It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  Just inside the front door, there’s an airy, formal sitting room to my left, where the rest of the family is gathering. It’s well-lit by morning sunlight streaming through bay windows, no flickering candlelight here, and at the far end of the room, a fireplace hints at cooler weather to come. Next to the doorway, a weathered staircase leads up along the wall much like the stairs at Aunt Evie’s. A narrow hallway beside the stairs heads off into the back of the house, a kitchen perhaps, or maybe a common area where services are held. We’ll be guided back there soon enough, I suppose. For now, a couple of men in dark suits casually bar the path, and another blocks the stairs, Morrison’s employees who nod and look at us with just enough sympathy in their faces to be polite.

  Off to my right is a single, inconspicuous door, partially shut against the crowd and the muted sounds of soft voices and thin tears. Even though this is the first time I’ve been in here, I know that has to be where they keep the black curtains, the lamps turned down low, the coffin my aunts so painstakingly picked out…I don’t want to go in there. Like a stubborn child, I press back against Dan, my hand finding his and squeezing it tight. “Are you alright?” he wants to know.

  Numbly I nod—I’ll be fine. “Okay,” I whisper. He touches my arm to reassure me and I lean into him gratefully. “Just…let’s not stand right here, please?” We’re in the path of the front door, anyway, we need to move. “Somewhere else, maybe,” I murmur, though I don’t know where.

  We look around. Most of my relatives have already retreated to the sitting room, where they exchange hugs and sad smiles. In quiet tones they talk of Evie as if she’s still alive, repeating the same phrases, the same stories, over and over again. So good with the kids, someone says, and another, It’s a shame she has none of her own. “We’re her children, all of us,” my mother declares, her voice standing out from the others, I’d recognize it anywhere. I catch a glimpse of her, arms around Penny’s shoulders as silent tears course down my aunt’s slack cheeks. Thinking of the Valium in my pocket, I wonder how many of those little yellow pills are already in her system this morning.

  When Dan tries to lead me that way, I resist. “No,” I say simply—I don’t want to immerse myself in that communal grief. I have nothing to add to it, nothing to contribute. The whole scene looks fake to me somehow, a tableau on stage, a part in a play, the sorrow contrived and the actors just hoping to make it through their lines until the curtain falls. Those who cry are trying too hard; those that don’t, not hard enough. And then there’s me, somewhere in the middle, with private memories I don’t want to share. As long as I keep them inside, there’s a part of Evie still alive in my heart, I can feel her essence flicker like a tiny flame that no one can ever extinguish.

  Anticipating my response, Dan turns in midstep and leads me a little ways down the hall, away from the crowded front room. He flashes a stilted grin at one of the funeral home employees nearby, then stops a few feet from the closed door and whatever darkness lies in the room beyond. Leaning back against the wall, Dan pulls me to him and we stand together side by side, out of the flow of traffic. From here we can see the front door, held open by another ubiquitous employee. The men in black, I think, stifling a dangerous giggle that rises in me at the thought. Dan gives me a curious glance, half-smiling because he sees the mirth in my eyes and wants in on the joke. Before he can ask, though, I shake my head and frown against a grin that wants to spread across my face. “It’s nothing,” I whisper.

  “Will you tell me later?” he asks, shifting so his arm rests against mine.

  “Sure.” I kiss his cheek and am just about to tell him now anyway—whenever I look at one of the suited morticians, I almost hear the opening theme from The X-Files and I know he’d find that funny, no matter how morbid it sounds—but I catch my mom watching us, disapproval written clearly in the set of her lips, and I don’t say a word. Instead, I just clear my throat and turn away, feeling chastised the way I used to when I was younger and she caught me goofing off in church. “Later,” I mumble.

  Dan slips his hand into mine and we stand there like two boys at our first high school dance, too afraid to step out onto the gym floor and mingle. Personally, I’m hoping against hope that the wall will simply swallow us whole, or maybe the floor beneath our feet will open up, drop us down into someplace quiet where we can be alone. With longing I think of the back room off Aunt Evie’s kitchen and the roughly-made bed, the pillows waiting, the blankets turned down at one corner. When this is all over, I’m going to get out of these sad, depressing clothes and curl up beneath those covers and sleep the rest of the day away, tomorrow too, until it’s time for us to leave Sugar Creek behind. Part of me wishes we were heading out tonight, even though I know we’ll both be too tired to drive. I just don’t want to stay longer than necessary.

