by Jewel E. Ann
Parker’s stomach hardened as a wave of nausea crawled up her chest. Her heartbeat slowed to the point she couldn’t feel it or any other part of her body.
He continued. Each word choked with emotion. “It was a car accident.” With each rapid blink, more tears filled his bloodshot eyes.
Parker took a step backward with a slow, disbelieving head shake. Every muscle in her body trembled.
“They didn’t make it.” He wiped his tears with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “We need a few days to get things arranged. Can you—”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He nodded once. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m so …” She couldn’t breathe.
Gerald gave her a painfully sympathetic smile. “I know. Thank you.” He turned and shut the door.
Parker covered her mouth to hold back her sobs as her body crumpled on top of itself, leaving her a broken pile of complete emptiness on the floor.
“NOOOOO!” She rolled onto her side in a ball and curled her arms around her head.
*
Knock knock.
Ruff ruff ruff.
Something wet and warm slid along Parker’s cheek.
Ding dong.
Ruff ruff ruff.
More wetness and warmth along her cheek and nose. Her swollen eyes protested almost as much as her pounding head as she peeled them open and sat up. If it hadn’t been for the hyper canine’s dog breath in her face, Parker might have convinced herself that it was all a nightmare.
She stood in a thick cloud of shock. Numb and drained of every tear. After brushing back her hair and straightening the tie on her robe, she opened the door.
“You heard.” Her mom frowned and stepped inside, pulling Parker into her arms. “Your dad just heard about it from Roger. He was one of the first responders yesterday. They were pronounced dead at the scene.” Janey released her daughter and cupped her cheek. “I knew you’d be very sad since you’ve worked for them for the past month.”
Rags ran up and shoved his snout into Janey’s crotch. She turned to the side and shooed him away. “Why is he here?”
Parker headed toward the kitchen, moving in slow, stiff strides like a zombie. “Gu—” She choked on the pain of trying to say his name. “Mr. Westman brought him over earlier and asked if I could take care of him for a few days.” Her words came out flat and as lifeless as she felt.
“I can’t imagine losing a child. It’s my worst fear. Gus’s dad must have been a wreck.”
Parker nodded as she filled a glass with water. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see Gus’s house out her window. Her kitchen, the spot on the counter three feet away, the chair where he sat across from her the night they had dinner … it all held memories that could never be anything more than painful reminders of him.
“What does this mean for your trip to New York?”
Her mom would never know how deep that question cut Parker. She grunted a laugh, the kind of laugh that was laced with pain to the point of near insanity. “I’m not going now.”
Janey hugged Parker from behind and kissed her shoulder. “New York another time?”
Her mom could have seized that moment to say it was some sort of fate since New York was such a dangerous place, but she didn’t. Parker gripped her mom’s hand, giving a firm squeeze to say thank you.
“New York another time,” Parker whispered, opening her eyes again to the big, beautiful, vacant house next door.
*
Parker doled out her grief in believable doses. Her boss died. Her neighbors that she knew for a month died. A certain amount of grief was expected. Refusing to unpack her suitcase and sleeping until two in the afternoon was not an appropriate reaction for a professional or even neighborly relationship.
It took superhuman strength to get out of bed before noon. Feed Rags. Walk Rags. Smile on cue. Nod when someone asked a question. Any question. All she did was plaster on a fake smile and nod for three days after the news of their deaths.
“It rained yesterday. Maybe you should wear flats so your heels don’t sink into the ground at the cemetery.” Janey picked a few stray hairs on the back of Parker’s black dress as she stared at her daughter’s reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“I don’t have flats that aren’t flip-flops or Chucks.” She pulled her hair back and then released it, then repeated the same thing two more times before deciding to leave it down.
“I bet Piper does.”
Her sister and Caleb had been kind enough to give Parker a few extra days before moving in, but their moving truck was scheduled for the following morning.
“I’ll be fine. If the ground is too soft, I’ll shift my weight forward and walk on my toes.”
“Maybe you should pull your hair back.” Janey gathered Parker’s hair and twisted it into a bun.
Parker turned, forcing her mom to release her hair. “I’m wearing it down.”
Janey frowned. “You’re looking thin in the skin. Come to dinner tonight.”
“I’ll think about it.” She started out the bathroom door, and Janey followed.
“Do you have plenty of tissues? Inevitably someone will give a speech that will bring everyone to tears.”
“I have plenty of tissues and a pair of sunglasses that practically cover my whole face.” Parker grabbed her purse and the keys to Old Blue.
“Drive safe, honey.”
“I will.” Parker stepped out into the muggy humidity. It was only ten; everyone would be melting by the burial.
*
The double funeral for Gus and Sabrina Westman packed the Evangelical church to capacity. Parker recognized Gerald and Tess Westman and Gus’s nephew, Brady, but everyone else was a stranger in various stages of grief—hundreds of people who had no idea Parker was Gus’s mistress or that Sabrina also had a lover who was not her husband. She wondered if he, too, was there repressing his true level of grief.
Parker zoned out during most of the service, replaying every moment she’d shared with Gus. He was incorrigible in so many ways, but her heart only remembered how it thundered to life in his presence. Her eyes missed seeing his smile peeking out of the shadow of that stupid Cubs hat that she loved almost as much as the man who wore it.
