At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)

by Bretton, Barbara

  Children were adaptable creatures. They could get used to almost anything but the absence of love.

  When she was in kindergarten, she used to lie awake at night imagining how it would be if she lived with the Adamses down near the river. They had so many children, all ages and sizes. What difference could one more make? She'd pictured herself slipping in through one of the bedroom windows and curling up next to Laquita, maybe, or one of her sisters, burrowing under a big puffy quilt just like she belonged there. In the morning she would line up with her toothbrush and wait her turn to use the bathroom. By the time she trooped into the kitchen for cereal she would be one of the gang.

  How she had longed for family, for brothers and sisters. For a mother to love her no matter what. For a father who didn't look away every time she came into the room. Without Gramma Del, she didn't know how she would have survived.

  #

  Ruth Chase finished buttoning her jacket then surveyed herself in her bedroom mirror. Old, she thought. There was no other way to put it. She looked old and tired and sad beyond description. "Oh Del," she said to her reflection. "You always said black wasn't my color and you were right."

  Del Taylor had never been one to withhold her opinions. How Ruth missed those long ago afternoons around the kitchen table, trading town gossip while Del chopped onions for supper and Gracie did her homework. With Noah away at boarding school, the big house seemed empty to Ruth and she had relied on Del to bring it to life.

  Had she ever told Del how much she loved her? Ruth couldn't remember. Their bond had been strong but so were their differences. Ruth wore a yoke of guilt that would never be lessened and each time she saw Del and Gracie, it grew a little heavier.

  She had been down in Boston for a few days, catching up on shopping with her sister Laura and had only found out about Del's death on her return late last night. She hadn't been prepared for the rush of bittersweet memories the news unleashed.

  In two hours the doors to the Catholic church would open wide and the casket containing the mortal remains of Cordelia Taylor would be carried down the aisle to the foot of the altar where a priest would intone a prayer in celebration of her life. In three hours they would all gather together at the small graveyard to bid their final goodbyes to a woman who had worked harder for her family than anyone Ruth had ever known. Gracie was living testament to all of Del's hard work, a glowing example of achievement and grace. The deck had surely been stacked against the girl but Del had helped her to find the strength and discipline to succeed. There wasn't a soul in Idle Point who didn't believe Gracie was going to make them all proud one day, Ruth included.

  How she wished she had said these things to Del.

  She had been right to ignore that moonlight encounter she had spied between Noah and Gracie a few years ago. Whatever else it had been, it hadn't been permanent and for that she was grateful. Not that she would have minded Noah being interested in a smart girl like Gracie. She couldn't imagine a better young woman for her son. If only Gracie weren't Mona's child... Even now, so many years after her death, Mona Taylor still had the power to destroy Ruth's life.

  As she turned away from the mirror, Simon entered the room.

  "Have you seen my reading glasses?" he asked. He was wearing his cotton pajamas and a light robe and his hair was still uncombed.

  "Shouldn't you be getting dressed?" she asked, trying to squelch the note of alarm in her voice.

  "To read the Gazette?"

  "To attend Del's funeral." Don't let him hear how annoyed you are. That will only set him off. Simon hadn't been himself since the heart attack and she worried about adding to his stress level.

  He was rummaging through a stack of books and magazines on his nightstand. "We sent flowers, didn't we?"

  "Of course we did, but—"

  "That's enough."

  "She worked for us for almost twenty years, Simon. We should be there for the service."

  "Absolutely not."

  "Simon, we owe it to Del to be there for her granddaughter."

  "And what about her son? How do you think Ben Taylor would like it if we showed up at his mother's funeral?"

  "From what I hear, that shouldn't be a problem. Ben Taylor hasn't been seen since the night Del passed away."

  "We're not going."

  "I'm afraid I am, Simon."

  "I forbid it."

  "Forbid?" Her voice escalated the slightest bit, just enough to be noticed. "In forty years I don't believe you have ever forbidden me to do anything."

  "I mean it, Ruth. I will not have you attending that woman's funeral."

  "The child needs to know that those who loved her grandmother are there for her."

  "She isn't our problem, Ruth." Simon turned toward the door. "And she isn't a child any longer."

  #

  The cops found Ben sleeping off a two-day drunk halfway between Idle Point and Boothbay Harbor. The manager of a McDonald's reported an old man slumped behind the wheel of a Jeep Cherokee in their parking lot at closing time and of course it was Ben Taylor.

  They took him into the station and tossed him in the drunk tank for a couple hours until the stink of puke and unwashed flesh got to him and he began to sober up. One of the rookies took pity on him and let him use the shower in the back and by dawn Ben looked almost respectable again. He only had one regret. He wished they'd let him rot in his own vomit back there in the parking lot.

  Disappointment burned like acid in his veins, displacing even sorrow. He was a coward, a worthless piece of shit who didn't deserve to take up space in this world. He had failed and failed and failed again, failed until it was practically an art form. The only thing he was grateful for was that Del would never know about this. She had died believing he was sober for good.

