel. I’ve attended many a funeral in this chapel. It’s a nice place, but I’m glad that my Papa’s won’t be here. He wouldn’t have it. St. Paul’s Episcopal has and will forever be his church home. There was no decision to be made about where to have his service.
In a moment, Mr. Knapp comes through the doors. “Alex. Good to see you, but not like this.”
I can feel my face tightening as the emotions get the best of me. I try to speak, but as soon as I open my mouth, my throat tightens. I shake my head, and offer the box.
He takes it and puts it on the floor, then pulls me into an embrace. “I’ve known you for your entire life, and I knew him for all of mine.” I squeeze my eyes clos
ed and my chest starts to heave as I wrap my arms around his stout body. He continues, “Alex, he loved you so much.”
I nod. “I know. Thank you.”
He holds me while I cry some more, feeling for the first time since I got home like I don’t need to be strong. “It’s not just a loss for your family. This town is small; it’s tight knit. And I can assure you that our community has suffered a tremendous loss in losing your Papa.”
Despite the tears falling from my eyes, the tightness in my chest, I am able to form my lips into a small smile. “He loved this place.”
He chuckles. “He sure did.”
I push back. “Thank you.”
Handing me a box of tissues, he asks, “For what, sug?”
“For letting me get your nice suit all wet.” I laugh. “For letting me feel like I could finally just break down, that it was okay to cry.” I blot my eyes with one of the white soft squares. “I feel like I need to be strong for Memaw.”
“She’s a tough cookie. A spit fire. I’m sure she feels the same way about you.” He picks up the box of things. “I need to go ahead and get started so y’all can see him soon. Just know that during times like these, it’s okay to not be strong.”
I nibble on my lower lip trying to calm myself down, regain my composure. “You’ll call us when he’s ready?”
“As soon as I have him ready, I’ll call you. Absolutely.”
I nod, then look down. I’m not ready to say goodbye to him, to see him lifeless. “Thanks,” I mumble.
“See you soon, Alex. Let us know if we can do anything at all for you and your family.”
“I will,” I say as I turn to leave, then I remember that I put the photos in the box. “Oh, Mr. Knapp.”
He takes a step back and peeks his head around the corner. “Uh huh?”
“I put the photos in the box for the slide show. I was wondering if you still have the photo board thing?”
“Sure, no one really likes to use that anymore, though.”
I smile. “He always loved that photo board when we attended other visitations. I’d like to use it, if that’s okay.”
He winks. “Anything you want, Alex. My job is to make this easier for you. You know that. If you want a memory board, you’ll have a memory board.”
I take a deep breath. “And that’s why we love you. You take care of us during times like these. You go above and beyond every single time.” I mean what I’m saying. Yes, he’s getting paid to do this, but he always does more than we pay for.
“It’s my job, and I need to make a living, but I didn’t choose this profession for the money. This has been our family business for generations because we care. You know that.”
The lump forms in my throat again. “Just know we appreciate it.”
“I do,” he says.
“Well, I better let you get to work.” I point to the exit. “I think that’s everything.”
“We’ve got this under control. I know those Episcopal Church Women are going to shower you with food. You go be with your family, eat that delicious goodness, and let us handle this.”
“Will do.” I walk out of the building, thankful for his ability to make me grin. The ECW have been so good to my family over the years. It’s getting sad, though. Most of the women that were a part of that group when I was growing up are getting so old they aren’t able to participate, or they’ve passed. My grandmother is still as active as she can be with them.
The younger ladies have all been trained and they take care of the congregation just as well, but it’s not quite the same. These ladies were like extended family when I was a kid. They were like great aunts; the cool aunts that spoiled you rotten.
I glance across the street as I walk to my car and see the home of the Burkes. It’s another reminder of how the generation of my grandparents are slowly becoming a thing of the past. I loved Mr. Burke like another grandpa. He was one of the tallest men I knew. He was so quiet, but he always had a smile. A heart of gold. Just like my Papa. They were best friends. He’s been gone for several years now. Mrs. Burke taught me how to play the piano. She’s the church pianist. I make a mental note to make sure I tell her hello while I’m home.
As I get back into my car, my thoughts turn to Drew...Stone. I really wish I knew what to call him. He’s Drew to me. He’s being so persistent, and even though emotionally I can’t handle him being back, I’m relieved he’s here. It saves me the money from having to hire someone to find him. Instead of trying to fish for closure or answers, he should be able to give them to me when I’m ready.
So now that I’ve gotten the cry out of my system and delivered Papa’s things. I have my first ounce of regret where Drew’s concerned. I hope and pray he’s still at the house when I get back. Maybe it would be good to talk to him for a few minutes. Find out what he has to say for himself. Maybe he can finally help me deal with the tears.