After an hour of various friends and family bringing the congregation to tears, the families followed the caskets out of the church. Parker inspected each one of them. The man she assumed to be Sabrina’s dad hugged his wife to him, practically carrying the grieving mother out of the church. Janey’s voice echoed in Parker’s mind. “I can’t imagine losing a child.”
Behind Sabrina’s parents walked a guy dressed for … something, but not a funeral. His bronze-shaded blond hair hung in his eyes a bit, ruffled like Brady’s was the day he came to her house with Gus. It had to be Sabrina’s brother. She mentioned him briefly once. However, she failed to mention his idiotic taste in fashion—a purple and yellow paisley dress shirt, eggplant dress pants, a canary yellow vest, and a purple and white striped bowtie. Parker strained her neck to see if he wore clown shoes to match the rest of his outfit.
Nope. White Chuck Taylor Converse high tops. Close enough—yet totally awesome in Parker’s eyes. Her gaze worked its way up his solid body as he approached her row, desperate for something to make her laugh instead of cry. After his bowtie, she continued to run her gaze up to his face, but before she got to his eyes, his lips pulled into the hint of a grin.
Her brow instantly furrowed. Who would smirk at a funeral? At the last second, they made eye contact. He held her gaze, blue on blue, for the final steps until he passed her row.
She brought the tissue, balled in her fist, to her face to hide her own untimely grin. The fine line between laughter and tears faded with each passing breath. Parker felt drunk on grief. How could the urge to giggle coexist with such raw pain in her heart? Sabrina’s brother was the piñata at her funeral.
It took forever to herd everyone out of the church. It to
ok even longer to drive the five miles to the cemetery. Parker didn’t have that many friends and family; her funeral procession would be much quicker.
At the cemetery, several men guided the vehicles through the open wrought-iron gates into rows to accommodate everyone. Total gridlock.
“No …” She grimaced when they motioned for her to start the next row, landing her a parking spot close to the gravesite. After she shoved it into park, she took a deep breath and prayed. “Please. Please. Please. Not today. I’m begging. Just this once. I’ll do anything.” She had a full tank of gas, so she contemplated letting her truck idle through the ceremony. They weren’t usually that long. But she also knew the exhaust was not that of a newer vehicle. And two deaths were enough for that day. So she turned off the ignition.
POP!
The throng of people walking to crowd around the caskets jumped and turned—a million eyes on the mistress in her grandfather’s old truck that had recently started backfiring after shutting it off. Not all the time. Just sometimes and apparently at funerals. She cringed, sliding down in the seat, holding completely still, in case they couldn’t distinguish which vehicle farted.
After a few seconds, attention returned to the two rectangular holes in the ground atop the small hill. Parker’s door whined like an errant toddler being dragged out of the candy aisle as she opened and shut it all in one quick motion. “Gah! I should have been the one to die,” she whispered to herself, body temperature rising exponentially, feeling all eyes on her again.
Waiting again for curious eyes to lose interest in her noisy truck, Parker grabbed a few fresh tissues from her purse and made her way up the small hill to the graves, passing a sun-blanched stone angel and several cracked headstones. The minister began to speak, but Parker was too far back to clearly make out his words. She observed the black-clad mourners and the many pictures of grief painted on their faces: anger, sadness, fear, shock, sympathy. Whereas Sabrina’s mom seemed to be falling apart, slowly dying herself, Gus’s mom stood at her son’s grave with a lifeless expression, slack jaw and unblinking.
Parker knew that type of grief. She still hadn’t unpacked her suitcase. Every day she waited for Gus to knock on her door. Every day she watched out the window for the white Westman Electric van. He was gone for the day, but he would return. Gone running errands. Gone to get the neighbor donuts and pizza. Not gone. Finality was a hard concept for the living to accept.
Her gut knew the worst days were yet to come. Someday she would unpack that suitcase. Someday she would stop looking for the white van. When that day came, she would have to accept that he was truly gone, and at that moment she would have to grieve the loss of the part of her he took with him.
Blotting a few tears, she sniffled and tried to focus on something less tragic, a place less suffocating. Why did so many people bury their loved ones instead of cremating them? She couldn’t wait to get as far away from the empty bodies as possible. She didn’t feel close to Gus, even with him a few yards away. That wasn’t him. It was the worst reminder that he no longer existed in her world.
When her emotions bubbled past the point considered fitting for a neighbor who simply worked for the Westmans, she took slow steps in the opposite direction. Finding a shaded spot near Herbert Ross’s grave, she slipped off her high heels and leaned back against the tree.
“Fuck you for breaking my heart, Gus,” she whispered while wiping away a new round of tears.
Why were they in the car together? Sabrina was scheduled to fly out that day, but Gus never took her to the airport. Maybe that day was an exception. Maybe that’s when Gus decided to tell her so she could get on a plane instead of sticking around to argue or make excuses for her own indiscretions. Maybe Gus did it to protect Parker. Surely Sabrina felt angry and betrayed if he told her about them. A million maybes that didn’t matter.
“Parker?”