  "We took in your car," the rookie told him after he was dressed and ready to go. "Two hundred fifty dollar fine. We take Visa and Mastercard."

  "Do you take IOUs?"

  The kid didn't have much of a sense of humor but he did have a heart. "Listen," he said, "I go off duty in a half hour. Why don't I drive you to the church for your mother's funeral and we'll settle up the fine later."

  Ben looked at him for a long while before he spoke. "Thank you," he said over the throbbing pain behind his eyes. "I appreciate it."

  As it turned out they were too late for the services. Ben almost wept with relief. He was hung over, bereft, incapable of facing Graciela. "Listen," he said to the young cop. "I'll walk home from here."

  Instead the rookie, in an act of kindness Ben didn't deserve or even want, said, "No problem. I'll drive you to the cemetery instead."

  #

  Gramma Del, you should see the flowers! They must have raided florists from here to Bangor and back again. Roses everywhere you look, the cream-colored ones and those yellows you love. And the freesia! I wish you could smell the air right now, so sweet and fresh. So many people loved you, Gramma, but you knew that, didn't you? And you knew I loved you most of all.

  The cemetery was jammed with mourners, row and rows of people, every single one of them there to honor Gramma Del. The crowd from Patsy's, the school, church, the Gazette, everyone at the animal hospital including Doctor Jim, her friends from high school. Even Noah's mother had made a brief appearance at the church, just long enough to give Gracie a swift hug in the vestibule before she disappeared. Gracie didn't ask any questions. She was merely grateful that Mrs. Chase had shown up at all. It was more than her father had done.

  The crew from Walker's Funeral Home had told her that her father showed up right after she and Noah walked out onto the dock. He had taken one look at the hearse then turned and bolted. There had been random sightings over the last two days, always at a bar or tavern, but beyond that, nothing. She knew what that meant. Her father's boozing had formed the pattern of her days. She told herself she wasn't disappointed, that this was no more than she had learned to expect from her father, but it was all a lie.

  This time she thought he
was going to make it. He had been sober for almost six months. He went to work each day at the church, helping to rebuild the rectory inside and out. She knew it was a struggle but he'd been hanging onto sobriety for the first time she could remember. When she told Gramma Del how excited she was for him, Gramma had only nodded and continued watching Wheel of Fortune.

  Anger filled her chest. She was angry for all the lost years, for the little girl who had looked up to a father who couldn't see her through the haze of booze. She was angry for Gramma Del who deserved so much more from her son than she had ever received. If Ben had dared to show up she would have—

  She heard him before she saw him. He must have bumped into one of the other mourners because his "Excuse me" seemed to shatter the stillness of the cemetery like the sound of glass breaking beneath a sledge. She looked up at Noah. His gaze was riveted to a spot slightly behind her and to the right and she turned around, knowing what she was about to see.

  Ben walked slowly toward her. She saw nothing but her father; heard nothing but the slide of grass beneath his shoes. He wore dark pants with bent creases, a white shirt and a navy blue tie. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. The corners of his mouth were turned down in sorrow. From forty feet away she could see the splotchy skin and the broken veins spidering his cheeks and nose. That he had the nerve to show up at Gramma Del's graveside after a two-day drunk pushed Gracie over the edge.

  "Get out," she said as he came closer.

  He stopped for a moment then took another step forward. "Graciela, I'm sorry."

  "Get out," she repeated, dimly aware of Noah by her side.

  "I have a right to be here," her father said.

  "You gave up your right to be here when you got back in your car and hauled ass the night Gramma died."

  "I made a mistake."

  "You've made lots of them."

  "You're right. Let me make up for it. Your grandmother deserves a proper goodbye."

  "You should have thought of that when you missed her funeral mass."

  "Gracie, I'm sorry. I—" His words stopped cold as he focused in on Noah. "You're the Chase boy, aren't you."

  Noah nodded and shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. "Noah," he said and extended his right hand.

  Ben ignored it. "You're not welcome here," Ben said in a voice loud enough to be heard in Cape Cod. "Get the hell out before I have you thrown out."

  Noah's face reddened but he stood his ground. "I'd like to pay my respects to Mrs. Taylor and to Gracie," he said, his voice steady and calm. For the first time Gracie saw him not as the boy she had always loved, but as a man.

  "Your parents didn't think they had to come around. Why should you?" Ben was in his face, jabbing at Noah's chest with an angry forefinger.

  "Mrs. Taylor was always kind to me. I figure it's the least I could do for her."

  "Get out," Ben said, jabbing Noah again. "We don't need anything from you or from your family."

  "Please!" Gracie stepped between them. She was shaking so violently she thought she would collapse. "He's here for Gramma Del. Don't take that away from her because you hold some stupid grudge against the Chases."

  "Don't go poking your nose where you don't belong, Graciela." Ben stumbled over his words in a stink of Pepsodent and Johnnie Walker Red. "You don't know what came before."

