Brendan of course walked around the room as if he was the mayor. Making jokes with this one, slapping the back of another. I overheard him telling Paul how wonderful Duke is, how much it's made a man of our Timmy. As if he'd know. As if he'd ever even step foot on the campus.
Brendan had taken a cab from the airport so the five of us piled into my car—one big happy family. Of course Brendan along with my children were staying at my mother's house. Well, I guess technically it's my house now. After living alone in the house for so many weeks it felt strange to have them there. Brendan with his booming voice and my boys with their six foot frames overwhelmed the small house.
"Hey, boss, I'm starving. What do you have to eat around this place?"
"I don't think I have much. There might be some snacks in the boathouse."
"Let's order a pizza. Kids, do you want some Lawn Guyland pizza?"
"Sure!" Timmy said enthusiastically, always eager to be Brendan's side kick.
Veronica, who sat in the corner of the small kitchen table said, "Dad, do you really think it's appropriate to throw a pizza party when Nana just died. What about Mom?"
"Aw, come on sweetheart. A guy's gotta eat!"
I was surprised by Veronica. Like the boys, she loved to bask in Brendan's attention, no matter how fleeting. It was not like her to criticize him, to not serve as his permanent cheerleader. Perhaps these past few weeks sharing the house with him alone had given her some insight into her father. Not that I was happy to see it. I preferred that my children live in the happy family bubble I worked so hard to construct. However, given that I suspected I would soon be sticking a pin in that bubble, maybe her new awareness was not the worst thing in the world. "Veronica, it's all right. I don't mind. Let the boys have their pizza."
Thirty minutes later, Brendan and the boys drank the beers Michael found in the boathouse and inhaled pepperoni pizza. Veronica and I sipped ice tea and I was able to eat half a slice.
"Isn't it great to be here all together," Brendan said between enormous bites of pizza. "When we get back, I want to make this a regular thing. How about every Friday being pizza night?"
"Dad, I'm leaving for school next week." Veronica barely looked up from her plate.
"Yeah, me too," said Michael. "But, I'd definitely be up for it when we're back from break."
"Terrific! It'll be a new Mills family tradition. Every Friday. Sound good, honey?"
Veronica eyed me skeptically. I said noncommittally, "We'll see what everyone's schedules look like in the fall. Now Veronica, could you get those sheets out of the dryer? I want to make up the beds."
Veronica would be sleeping in my mother's room, Timmy in my room and Michael in Paul's old bed. The only place for me and Brendan to sleep was in the master bedroom, Kitty's old room. While I didn't look forward to sharing a bed again with Brendan, especially after what happened last time, I wanted things to appear as normal as possible for the children's sake. I needed to get through the funeral with as little drama as possible. I'd deal with my marriage and my affair after that.
I was already in bed, dressed in a very unsexy white cotton nightgown, when Brendan came in. He flipped the light on and then slowly undressed.
"It was great seeing everyone tonight, wasn't it? We should invite them down to the house soon. You could have a little, oh I don't know, a little family reunion. Wouldn't that be great?"
"I don't know, Brendan. You've never been interested in entertaining my family before."
"There a great group of folks, and you know it's a time like this that you realize what's really important. Family. That's what it's all about."
"That's what it's all about, huh?"
"Absolutely." Brendan jumped into the bed, naked.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?" Brendan asked, feigning innocence.
"Your pajamas. Aren't you forgetting your pajamas?" This time I didn't even try and hide my irritation.
"Ooops, must've forgotten to pack them."
"Brendan, who do you think you're talking to? Those ridiculous pajamas are always the first thing you pack."
"Well, my lovely bride will just have to warm me up." Brendan snuggled closer to me.
"I'm tired and I don't have the patience for this."
"Sweetheart, I know that you've been under a lot of pressure, stress, these past few weeks. Once we get home everything will be better."
"Better?"
"With us. Things will be better with us. I realized how much you mean to me. I want to do whatever it takes to get us back on track."
"Back on track? Brendan, please be real. We haven't been on any sort of track for years."