She turned, resting her hand on the tree trunk to slip back on her shoes. “Gerald, sorry I …”
He shook his head. “It’s hot. I think that’s why the minister sped through the ceremony.” The smile on his face looked as painful as it did the day he brought Rags to her house. The day he shattered her world.
“I couldn’t hear anything anyway, so I thought I’d take cover under a tree before I melted.”
He wiped his brow. “Yeah. Life never checks the forecast before it just decides to … happen.”
“Life …” She nodded. “Definitely makes you feel insignificant and vulnerable to its power.”
“Come to our house. We’re having a few family and close friends over to help eat all the food that’s been delivered over the past few days. The church offered to host the reception, but Tess didn’t want anything that big.”
“Oh, thank you, but I’m not really family.”
“Both Sabrina and Gus spoke very highly of you, and we took an instant liking to you the day you brought over the banana bread. Please, I insist. Come and stay for just a bit.”
“Okay.” Parker returned a small smile. “I will.”
“Good. We’ll see you soon, then.” Gerald made his way back to the grave sites where Tess and Sabrina’s parents remained.
Old Blue was blocking a whole row of cars, so Parker hustled in that direction, slowing for a brief moment to take a final look at Gus’s casket. Her throat constricted and more tears burned her eyes as she slipped on her big black sunglasses. She didn’t want to hear the motorized hum of the casket being lowered into the ground or the first fistful of newly turned earth clattering against it.
Good bye, Gus.
The couple in the car behind Old Blue gave Parker a look that said hurry the hell up. Fair enough, it was almost a hundred degrees that day. She turned the key.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Nothing. Not even the tiniest effort to rollover.
“No. This can’t be happening. Not today. Not here. Come on!” She tried again while pounding her heel into the floor of the truck.
She jumped out and cringed, giving an apologetic look to the couple in the car behind her. He rolled down his window.
“My truck won’t start. I’m sorry.”
The man frowned as they both assessed the situation, which happened to be almost twenty cars lined up behind her, bumper to bumper. Zero wiggle room.
“I’ll push it forward enough for you to get out.”
The older man grumbled something as Parker went back to the truck and shifted it into neutral then hopped out again. The old bastard just sat in his car and watched as she wedged her body between the two vehicles and tried to push the truck forward.
“If it rolls backward, you’ll be crushed.”
With sweat dripping down her face and chest, she glanced over at the source of the deep voice. Mr. Funeral Clown offered a half smile while rolling up his sleeves.
“Step aside.”
Parker moved out from between the vehicles. He pushed it forward with the effort of sliding a sofa several inches.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
The car behind them pulled around and exited the cemetery followed by the rest of the cars.
“It won’t start?” he asked.
Parker wiped her forehead, wrinkling her nose. Her dress had dark sweat spots and clung to her sticky body in the most unflattering way. “Nah, it’ll start. I’m just trying to be environmentally conscious by saving on gas.”
He grinned, the same toothpaste commercial smile that Sabrina had. Same blond hair. Same soft blue eyes.
“Sorry.” Parker shook her head. “Bad joke. Bad timing.”
“No. Good joke. The timing …” He shrugged; sadness stole his smile as he glanced back to his father practically dragging his mother away from Sabrina’s grave, sobbing uncontrollably. “I need to go. Do you need a ride?”
“What? Nope. I’ll call for a ride.”
“Okay.” He gave her a quick look with a barely-detectable smile and walked toward his parents
. His mother released his dad and clung to him. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the car.
Parker had been to a handful of funerals in her lifetime but never had she seen something so heartbreaking as a son carrying his mother away from the casket of her daughter. She blinked back more tears as she pressed the wad of tissues to her nose.
Chapter Twenty
After Parker’s dad rescued her from the cemetery, she took a quick shower and borrowed her mom’s car to make an appearance at Gerald and Tess Westman’s house. It was the last place she wanted to be, but she did it for Gerald, and in a small way, she did it for Gus.
They lived on an acreage with hayfields, horses grazing in the pasture, a few goats, and chickens wandering in the yard outside of their coop, pecking at bugs in the dirt. The ranch-style house was older but well-kept with recent renovations and a large addition to the back of it with a covered deck.
Parker knocked on the door, hearing voices inside. She looked out at the grain silos in the distance. When no one answered, she eased open the door. The “small” gathering was far from small, but admittedly much smaller than the funeral. Groupings of people filled the space, creating a narrow maze to move through. Aside from the high-pitched cry of two kids chasing each other toward the kitchen, everyone spoke in low voices, almost reverently.
As she wormed her way toward the kitchen, a hand gently grabbed her arm. “Parker,” Tess said.
“Hi.” Parker hugged her, fighting past the burning tingle in her nose of more tears forming. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Tess pulled back and nodded once, a sad smile on her weary face. “Thank you. Please, make sure you eat something while you’re here. There’s more seating out back if you can stand the heat.”
“Thank you.” Parker continued to the kitchen where more people were packed wall to wall separated by counters of food. Tons of food.
“You made it,” Gerald said, handing Parker a glass of lemonade.
“Yes, thank you.” She took a sip.
“Come here. I want you to meet some of our family.”