The Lucky One

by Caroline Overington

  I followed Briony down the hallway, back to Dr White’s office, where Dr White, with her gentle face and her long grey plait, stood waiting for me.

  ‘What is it?’ I said, taking the handset from her hand, but Dr White didn’t speak, just pursed her lips in sympathy.

  ‘Mom?’

  ‘Oh Eden, oh baby, I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘I have such bad news. You’ll have to come back. He’s gone. He’s gone.’

  I said: ‘Who’s gone?’ But in some part of my heart and my brain, I already knew.

  * * *

  I went back on the train. That had been Mom’s idea. I thought she’d come back to get me, but she said: ‘Oh, Eden, please try to understand. I can’t come and get you. There’s so much to do. And look, you’re not a little kid anymore. You’re almost eighteen. So hop on the train and I’ll have somebody pick you up from the railway station. It’s not difficult: you take the Coast Starlight from Union Station. You’ll be here before you know it and that will give me time to do what I need to do.’

  ‘Really, Mom?’ I replied. ‘The train?’

  ‘Please, Eden! Take the train from Union Station and I’ll have somebody collect you.’

  There was no point in having an argument. I put the phone down. Dr White laid a bony hand on my shoulder and walked me back to my dorm, where she left me to drag out my backpack and begin stuffing it with clothes.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re leaving again?’ said Piper, coming in from the science lab.

  ‘I have to. My pop died,’ I said from where I was kneeling in front of the wardrobe.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Piper. ‘You only just saw him! What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s really old. And he’s been funny for years. I haven’t got all the details. But Mom says I have to get on the next train.’

  ‘Oh that’s so bad,’ said Piper, plopping down onto the bed. ‘But your friend Earl … he’ll be there to help you, won’t he?’

  ‘I guess.’

  I’d thought of calling Earl as soon as I’d heard the news, but service on the estate was always patchy. Piper said: ‘Call him and tell him to pick you up from the railway station. Or text him and ask him!’

  ‘I told you. I haven’t even heard from him since I’ve come back. He doesn’t really text.’

  ‘Not even when somebody dies? Nobody is that old-school. Everybody texts. My dad had a pager in, like, the nineties. Last century. He must text.’

  ‘I know. But he doesn’t.’

  ‘He must,’ insisted Piper, hugging the pillow to her stomach. ‘Anyway, you’re going to need somebody to comfort you! When my pop died I cried for a week. It’s so sad.’

  Dr White drove me to the station in her old Volvo with the rainbow peace sticker and the dreamcatcher, and sunscreen rolling around on the floor by my feet. I boarded carrying only my backpack. The train was busy and I ended up sitting opposite a mom and a little girl wearing a tiered dress with a velvet headband and patent-leather shoes and frilled white socks. I switched on my iPad and put in my earbuds so I could look out the window and listen to music and not cry, but memories of Pop kept crowding in. Memories of him with Nan, doing a jig in the kitchen; memories of him at Dad’s funeral, wailing in his wheelchair; memories of the last time I’d seen him, just before I left the estate, after I’d come back from running off with Earl; and after Fletcher had said: ‘Wait!’ and gone up and brought him down the glass staircase in his tartan pyjamas.

  I’d hugged him and he’d hugged me back, and he’d remembered my name. And he’d stood blinking into the light, his skin really pale, because it had been forever since he’d last been outside.

  ‘Don’t leave me here with these monsters,’ he’d said.

  I’d said: ‘They love you, Pop!’

  ‘They don’t. Not really.’

  And now he was gone. I’d asked Mom on the phone: ‘But what happened?’

  She’d been vague, saying: ‘Well, we just found him, Eden. I don’t think he suffered.’

  Then Aunt Fiona had come on the line, saying: ‘Oh Eden, oh baby, it’s so sad.’

  And I’d repeated: ‘But what happened?’ and Fiona had said: ‘Oh Eden, he was just so old and confused …’

  Thinking about that, I started to cry. The little girl opposite looked at me curiously and her mom made a sympathetic face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘My pop died.’