"Well, it's never too late, right? We could try that, what's it called? Marriage counseling. We could try that marriage counseling you suggested."
"You mean the marriage counseling I suggested ten years ago? That marriage counseling?"
"Yeah, sure. Let's do that."
"And what's prompted this renewed interest in our relationship? Did Christine break up with your or is it the fact that I'm fucking someone else?"
"Honestly, is it a crime to have a new appreciation for my beautiful wife?"
"I can't deal with this bullshit now. I really can't. I've been begging you for your love, hell even just your attention, for years now. All of sudden you care about me, about the kids? Now you want to have a pizza night? It's pathetic. A day late and a dollar short." I turned over, my back to him. "I have to bury my mother tomorrow. I need to get through the next twenty-four hours without having a complete breakdown. The last thing I need to think about right now is this marriage so can you please act like a normal person and go through the motions tomorrow? If you really do love me, then do that. Show me that for once in your life you can think of someone other than yourself."
"Okay, Ellen. I can do that." He patted my shoulder gently. "You go to sleep now."
The next morning, the five of us got ready in silence. The Griffins from down the street had left us a plate of bagels, rolls and cream cheese. Timmy made a pot of coffee and we ate breakfast. My hand shook a little when I was trying to put on my mascara, but other than that, I held it together fairly well.
We gathered at the funeral home one more time. Sister Elizabeth, dressed in a simple black dress, led us in a prayer. Each of my uncles walked up to the coffin; Danny bravely grabbed her hand, Paul slipped a miniature sailboat into the casket. Each of my children quickly said goodbye to her. And then it was my turn.
I knelt before what remained of my mother and bowed my head. Silently, I begged for her forgiveness. I prayed that she had finally found peace. I stepped back to allow them to close the casket. As the lid fell across her face, my knees buckled. Molly was behind me. She roughly grabbed my elbow and broke my fall.
"You're doing wonderfully, Ellen. Just a few more hours, and you'll be done. Okay?"
"I'm okay. I just..."
"I know."
Molly and I followed my uncles out into the limo. Brendan drove the children in my car. Auntie Maura rode with us while her sons followed behind. We slowly proceeded to St. Ann's. The sun was blazing when we reach the church. My silk blouse clung to me, already damp from the heat. Dizzy as I climbed out of the limo, the sun blinded me. I stumbled slightly. A strong hand grabbed me. Billy.
I turned to him, his golden hair brilliant in the sun. I leaned on him as he wordlessly guided me up the stone steps into the church. The vestibule was dark, cool. I stopped for a moment.
"Are you all right, Ellen? Do you want a drink of water?"
"Yes. I could use some water."
Billy got me a cup from the hall bathroom. I drank the lukewarm water, and felt marginally better. Billy then walked me to the front of the church and held my arm as if he was afraid that I would fall. Like a father walking a bride down the aisle, Billy deposited me at the altar. He squeezed my hand as he left to find his way to a pew in the middle of the church, behind those reserved for close friends and family.
I walked over to the organist, a small wizened man of at least seventy. I'd promised my mother before she died that I would sing a song at her funeral mass. It seemed like an easy enough request at the time; I'd always liked to sing. But now, my lungs felt like they were made of lead and the last thing I wanted to do was face a room full of people.
But I was not about to fail my mother again, so I stood at the lower lectern, my shoulders straight. People streamed into the church, and once again I was surprised by the size of the crowd, especially for a weekend in mid-August, the height of vacation time. My mother, who I'd always thought of as a semi-recluse, had clearly touched a lot of people in this town.
When the priest gave us the signal, the organist began his dirge. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Not missing a beat, the organist continued to play, as if this was just part if the introduction. I looked out at my daughter. She nodded her head at me, encouraged me. I tried again, and sang out:
"Be not afraid, for I am with you always,
Come, follow me, and I will give you rest."