Minutes later, I’ve parked the car in the gravel driveway. There are several cars that I recognize. A few family members, a few people from the church. I watch the door, hoping that he’ll come through it, but he doesn’t. Walking through the carport, I wipe my tear-stained cheeks. When I get inside, it’s like a Christmas party, except it’s not. Everyone hushes when they see me, as if I’m fragile, or something.
“Hi there,” I say.
They rush to me like it’s a race, offering hugs and compliments. “You look fantastic...you know for everything you’ve been through,” Ms. Clarkston says.
Ms. Rudy nudges her. “Janis!”
I laugh. “No, Ms. Rudy, Ms. Clarkston. Thank you. You don’t have to tip toe around it. It’s okay. I’ve been through the ringer, and I’m still here. And believe it, or not, I’m not going to shatter if you hug my neck.”
Memaw glares at me. I’m just picking, though. I think they know me well enough to know that. They look at each other and giggle. It’s the cutest thing ever. “You’ve always been such a good, fun loving girl, Alex.”
“When life gives you lemons, might as well make lemonade, right?”
They make nodding look sophisticated. “That’s exactly right.”
Once everyone’s greeted me, I make my way through to the kitchen. I see several cake plates. “You know what else hasn’t changed?” I ask.
They all say, “What?” in unison.
“My sweet tooth.” I glance back over my shoulder as I approach the top of the freezer where all the cakes and pies are covered with foil, Tupperware, and Rubbermaid lids. “Tell me what goodies have you ladies brought?”
“You know, the usual. There’s a little bit of everything over there,” Ms. Rudy says.
Then Ms. Clarkston chimes in, “There’s enough food to feed a small army.” I shake my head, then close my eyes in an effort to not laugh at her social awkwardness. When I do, the word ‘army’ triggers flashbacks of explosions, times of despair. I hear Ms. Rudy whisper, “Janis, would you just shush your mouth until we get outta here.”
Ms. Clarkston inhales sharply. “Oh goodness, I didn’t even think about what I was sayin’. You know. We just always use that phrase down here in the South.”
I open the tops of the different desserts. When I find the Rubbermaid one that he brought earlier, I open it. Red Velvet cake. My heart flutters as I cut a slice, then glance over my shoulder. “Ms. Clarkston, I’m fine. Please don’t worry another second about it.”
She looks hopeful and relieved. “Are you sure, Alex?” She asks it in such a way that I know she’s just wanting more reassurance that I’m fine, so I oblige.
“Absolutely.” I smile. “Totally fine.” But I’m not. I’m dying inside.
Several hours later the phone rings, and while I’m hopeful it’s the funeral home, the sound of it causes my stomach to stir to a nauseating level. There have been visitors non-stop all afternoon. I guess it’s nice that people care and want to be with us. It’s just been exhausting.
“Hello,” I say as I pick up the receiver.
“Alex?�
�� I’m pretty sure it’s Mr. Knapp, but I’ve never really spoken to him over the phone.
“Speaking.”
“It’s Mr. Knapp. Just wanted to let you know that if you’d like to come for a private viewing anytime, we’re here.”
I don’t know how to describe what emotion those words cause. “Thank you,” I whisper. Disappointment, sadness, and a tinge of relief? Is it relief? I shake my head as I hang up. I don’t know what I feel at this point.
I glance over to Memaw. “Can I have a word with you?” I nod towards the back of the house.
“Sure. Ladies, excuse me a minute,” she says as she gets up from one of the chairs at the bar. She doesn’t sit down often. I think she sits in those because they are uncomfortable and she knows that will provoke her to get back up and start working again.
When we arrive to a quiet place, I ask, “Would you like to go see Pop?”
She covers her mouth. Her eyes are wide and immediately fill with tears, as if there was a faucet that turned on immediately. I pull her into an embrace, and we both cry for a few minutes together. Then she pushes back. “I’ll let our company know that we need to go.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping that it will relieve the ache in my chest, but it just makes it worse. “Okay,” I mutter as I wipe my eyes, then hers.
Within fifteen minutes, we’re walking inside the funeral home. The nice thing about living in a small town is that there’s no traffic and everything is so close. I always liked that growing up here. I could sleep longer on Sunday mornings. It took me ten minutes to get dressed, and it only took us about five to get to the church.
Sunday is the one day where Memaw doesn’t push a big breakfast. She usually offers an assortment of doughnuts and sweet cakes. I smile at the memories, then stop myself. Part of what makes, I mean made, Sundays so special was that Papa would be dressed in one of his suits, usually with a tie I bought him. He’d be reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. He’d wear that suit all day, even if we went to the store later, as if it was the respectful thing to do because it was Sunday.