  “Michael,” Dan murmurs, and I look up as my mom starts towards us, an arm around Penny’s shoulders to drag my complacent aunt along behind her. I can imagine what she has to say about impropriety, it was just a quick peck, for Christ’s sake, this isn’t the place to go off on me about it, talk about your damn discretion—

  Suddenly one of the men in black steps out from the crowd and takes her arm. “Mrs. Knapp,” he purrs, snagging her attention. She turns towards him, irritated, but his hand covers hers and he’s good at what he does, didn’t Aunt Jessie say that? His soft voice is almost hypnotic when he leans close to tell her, “We’re ready for the viewing.”

  The viewing. The words have the same effect on my mother as they do on me—she opens her mouth to say something sharp enough to shake him off but stops, her argument gone. With an almost Herculean effort, she pulls herself together and tries again. Nothing. Instead of a cutting remark, all she manages is a weak echo of his own words. “Ready?”

  The man nods. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, courteous and so damn efficient that she doesn’t even realize he’s leading her towards the partially closed door. “We’ll start seating the family first,” he tells her, nodding until she starts to nod, too. “If you’ll spread the word among your aunts? Quietly, of course.”

  “Of course.” She throws me one final, reproachful look, then spots Aunt Bobbie near the staircase. “Bob, can you help me with Penny? They’re letting the family in…”

  Slowly, as if they’ve been roused from sleep, my relatives begin to shuffle into some semblance of a line, Mom and Penny in front of them all, just outside the door. They’re close enough to us now that if she wanted to, Mom could simply lean over and say something to me, mention the quick kiss in public perhaps, or point out our laced hands. But she’s busy with her sister, whose dazed look is beginning to wear off with the pills—it’s gotten through to her what’s happening now, she knows what lies behind that door, and Penny shakes her head, canceling out the idea of stepping into the room beyond. “No,” she says, without conviction. “Laura, no. I can’t—”

  “You can,” Mom assures her and then, in the same encouraging tone, she says to no one in particular, “I can’t handle her like this alone. A little help here would be nice.”

  My aunts appear as if by magic, fairy godmothers conjured into being at the distress in my mother’s voice. Aunt Billy takes Penny’s arm and looks over her shoulders at us, a sad smile marring her delicate features. Aunt Bobbie steps up to my mother’s side, hemming her in, and Aunt Sarah squeezes in behind her sisters. “Excuse me, sorry,” she murmurs as everyone moves back to make room for her. “Penny, doll, I’m here for you. I’m here, Laura. Right here.”

  “Are we ready then?” Bobbie asks. She nods to show she’s ready and looks at her sisters each in turn—Billy smiles, her eyes widening behind her glasses, and Sarah fluffs her hair, distracted. My mom takes a deep, steadying breath, spears me with one last look that promises we’ll talk when this is all over, and then she nods, too. Ready. The only one who doesn’t respond is Penny. Her eyes have glossed over like an animal caught in headlights and her gaze slides right by me, unseeing. A pang of sympathy sta
bs through my chest, a mortal wound, what’s going to happen to her now? They’ll get the house cleaned out, everything inside sold or given away, and we’ll all go back to our respective lives, but what about her? What will she do? For me, Sugar Creek was a summer vacation, a winter holiday, a place where I could retreat when life grew too hectic or too routine. But much as I love this place, there was always an undeniable sense of homecoming when we left, and the times spent here, my family and friends, they all faded into bittersweet memories that still shine golden in my mind. Sugar Creek was a refuge for me, a haven, a place where I could hide away from my “real” life of school and parents for the length of a summer or a few weeks at Christmastime.