The mass was beautiful, every reading and song picked with care by my mother and Sister Elizabeth. By the end of the priest's eulogy, I didn't think I had any more tears left, but then he invited Sister Elizabeth to say a few words and by the end of that I don't believe there was a dry eye in the church. Veronica sat next to me, her arm around me. Brendan sat on my other side where he awkwardly patted my arm from time to time.
My two sons were pallbearers along with my uncles. I followed them down the aisle with Veronica on my right and Brendan on my left. Billy boldly stared at us as we walked down the aisle, his mouth tight.
Brendan insisted on riding in the limo to St. Charles cemetery, as if to stake his claim to me. I was too worn out to protest. I refused to meet Billy's eyes as he stood on the church steps next to his mother.
The twenty minute ride to St. Charles was a blur. The air conditioning was spotty in the back of the limo and my brow was slick with sweat. Once we reached the cemetery there was hardly any relief. Located smack dab in the middle of the Island, there was no sea breeze to ameliorate the sweltering August heat. Molly looked wilted. Only Brendan, a native Washingtonian, seemed unfazed by the heat and humidity. He took my hand and it was all I could do not to snatch it back. But, my children were there, as was my extended family. Now was not the time to publicly show the deep fissures of my marriage.
My grandmother's grave was open, ready to receive her daughter. No one commented how odd it was that despite having two husbands, Kitty chose to share her grave only with her daughter. The cars lined up as the flushed Irish faces gathered around the gravesite. The funeral home's worker bees wordlessly handed each of us a flower: a daisy, a lily, a blood red rose.
Monsignor Ryan lead us in yet another Hail Mary. An Our Father. A Glory Be. Sweat streamed down my back and all I could think, God help me, was how badly I wanted this to be over. I had no more prayers left in me, and what had initially given me comfort, now only left me numb.
Monsignor Ryan invited me, as Rose's only child, to place my flower on her casket. The casket was raised above the open grave on a pulley. I threw my rose onto the casket, but I must have thrown it too hard because it slid off and fell down into the open grave. Down onto my Granny's casket.
Veronica followed, her lily landed on top of my mother's casket. The twins added their blossoms, and then my uncles, their wives. Soon the casket was covered with flowers, the smell of them, overripe in the heat, slightly dizzying.
Paul invited everyone to the obligatory lunch at an Italian restaurant one mile from St. Charles. Once again, Brendan staked his claim on me by placing his large palm on my sweaty back as we walked to my car. I didn't know why he bothered, really. Billy and Barbara Conroy hadn't followed us to the gravesite. But my children, despite the circumstances, seemed to find comfort in the fact that their parents were in the same place for once and I didn't want to cause any more dissent, so while I didn't overtly acknowledge his touch, I didn't shy away from it either.
Most of the crowd at the gravesite were close relatives, about forty or so, and the trail of cars crawled in the summer traffic to Giamellis Restaurante. The restaurant had arrange the table in a large horseshoe. I sat on the left, next to Auntie Maura. Brendan sat next to me and Lisa was on his right. I looked with disinterest at the prix fix menu that Paul had selected as I sipped the house white wine, so parched I barely registered its metallic aftertaste.
The room hummed as the Irish relatives feasted on antipasto. Auntie Maura, despite herself, was enjoying her time among the family and away from the persistently cheery pastel walls of the Sunny Hills Assisted Living Centre. Her easy patter with Carol's mother, another widow, was soothing and didn't require me to do much more than nod occasionally. On the other hand Brendan's voice boomed across the room. My two sons sat enthralled as their father recounted how he swayed the jury in his clearly guilty client's favor. Having heard many iterations of this story over the years, I was able to smile, somewhat vacantly, and say "uh-huh" and "really" in all the right places without straining my brain too much.
I had my mouth full seafood ravioli when I overheard Brendan said, "Sure. Just send us over the paperwork and we can get it taken care of."
I turned to him. "What paperwork?"
"For the sale."
"Sale?"
As if talking to an invalid, Brendan said slowly, "The sale of your mother's house."
"What are you talking about?"
Lisa piped in. "Ellen, dear, we had three realtors in to appraise the house. We're offering you a very fair price, especially given the house's condition."