  ‘Oh, that’s sad,’ she said. ‘Let me get you a tissue.’ She fished in her bag. ‘Can I get you some water?’ And her kindness brought on more tears, but it felt good to cry, so I let them come. She gave me a tissue, and finally I slept, jolting awake as the train pulled into Paso. I gathered up my things, stepped onto the platform and looked around. I won’t lie. I had been expecting to see Earl. Longing to see Earl. But he wasn’t anywhere.

  I walked past the water cooler and the vending machine into the timber waiting room. I hung around for a while, thinking he’d be there any minute, went down the steps and scanned the parked cars, but none was from the estate. I took my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans to check for messages but there were none of those either.

  It was chilly, and I felt thirsty. I watched a black-and-white cat as it wandered from the street into the waiting room and flopped down on the tiles, then I turned to my backpack, fishing inside for a water bottle. I checked my phone and checked it again.

  Eventually I figured they’d forgotten or got the time wrong, so I called the pavilion and Fiona picked up.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she said. ‘Is nobody there?’

  ‘There’s nobody here,’ I confirmed.

  Fiona said: ‘Argh! I’m so sorry. Everything is terrible. Just terrible. Let me make some calls and see where he’s got to.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I’m calling him right now. You stay there. Just wait out front. He’ll be there in a minute, I’m sure of it. If I can’t get through, I’ll call you straight back.’

  The phone went dead. I sat looking at the apps on my screen until it faded to black. I thought about Pop and how his death marked the end of our time on the Alden Estate, how Mom would be happy about that.

  I heard the pickup before I saw it. The roaring of the old engine. My heart surged. I picked up my bag from between my feet and walked over to the truck, expecting to see Earl in his hat, with one elbow out the window, and maybe Queenie on his lap. But it wasn’t Earl.

  It was Fletcher.

  * * *

  The family had gathered at the pavilion. A smaller group, this time. Fiona was there, with Tim and Austin. But not Penelope, and there was no Sol. Later I discovered that she’d broken up with Fletcher soon after she’d left the estate. But Mom was there, perched on a pony-skin stool at the kitchen bench, using a manicured fingernail to make notes on her smartphone.

  I passed through the bi-folds, red-eyed, with my backpack sliding down my shoulder.

  Turning to face me, Mom said: ‘Oh, my poor baby! Come here and give your mom a hug.’

  I stepped into her embrace. Mom was rarely without heels but today she was barefoot, and it surprised me to find I was now taller than her. We held each other, cheek to cheek, Mom saying, ‘There, there,’ and stroking my hair down the sides of my face.

  ‘You’ve been crying,’ she said.

  ‘Of course she has,’ said Fiona, stepping forward with her arms open. ‘He loved you so much, Eden.’ I stayed in her embrace for a moment, before pulling away and saying: ‘But what actually happened?’

  Fiona’s bosom heaved.

  Mom padded in her white jeans towards the faucet over the sink.

  ‘It’s been awful,’ she said. ‘Fiona was heading downstairs to make Owen’s breakfast and there he was at the base of the stairs … just gone.’

  ‘He must have fallen,’ said Fiona, wretchedly. ‘I rushed down. I just couldn’t believe it. I was screaming and crying.’

  Mom said: ‘I came straight out of my room. And it was obvious what had happened
. He had tumbled straight down. The way he was lying there …’

  ‘Stop,’ said Fiona, covering her eyes. ‘Please, I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘And we didn’t hear anything,’ said Mom. ‘I didn’t, Fiona didn’t, Tim didn’t. No, Tim thought he might have heard something, but not enough to, you know, come out and investigate. And honey,’ she continued, as she flipped the mixer down again, ‘we called the boys immediately, and they came up from LA straightaway. So they’ve had a chance to say their goodbyes. But we weren’t sure … do you want to see him?’

  It took me a second to get what she meant.

  ‘You mean he’s still here?’ I said, looking up the glass staircase.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course he is,’ said Mom. ‘Because he wanted to be buried here, remember? In the cemetery.’

  My eyes felt like they were trying to burst out of my head.

  ‘But … don’t you have to call an ambulance?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Mom. ‘We’re not sending him away.’

  Fletcher, coming in from the deck, having locked up and emptied the car of the groceries that had made him late picking me up, said: ‘Look at her face! Ewok! She’s freaked out. But it is creepy, Auntie Jes, that he’s still here.’