  So where will Penny go to find sanctuary? This has never been a vacation for her, she lives here, it’s her reality. Aunt Evie’s presence is stamped into every street, every house, every tree and rock, how can Penny escape that? Maybe someone will take her, hopefully they will, one of our aunts or my mother even, someone who lives far enough away from the tiny town and its incessant creek bubbling down through the years. She can’t stay here. I see it in her dull eyes, her trembling chin. She simply can’t stay.

  Somehow the four women manage to move her forward a step or two. An undertaker eases the door open, speaking soft words that I can’t hear. They’re good at what they do, I think as Penny struggles not to cry. Her face scrunches up like a napkin balled in a fist and for a moment I don’t think she’ll make it—two fat tears course down either cheek to catch in the corners of her mouth…she wipes at one, then the other, then surprises me with an almost imperceptible nod. As if that’s all they’ve been waiting for, my aunts surge ahead, guiding Penny and my mom through the door, into the viewing room and out of my sight.

  The undertaker steps aside as others in line follow. “Family first,” he says quietly, though there are only a handful of people here so far that I’m not related to in one way or another. I recognize the Grossos near the back of the line, speaking with my father—as if he feels my gaze, my dad turns and rolls his eyes like this is the absolute last place he wants to be. Don’t blame you, I think. At least Aunt Jessie isn’t here. What kind of scene would that make? If the front door swung open and she stood there on the porch? Or smiled at me, called my name, said oh Michael, hey, it’s good to see you again, what could I say to that? Hi Jessie, fancy meeting you here, how’s it hanging?

  “Michael?” Dan asks, concerned. His hand tightens around mine and my smile feels like plastic on my face. The hallway has cleared out a bit, though my dad still stands in the doorway to the sitting room, frowning at the molding like he thinks it needs a good coat of paint. “Maybe we should head inside now? If you want?” What if I don’t want? I think. But just how long can I stay out here with no one noticing? Is it really so bad in the other room? Nobody else is lingering behind…“Mikey?” Dan prompts, my childhood nickname cute in his voice. “What do you want to do, babe?”

  I’m not sure. “I want—” I start, but whatever I’m about to say is lost when the front door does open, inch by excruciating inch, the way closet doors do in nightmares just before monsters attack. It’s Jessie, I think wildly, I don’t know what made her think it’d be okay to come here, I don’t know what she expects to find—

  Only the woman who enters isn’t her. She’s taller than my aunt and years younger, with dark, wispy hair that I recognize all too well. Last time I saw it, she had it pulled back in braids but it’s short now, cut to her chin in a look beauticians call feathered. That square jaw, those flashing eyes, the straight nose that I always thought looked better on her brother—Stephanie Robichaud. True, she’s almost Ray’s age now, no longer a little girl with scabby knees and quick fists, but I can’t help cringing behind Dan as she scans the room. Please don’t see me, I pray. My heart thuds in my chest, I know she didn’t come alone, and as she holds the door open, I press against my lover’s side, my knees weak. Sensing my fear, Dan fists a hand into my pants, pulling the material taut across the back of my thigh. “Who’s she?” he wants to know.

  Her name is on the tip of my tongue when he comes in. Jesus help me. Stephen, dressed in black jeans and a faded denim jacket, he pushes the dark hair out of his eyes with one nervous hand but doesn’t look around like his twin. Instead he looks at me as if he knew before he even came in where I stood, and his eyes are large and so sad, I can’t bear to stare into them for long. That black isn’t for Evie—it’s for his heart. I held it in my hands and never realized…no, I knew. Somehow I always knew. And I took it for granted because we were friends and he never actually came out and said the words until the other day. Until it was too late.

  He sees Dan, he has to. “I’ll be right in,” he tells his sister, in words I read on his lips more than hear spoken aloud. A hand on her back points her towards the viewing room, but not before she sees me. Doubt crosses her face, a foreign look for Stephanie Robichaud, the legendary bully of Sugar Creek, and she almost says something to him—she never liked me, and her gaze rakes over Dan like hot coals, she knows who he must be. The boyfriend, the man who came between her brother and the one love of his life. No, Steph, I think humorlessly. That man was me. I’m the one who tore him up inside, I’m the one who misused him all those years. I didn’t need any help, I seem to be good at shit like that all by myself.