"Don't you worry about a thing, sweetheart," Brendan soothed. "I'll take care of everything."
I felt a humming in my head. With effort, I said slowly, "I'm not selling the house."
Brendan rubbed my arm. "But honey, what are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know, but it's my house and I'm not selling it."
"Ellen, be reasonable," Lisa said, her broad face still shiny with sweat. "You could barely take care of it when you were living in it. How will you take care of things from Washington?"
"I don't care. I'm not selling it to you. I'm not selling it to anyone."
"But, we spent over forty thousand dollars on the boat house! We always assumed that Rose would leave the house to Paul and Danny, or at least split it three ways between the three of you. No one expected her to leave it only to you. It's not fair."
"My mother paid a high price for that house." I looked at Molly. Molly nodded.
"But, it's not fair," Lisa said, looking to Paul for support.
"It was my father's house. And my grandfather's. By rights it should belong to me and Danny," Paul said with an uncharacteristic cold fury. "I shouldn't have to pay for my own house, but I'm trying to be fair. I'm trying to do the right thing here and you're being completely unreasonable."
"Too bad, Paul. It's my house now. Rosie's bastard owns your father's house. I hope he's spinning in his grave." The room was quiet now, all eyes on me.
Paul slammed down his glass. Red wine splattered across the table. "Jesus Christ, Ellen. We've all put up with enough of your shit. You waltz in here, play the martyr card. 'Oh feel sorry for me, my mother's dying.' The mother you ignored for years. The tears, the scenes. Meanwhile you're off fucking the neighbor."
Auntie Maura gasped.
"Oh, don't deny it," Paul continued. "We all know. Everyone on Rose Hill knows."
Danny took hold of Paul's arm. "That's enough, Paul. Not in front of the children."
"Nice, Paul, nice. I may not have been a perfect daughter, but I'm nothing compared to you and that fat bitch. My mother's not even cold and you vultures are already circling in for the kill!"
Lisa's face was bright red. "How dare..."
"Shut up, Lisa. Just shut up. And you," I said looking at Brendan. "Get the car and take me home. To my house."
Veronica's eyes were the si
ze of saucers, but I didn't have the energy to comfort her. I didn't have the energy for any of them. Molly told me that she'd make sure the kids got home. I think I nodded at her.
Brendan brought the car around the front and for the first ten minutes in the car he was smart and shut his mouth. But Brendan's a compulsive talker and so he eventually said, "And you complain about my family."
"Brendan..."
"Ellen, what got into you back there? You know you have to sell that house."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why? Because we live in Washington. Because there's no reason to keep the house."
I stared at the traffic on Route 110. The relentless summer sun beat down on the minivans, the mini-malls, a giant big-box outlet store. The road hummed with the banalities of suburban life and I found it somewhat comforting. What I wouldn't do right now to just pull into the store and distract myself with discount toilet paper and garbage bags. While stopped at a red light, I stared at a young mother struggling with a toddler and a bulky ten set roll of paper towels. "It's mine. I don't need a reason to keep it."
"Jesus, Ellen, have you completely lost your mind? You've always hated that house. It's old. It's small."
Without looking at him, I said, "I don't care."
Brendan then adopted a reasonable, resonant tone. One I'm sure he'd used at many settlement meeting to great effect. Its low tone implicitly said trust me, I'll take care of you. I'm sure many of his opponents fell for it. Hell, I'd fallen for it for over twenty years. "Look, honey, Lisa and Paul are offering a very fair price. And he's got a point. It was his family's house. I know that you have some kind of bug up your ass about it, but that's the grief talking. You haven't been yourself these past few weeks. You're doing things, that I know you wouldn't normally do. That you must regret."
I turned to face him. "Are you referring to Billy? Because for your information, I don't regretted one delicious minute that we've spent together."
"Ellen, please. Do you really think this fling will survive the weekend? You could never be happy with a nobody like him. Can you imagine taking him to the club? Or to Parent's Weekend at Duke?"
The Girls on Rose Hill Page 16