  ‘Well, he is,’ said Mom.

  ‘But doesn’t somebody have to come and get him and at least sign off or whatever?’ I asked, looking from Mom to Fletcher to Fiona and back again. ‘The funeral people or somebody?’

  ‘Well, technically, yes,’ said Fiona carefully.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mom, more determinedly. ‘Technically, you have to a get a doctor to sign off on his death but we’re not going to do any of that. We know he’s dead. Even if we didn’t, Fletcher studies medicine. It’s not like there’s any question. And Owen was adamant. How many times did he tell us? “Don’t let them take me away!” Not after what happened to your nan. And we all made him that promise, didn’t we, Fiona? I know Jack did. We are going to bury him here. Now, please, Eden, do you want to see him? Say so now and I’ll take you up.’

  I felt myself nodding. Almost in spite of myself. Because I was afraid. But Mom was no-nonsense. She took me by the hand and led me up the staircase.

  She pushed on the door and held it open.

  I stepped cautiously inside.

  Pop was in the bed, propped up, with the knobby bones of his spine against an upright pillow, and his tufty white hair going in all directions. His eyes were closed, while his mouth was a little open, and the gold in his teeth was showing.

  ‘Go on. Don’t be scared. Go and say goodbye,’ said Mom.

  ‘How did you get him back up here?’ I said.

  Mom said: ‘Tim and I. We did it. We wrapped him in a sheet and carried him up.’

  I took another step. Then one more. Then two or three quick steps until I was standing beside the narrow bed. I hadn’t seen a dead body up close before but I had heard that it’s not like looking at somebody you know. It’s them, but it’s not them. And that was true: Pop was in the bed and yet he wasn’t in the bed. He wasn’t in his own body. He was gone.

  I leant forward and quickly kissed his forehead. I said: ‘I love you, Pop.’ Mom took me by the hand and led me back out of the room, making sure that the door was closed.

  She hugged me tightly for a long time. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. We went downstairs and Fiona said: ‘Are you all right, honey?’

  ‘I’m fine. But what are we going to tell people?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Fiona, her tone uncertain.

  ‘Pop’s really well known in town. Aren’t people going to be expecting a funeral? And where’s Penelope?’ I asked, suddenly confused. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Yes, Penelope knows,’ said Mom. ‘She’s very upset. She was here this morning. She’s gone back to her cottage, poor thing.’

  ‘And what about Earl?’

  For the first time since I had arrived back on the estate, there was silence. Then Mom said: ‘Well, I guess Penelope will have called him.’

  Called him?

  ‘Where is he?’ I said.

  More silence. Then: ‘You might as well tell her,’ said Fletcher, from the kitchen. ‘She’ll have to know eventually.’

  ‘I’ll have to know what?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, honey,’ said Mom. ‘Earl doesn’t live here anymore.’

  I pulled back.

  ‘He doesn’t what? Where is he?’

  ‘Actually, we don’t know where he is,’ said Mom stepping back. ‘He took off around the same time you did. After the contract was signed. I guess he saw that as a sign. His mom would have to leave and so would he. Time to move on, strike out on his own.’

  ‘So … he just left?’

  ‘That’s what Penelope said. He’s on an adventure to Oregon, I think. Southwest of Portland. The Yamhill Valley. He’s interested in wine. Did you know that? He’d been doing some work for the Patrick the Llama people, and they are expanding there. He was keen to go and have a look.’

  Fiona shook her head, then nodded, both gestures that seemed to be in agreement with what Mom was saying.

  ‘I don’t get this.’ My heart was racing. ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ said Mom, ‘That’s men. He probably thought you were busy at school or whatever. They don’t think the way women do: ‘Oh, I must tell Eden!’ They’re more … I don’t know, selfish. Or self-absorbed, anyway.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Fiona, nodding.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, bewildered. ‘What are the two of you even talking about?’

  ‘We’re talking about Earl,’ said Mom. ‘Oh, honey, I know you’d gotten close to him, but he’s gone, Eden. He took off. And you really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not surprised. Boys do that kind of thing. Oh, don’t look at me like that! What have I done wrong? It’s just the way of the world! Eden? Eden, come back.’

