“I know she came here a few times, but I don’t think she had a membership or anything. She was really big into reading and gardens, so this was a perfect spot to bring her.”
Ugh, I don’t know why I said that part.
Marge gives me a quizzical look, and her glance flies to my hands, as if I might be scattering ashes as we speak.
“I mean, we didn’t bring her ashes here or anything,” I lie. “We just wanted to visit her favorite places.”
“I see,” she says, not believing me.
I think she’ll let it go.
I don’t want to make Marge work right now, but she’s the expert on this place and I have questions.
“I didn’t see the pet cemetery yesterday.”
“Oh, Edith loved her dogs. She buried four of them up here. The other two gravestones were placed here by subsequent owners. But Edith’s dogs were her children.”
“She didn’t have kids?”
“She did not. I suppose it speaks to her prolificacy as a writer.”
I think of what Grandma told me many times; she had no regrets about having kids, but if she hadn’t, she might have written a book herself. “It’s possible to do it all,” she’d say, “but it’s not easy.”
I have to ask.
“Is it against the rules to scatter someone’s ashes here?”
Marge doesn’t seem surprised or grossed out by the question.
“I suppose it is against the rules,” Marge says. “To be honest, I’m sure many people have brought their family members’ ashes to The Mount without asking. If I saw someone doing that, I’m not sure I’d stop them. Ashes are everywhere.”
“They’re all over Fenway Park, apparently.”
She pauses. “Really? That’s disturbing. I’m not sure where you’d put ashes in a ballpark. Everything is steel and concrete. But I always assume they’re on beaches, in the water, beneath our feet. It’s rather comforting, if you think about it. We’re surrounded by so many people’s loved ones. Back into the earth they go.”
There’s some noise behind Marge then, and I see that closer to the estate house there are men carrying large tables from the driveway to the lawn.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“We have an afternoon wedding,” she says. “That means it’s a very early morning. I’m here for the caterers so they can set up. We’ll be transformed by noon.”
“It must be really romantic to get married here,” I say. “It’s so regal and old.”
“Indeed,” she says. “Which reminds me, I do have to get to work. The weddings here are memorable, but they take quite a bit of oversight. This particular affair involves three hundred chairs and a chocolate fountain.”
“Seems kind of weird,” I say. “You say Edith Wharton liked small gatherings.”
Marge considers this and smiles. “It’s true. Sometimes I see a great crowd enjoying the property and think about how Edith built this place as an escape, to get away from just such a mob.”
“I like that you call her Edith,” I tell Marge.
“What else would I call her?”
“Edith Wharton. I like how you call her by her first name, like you know her.”
“In many ways, it feels like I do,” she tells me. “I hate to say this,” she says, “but I think you really should go now. I’m sorry to rush you out.”
“Do you mind if I do a quick reading? I’ve been trying to read my Grandma’s favorite author at her favorite gardens, and we forgot yesterday. That’s why I came back, really—to read a passage.”
“And her favorite author is Edith,” Marge says, smiling.
Yikes.
“Actually, no,” I say, trying to sound apologetic. “Her favorite writer is Dorothy Parker. Is that weird?”
Marge starts laughing.
“I mean, she also loved Edith Wharton, but her favorite was Dorothy.”
“Your grandmother had great taste,” Marge says. “Regardless, if you want to read, go right ahead.”
“Sure,” I say, pulling out my phone to find the passage. Then I stop.
Marge seems like someone who has thoughtful things to say about death, and I want to talk to her about it. I know she has a wedding to prepare for, but she’s the first impartial adult I’ve been able to talk to since Grandma died.
“Marge,” I ask, “was Edith Wharton cremated?”
“Her body was buried in Versailles, in France.”
“Oh,” I say. “Just out of curiosity, would you want to be cremated?”
“Pardon me?” Marge asks.
“I’m sorry. I know that’s a weirdly personal question, but my family is Jewish, and I guess Jewish people aren’t supposed to be cremated. And this whole thing with my grandma . . . I keep worrying that we did the wrong thing.”
“By cremating her?”
“Well . . .” I brace myself. What I’m about to admit is so, so stupid, but if I’m honest, I’ve been thinking it ever since I first saw the craisins. “I know Grandma Sheryl asked to be cremated, and we were just following her wishes. But as a writer, I love supernatural stories and horror. Zombies, magic, sci-fi, demons—all that stuff. I know in stories it’s all just metaphor—like vampire stories are about fear of ‘the other,’ and zombies are about consumerism or something like that . . .”
Marge looks baffled, but I continue.
“My point is, I know that supernatural stories are about the real world. They’re just metaphors. But in all these tales, the vampire ones specifically, when people die and come back to life, they crawl out of a grave. Like, you see a grave, and the actual reanimated body comes out of the grave.”
“I see,” Marge says, but she doesn’t. “I think I’m missing the question here.”
“Let me try it this way,” I say, and exhale before embarrassing myself. “My uncle Seth and I cremated her, so now she’s just tiny pieces. I keep thinking that’s all she is now, so she’ll never crawl out of a grave. She’ll never reanimate like the dead people do on my shows or in my stories. Like, that’s it. She’s gravel. She’s craisins.”