  “Go on,” Stephen says again. His sister says something low and biting, something I can’t hear, but the way she storms past us after the others makes me think I don’t really need to know what it was. As Stephen crosses the hall, heading this way, the room seems to shrink. Suddenly I can’t breathe, and where Dan touches me, his body burns like hellfire against mine.

  Stephen stops in front of us and, with deliberate care, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A shy smile toys with one corner of his mouth, then the other, but never seems to pull both sides up at the same time. “Michael,” he sighs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. As if remembering his manners, he pulls them out again, sticks one towards us woodenly, and attempts another smile. “You must be Dan.”

  “I’m guessing you’re Stephen,” my lover says, taking the offered hand in a firm shake. “Michael’s told me a lot about you.”

  That’s putting it mildly, but if Stephen wonders just what was said, he doesn’t ask. Instead he shoves his hands into his pockets again and rocks back on his heels, staring at a spot on the floor between our feet. “I’m sure he has,” he murmurs. My heart twists in my chest. Oh Stephen, I’m so sorry…an awkward moment later, he adds, “You’re not quite what I expected.”

  Dan laughs, surprised. “Neither are you,” he admits.

  That gets a wan grin from my old friend and I see myself in his shoes, the outsider, meeting an old flame’s new love—would I be as self-possessed? As civil? I only hope so. “Thanks for coming out, Steve,” I tell him. There’s something in my throat that wants to choke me quiet but I swallow it back. “I really appreciate it.”

  He gives me one of his aw shucks shrugs, the kind that make his face flush self-consciously. “It’s nothing,” he says, though I suspect it’s a hell of a lot more than that. I can almost see the anxiety eating into him, it’s in the tremor of his voice, his unsteady hands, the way he shifts from foot to foot like he’s waiting to use the bathroom or something. When he looks at me, he sort of looks around me, his eyes flickering like butterflies, afraid to rest in any one spot for too long. Maybe he thinks Dan will say something, or I will. I can’t imagine there’s anything left to say. With another shrug, Stephen whispers, “She was practically my aunt, too. Not so much now but when we were little, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  Beside me, my lover shifts uncomfortably and I want to thank him for staying here with me, as unnecessary as it might be. The man in front of us is nothing to be afraid of anymore—it’s just Stephen, same as always. Despite whatever’s happened in our lives, whatever’s come between us, we’re still friends. Deep down where it matters, there’s a feelin
g between us stronger than any sexual tie, any confession of love, any passage of time. There’s still a place inside of me where I’m six years old again and squatting beside a hole in the backyard, just as there’s a place in him where he’s eight and watching me, waiting for the moment I notice him standing in the shadows.

  In that place, our heart of hearts, where time and sex and even life have no meaning, I know without a doubt that if I hold out a shovel and ask him to play, despite whatever he feels for me, whatever I can’t feel in return, he will always, always, say yes.

  And I know that I love him for that.

  Chapter 54: Saying Goodbye

  “So,” Stephen says, searching for something to say, something to keep him here beside me despite my lover at my side. He seems more at ease when he looks at Dan than when he looks my way, which makes me sad because he was my friend, once, and there was never any awkwardness between us before. When I didn’t know how he felt about me, when I could pretend his attentions weren’t more than I wanted them to be. I wonder if it’s going to be like this from now on, this halting conversation, this uneasy company. An uncomfortable fear spins out from him like a spider web, ensnaring the three of us in its grip, a fear of showing anything more than the most elementary of emotions. More might be misread, misinterpreted, leaving us all hurt and upset. Better to keep it like this, with our banal small talk, than to delve deeper and invite trouble.

  The thought depresses me. Stephen was always the one person I could confide in, the one friend I could tell anything to and now I can’t, because his reasons for opening up to me were as selfish as mine are where Dan is concerned. He did it because he loved me, loves, and if I continue to take advantage of that, if I try to act as if nothing has happened and we’re still where we were in the past, he’ll confuse my attempts at friendship for love. Because I know that’s what he’s offering me, and I can’t take it. I’m with Dan. Stephen deserves so much more out of life than simply longing for a boy like me.