  * * *

  Austin was put in charge of preparing the evening meal. Mom entered my room to urge me to come out, saying: ‘Come on, sweetie, don’t stay in here on your own. I know you’re upset, but this is your family, and Fiona’s feeling a lot of guilt …’

  ‘Guilt?’

  ‘Yes, because she’s the one who moved him up there. Imagine how she feels. Please help me cheer her up.’

  I sighed. I wanted to stay by myself, alone in the quiet, exactly where I was, but what could I do? I followed Mom down the corridor in time to see Fletcher heading into the kitchen, carrying a bottle and two red-wine goblets.

  ‘God,’ he said, looking at the label, ‘this looks good. Will you have one, Eden?’

  ‘I’m going to make Eden some tea,’ said Fiona.

  ‘I bet she drinks wine. Do you drink, Eden?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ said Fletcher, placing the bottle down. ‘I bet you’ve got bottles under the bed at Briar Ridge. Don’t worry, I know all the old tricks. Hey, where’s Dad?’

  ‘Your dad’s having a shower,’ said Fiona. ‘We’ll eat soon, if that’s okay with you, Eden? You must be hungry?’

  ‘I don’t get how anyone’s hungry, with Pop dead upstairs.’

  Fiona looked mortified.

  ‘Oh, Eden,’ said Mom. ‘Everyone has to eat, the boys especially. And we can have a nice toast to Owen.’

  Austin pressed the button on the stove. I heard the click, click, click of the burner. Flames leapt up. Mom washed spinach leaves. Fiona pressed a garlic clove. The water boiled and Austin broke long, hard spaghetti into the pot.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I should be on MasterChef.’

  He was humming as he ground salt into the water, then added a few drops of olive oil.

  ‘You do actually look like you know what you’re doing,’ said Mom, carrying a stack of plates to the table.

  ‘I’m the best cook at college,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking that could be my career. Chef. Eden, you’re in charge of cutlery.’

  So we all
had our jobs. Austin cooked and I set the table and Tim finished his shower and came downstairs looking all shiny to grate the cheese.

  * * *

  ‘I keep thinking, what was he doing? And why didn’t I get that lock for the door?’ Fiona turned the conversation back to Owen.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ said Tim.

  ‘And I’m wondering who we tell,’ said Fiona.

  ‘We don’t tell anyone,’ said Mom. ‘That’s key. The minute word gets out people will want to know about the funeral. And then we’re in trouble.’

  ‘We have to tell Pinkhound,’ said Fletcher, twirling spaghetti around his fork. ‘Otherwise we don’t get paid.’

  ‘No. We definitely don’t have to tell them,’ said Mom. ‘The deal is, we can stay here until Owen dies. And no doubt they expect us to do just that. But we can go earlier. We can tell them that Fiona has bought a nice new place, and she’s taking Owen to live with her. Somewhere more practical. Closer to a hospital. The deal’s not with him. It’s with us. Fiona has the power of attorney. And it’s not like anyone has a right to come to his funeral. How long since anyone from Paso actually came to visit him?’

  ‘But it’s not only for them,’ I said, ‘It’s for us, isn’t it? To celebrate his life.’

  ‘Well, if it’s for us, then we definitely do it here,’ said Mom. ‘He can’t have made it clearer, Eden. He wanted to be buried where he’d lived all his life. What do you think, Fletcher? Is this something we can manage ourselves?’

  Fletcher, who’d put his wine selection aside in favour of beer, lifted a Budweiser and twisted the cap. It came off and skittered across the floor. Fiona scuttled after it.

  ‘The burial? I don’t see why not,’ he said, sipping. ‘What’s stopping us?’

  ‘The first thing that occurs to me is it’s not an easy hike up to the cemetery,’ said Mom. ‘Remember last time, with Nell? In the rain? And that was ashes. We’ll have to take Owen on foot. They would have had horses back in the day.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Tim. ‘In the old days, they would have thrown the body over the saddle, like you see in the old Westerns.’

  ‘Okay, well, if that’s a problem – actually getting up there – you better decide quick,’ said Fletcher, sipping his beer. ‘We use cadavers at college, and I can tell you, he’s going to start stinking up the house in a day or two.’