“You mean cremains?”
“You know that word?”
“It’s what they call ashes.”
“Right,” I say. “Sorry. I know this sounds so ridiculous.”
But she isn’t looking at me like I’m saying anything ridiculous.
Even though I have just confessed to Marge, a stranger, that I’m upset because I cremated my grandma, which means she won’t be able to come back to life as a vampire or zombie, she’s looking at me as if I’ve said a really meaningful thing.
“You seem like a pretty macabre person . . . what did you say your name was?”
“It’s Lori,” I say.
“Lori,” she continues, “I’m just going to give it to you straight.”
“Absolutely, yes,” I tell Marge.
“My cousin Steven is a medical examiner, and from him I know that bodies are almost fully decomposed within a month. Like liquid, without preservation.”
“Jesus,” I say, shocked to hear these words coming out of this woman’s mouth. “Marge, that’s so gross.”
“I know,” she says. “I’m telling you this for a reason—so you know that the body doesn’t sit there preserved forever. Maybe your vampire stories allow you to believe that bodies are frozen in time, ready to come back to life, but it’s dust to dust, in pieces, no matter how you play it.
“I’m Catholic,” she continues, “and most of my family has been cremated at this point. But we don’t scatter the cremains. You still bury your loved ones in a sacred place, like a church. I also had trouble with the idea of burning a family member’s body—it seemed disrespectful and a bit violent to me. But then I learned that in some religions, it’s believed that burning the body is part of letting the soul free. It’s an essential part of the process. There are many ways to honor the dead, and I’d like to think that none of us are accidentally doing it wrong. Your grandmother asked for this
, and you honored her choice.”
“Wow,” I say, and I’m crying because Marge is amazing. “I mean, her soul is almost free. There’s still some of her that’s trapped in a Chico’s bag.”
Marge lets out a snort. “Lori, you are by far the most interesting person I have met in a very long time. I do hope you’ll return. A friend of Edith, for certain.”
I start to walk. I know she has to get moving.
“I should mention—” she adds. “I have a friend in New York, a fellow historical guide, who claims that the Algonquin Hotel is haunted by Dorothy Parker. And Dorothy was cremated, so there you go.”
Wait.
“Dorothy Parker was cremated?”
“Oh yes! It’s actually a fascinating literary story. I’m sure your grandmother knew it, as a fan.”
I wait for her to say more. There’s no way I’m leaving now.
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but then it’s time to go. And I have to be quick about it.”
“For sure, Marge,” I tell her.
“When Dorothy Parker died, she left her entire estate to Martin Luther King, Jr.—whom she’d never met. Dorothy Parker was a vocal supporter of the civil rights movement, and she wanted all her resources to be left to the cause. But Martin Luther King, as her beneficiary, died only a year later, and Dorothy Parker’s estate—including her remains—became property of the NAACP, based on the terms of her will.”
“That’s so awesome and random,” I say, because it is. “So where is she now? Where is Dorothy?”
“Still with the NAACP—at its headquarters. I believe it’s in Baltimore. Her ashes are in a small garden there.”
A garden.
In this moment I know that Grandma Sheryl directed me to Marge for this information.
This is a sign. This is where I have to go. I have to bring her to Dorothy.
“Thank you so much, Marge,” I say. “You should get to work, and I should go.”
“You didn’t do your reading,” she says.
“Oh!”
I pull up the phone again and read the quote I’d planned to deliver yesterday: “‘Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.’”
I explain. “Apparently Dorothy Parker once said that was what she’d want on her tombstone.”
Marge grins. “What a brilliant woman she was.”
“Thanks,” I say before I realize that she’s talking about Dorothy Parker, not my grandma.
Now I do have to leave.
“Thank you so much, Marge. You’re the best,” I say, and I’m basically sliding down the hill that holds Edith Wharton’s pet cemetery. The path out of The Mount looks so gorgeous at this hour that I’m a little upset I can’t stop to smell the flowers, which, by now, I can identify—hydrangeas and geraniums everywhere. Then I’m running down the street to the inn, where my family and Chris are probably all still asleep.
I run inside, make my way up the elevator, and knock on Seth and Ethan’s door, like, six hundred times until Ethan opens it.
He’s wearing his pajama pants and a T-shirt I recognize as Seth’s, and my heart breaks for him. Seeing him—and Seth sleeping in the big bed behind him—they look so perfect that you’d have no idea it’s over.
“Lori, what’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my breathlessness.
“I’m fine. I was just running, and I’m not used to that,” I tell him. “But we have to go.”
“What? Where?” he asks, looking around.
I move past him and jump onto the bed and begin shaking Seth.
“What, Lori? Jeez!”
“Wake up. I know where we’re taking the last box of craisins!” I yell.
He sits up and wipes his eyes. “I’m going to kill you. What time is it?”
“Dorothy Parker was cremated.”
Now he’s listening.
“And her ashes are in one place.”
“Continue,” Seth says.
“In a garden.”
“Really.”
“In Maryland.”
“Maryland?”