  "I don't care what came before. All I know is that you're drunk and—"

  She should have seen it coming. He telegraphed his movements every step of the way but she was out of her head with rage and pain and couldn't see beyond the red mist swirling around her head.

  The room fell silent. The crack of Ben's hand against her face seemed to echo in her head, driving out all thought. They were staring at her, the churchwomen, dockworkers, the crowd from Patsy's and the Gazette. Oh God, her friends from high school were knotted together, faces pale and wondering. This never happened before... I swear it. Don't look at me like that!

  Next to her Noah sprang to life. He grabbed Ben by the lapels and lifted him off his feet and Gracie feared he was going to kill the man.

  "He's not worth it," she said in a voice so cool and controlled she barely recognized it as her own. "Let him go. He's nothing but an old drunk."

  She turned and started walking away with as much dignity as she could muster, given the circumstances. Her exit line would have been more effective if she hadn't broken down into tears on the last word but she made her point. She hurried across the grass, past the mausoleums and the office, across the parking lot toward her car with Noah close behind.

  "Gracie!" He grabbed her before she reached the Mustang. "Are you hurt?"

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and laughed. "He couldn't hurt me if he tried. There's nothing he could do that could possibly hurt me."

  "Let me see your face."

  She pulled away. "I'm fine."

  "Your cheek is red."

  "It's nothing."

  "He knows about us, Gracie. That's what this was all about."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "They all know." He told her about the confrontation with his father.

  "I don't understand any of this. Why does your father hate me?" she demanded of Noah. "What did we ever do to any of them?" Bits and pieces of memory floated just out of reach.

  "Why does your father hate me?" Noah asked "None of it makes any sense."

  "I asked Gramma Del at least a dozen times and she refused to answer."

  "All I know is that our parents used to be friends and—"

  "What?" She felt like somebody had turned her world upside down. "Say that again! What are you talking about?" Their parents, friends? Impossible.

  "They were friends. They all hung out in the same crowd. Your mother dated my father," he said, "way back in high school."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "No, it's not. I started thinking there had to be a connection. They all grew up here. They're all the same age. There's only one high school." He'd slipped into Simon's library while his father was napping and dug up the Idle Point High School yearbook . "Your mother and my father. Simon Chase and Mona Webb, king and queen of the senior prom." He paused for a moment as if he couldn't believe it either. "The couple most likely to say 'I do.'"

  Gracie tried to imagine her beautiful young mother with dour old Simon Chase. The image made her shiver. "What happened?" she asked. "Why didn't they get married? Who broke it off?"

  "I don't know," Noah said.

  "Maybe my mother jilted your father. That could explain why he hates my family so much." Gracie's parents married three months before Noah's parents did.

  "It wouldn't explain why your father hates my family."

  "My father's a drunk. Don't expect anything he does to make sense." She leaned her head against Noah's shoulder and closed her eyes. Her mother and Simon Chase. She tried to wrap her brain around the concept but it was impossible. The world seemed dark and puzzling to her, with secrets hidden everywhere like landmines. They were talking about events from over forty years ago. Why should old grudges and jealousies determine what happened to her and Noah? It didn't make any sense.

  "We should have kept driving," she whispered. "We should have run away when we had the chance."

  "It's not too late, Gracie. All you have to do is say yes."

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He was the love of her life. He had been since they were five years old. He would still be the love of her life when she breathed her last. I wanted to tell you, Gramma Del. I know you would have understood once you met Noah again. School would always be there but a chance for this kind of happiness came only once, if you were lucky. He was, after all, her only true family.

  #

  Laquita Adams grabbed Ben Taylor by the arm. "You need to sit down," she said quietly, leading him toward a chair near where the priest was standing with his open prayer book. "Put your head down and breathe deeply."

  He was ashen. She reached for his hands. No surpris
e. They were cold and clammy. The man was seconds away from falling flat on his face.. The damn chair was near the head of the casket. Not a good idea. He was already in emotional overload.

  "Cheyenne!" She called to her sister. "Grab that chair and bring it over here."

  What was wrong with everyone? They were standing there like statues. Couldn't they see the man was in trouble or did a year of nursing training give you exceptional eyesight as well as the ability to give painless injections?

  Cheyenne shoved the chair behind Ben's knees and he slumped down onto the seat.

  "Head between your knees," Laquita ordered. "Big deep breaths. You'll be fine."

  Cheyenne poked her in the side. "He slapped Gracie."

  "I know," Laquita said as she kept a steadying hand on the back of Ben's neck. "He'll answer for that when he feels a little better." Are you worth saving, Ben Taylor? Am I making a big mistake here?

  She had never seen anyone look more lost or alone than he did as he stood there next to his mother's casket and watched his daughter walk away. Nobody talked to him. They gathered in small groups, scattered around like mushrooms on the forest floor, and they did nothing. Say what you would about the man—and there was plenty that could be said—but that was his mother dead in that casket. A person might drink to block out the pain, but Laquita knew the pain always found a way. She couldn't have turned away from him if she tried.