“Less than six hours away. I googled it.”
“Are you saying we should drive to Maryland right now?”
“I’m demanding,” I say.
He looks at the clock, which tells us it’s almost eight.
“The Realtor’s coming to do the house appraisal tomorrow,” he says.
“Push it off a day,” I say. “Seth, it’s Dorothy Parker.”
“Your mom is coming back up—from Maryland—on Friday. That’s tomorrow.” he says.
I stare him down.
He nods. “You’re right. Just give me an hour, okay? I need coffee and a shower. I need to think.”
“We’re going,” I say.
“I just said that,” Seth says.
I’m standing by the bed, worried he’ll change his mind.
“Go, Lori!” Seth says. “I’m in, okay?”
I grin.
* * *
On the other side of the door, I call my mother.
“Sweetie!” she says, sounding relieved. I haven’t responded to three phone calls and four texts, all of which she’s sent since yesterday. I’ve heard her on the phone with Seth, but I haven’t had the brain bandwidth to deal with her.
“Do you like a hard or a soft mattress?” she asks. “Bill and I are setting up your room—no matter where you live, I want you to be comfortable here—and anyway, Bill has a friend in the mattress business who can get us a deal on something nice.”
“Forget about that,” I say.
“Lori,” she says, disappointed. “I’m trying to be understanding here. Flexible.”
“No, Mom. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that we’re coming down to Maryland. We’re going to drive to you now.”
“What?”
“We have one more box of craisins, and we’re bringing it there,” I say.
There’s a long pause.
“I thought you didn’t want to bring the ashes to Maryland.”
“I didn’t want to bring her somewhere random that wasn’t on her list,” I say. “But we’re not. We’re bringing her to Dorothy Parker.”
“Lori, you’re confusing me.”
“Dorothy Parker is buried in Baltimore!” I tell her.
“She is?” My mom’s question is brimming with excitement, and I’m relieved. She gets it.
“She is! Or maybe not buried there, but that’s where her ashes are. We’re going to drive down there today. We can meet you at the site.”
“Bill—” I hear my mom shout. “Honey, there’s been a change of plans.”
“Well, this feels like destiny, doesn’t it?” Mom says. “Maryland. You and Mom are both coming to Maryland. You’re coming to me.”
“Sure,” I tell her, because I guess we are.
“Just tell me where to meet you.”
“I’ll text,” I say.
“And sweetie,” she says, and it sounds like she’s crying a little, “thank you for including me.”
Before I can tell her I wouldn’t have done this without her, she hangs up.
Chapter 15
Ethan can’t extend his trip because he has a grown-up job in finance. Plus, his car is a rental. He’s out for the rest of the trip.
At least those are the reasons he gives. I get it if he needs to tap out on this journey.
The good news is that Chris’s mother has given us her blessing to take Chris with us. Mrs. Burke demanded to speak to Seth and my mother first, because it would require him being away from home for one more night, and she wanted to know that he’s safe and where he’ll be staying. I could hear Seth assuring her that Chris and I will stay with my mom and Bill, and that there will be no “walking around new cities by ourselves.”
The goodbye between Seth and Ethan in front of the hotel makes it seem like they’re still a couple.
“When do you think you’ll be home?” Ethan asks Seth.
“End of week?”
&nbs
p; I don’t know if that means he’s no longer thinking about staying. I don’t ask.
“I’ll make a plan with Becca when we get down to Maryland,” Seth tells him.
“Check in later,” Ethan responds, and then they give each other a quick kiss on the cheek.
I remind myself that this breakup isn’t new to them and that they still love each other. They have a routine. I’m sure it’s hard to break from it.
“Do you think they can work it out?” Chris whispers to me as he walks to the driver’s seat. I’m so tired, and it’s safer if he takes the keys.
“No,” I say. “And I don’t want them to. At least I don’t think I do.”
At Chris’s puzzled expression, I explain, “I want them both to be happy.”
Chris nods. “I get that.”
Then he gives me a long look, which makes me wonder what he’s thinking.
The moment is interrupted as Seth slides into the back seat with his luggage. I think he’s going to talk about what’s happening, maybe tell us that he and Ethan are done. I’m not even sure whether he knows that I know.
Instead he says, “Baltimore is only six hours away?”
“Five hours, thirty-five minutes,” Chris says, eyeing the GPS on the dashboard.
I send Mom a text with the address and our estimated time of arrival.
“I’m looking at hotel apps,” Seth says. “I am absolutely not staying with your mother.”
“I thought you said I should be happy living with her,” I say. “You can’t stay with her and Bill for a night?”
“It’s different when it’s your sibling,” he says.
Chris’s eyes are on the road. Finally I close my eyes and give in to sleep.
* * *
After what feels like only a few minutes, Chris wakes me. I must have been sleeping like the dead.
“We’re not far,” he says, tapping my shoulder with a free hand.
I wipe my eyes and hear Seth spring to life in the back seat.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“I don’t really know,” Chris says. “It’s telling me to get off at the next exit.”
The GPS voice instructs us to make a turn off the highway and go down a winding road that leads to what looks like an office park.
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