by Lincoln Cole
“I was just saying how nice the day was,” Deborah said, vaguely gesturing out the window.
He didn’t reply. Idle conversation wasn’t his strong suit on the best of days. And today was anything but the best.
Richard had known his mother was sick, he just didn’t know she had progressed so far so fast.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Sally, his eldest daughter, was staring out the window and bobbing her head gently from side to side. Humming. Richard thought to turn the radio on for her, but dismissed the idea. The noise would just annoy him.
On the other side of the car, directly behind him, was his son Richard Jr. That was his birth name, though everyone called him by his middle name, Francis. An enormous book lay sprawled across his lap; probably his Chemistry textbook. Francis had an incredible memory but almost no common sense.
He felt Deborah set her hand on his. He smiled at her, determined to force his anger down deep. Anger with his father. This shouldn’t have been the first phone call. He should have been told sooner, when he could have done something about it. He doubted Emily had gotten the best possible care. Not something his father could have afforded.
But anger wouldn’t do any good: today was a day of mourning, not digging up old grievances. Today he would bury the hatchet and pretend to be a real family. A loving family. And if his brother and sister were incapable of that then, well, Richard and his family just wouldn’t stay long.
“Are you okay?” Deborah asked him.
He shrugged absently. “We don’t have to stay long,” Richard said, just to say something.
Deborah frowned. He stared back out the front, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the leather steering wheel.
“We don’t have to rush out either,” she replied. “You haven’t seen your family in—”
“I’m here for Emily,” he interrupted softly. “Not them.”
A moment passed. Deborah looked down at her lap.
“We’re here for Emily,” she said.
He sighed. “You know what I meant,” said Richard. “They made their choice. I made mine.”
“You still can’t forgive them?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, pulling his hand free and setting it on his leg. His tone was final, end of conversation, and they drove the rest of the way—ten minutes—in silence.
The funeral home was a single floor sprawling complex designed to handle several large parties simultaneously. Aesthetically it had the same quality as an old farmhouse. A poor choice, in Richard’s estimation.
Richard brought the Lexus to a stop in a spot near the exit and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“The viewing will only last another twenty minutes,” he explained. “And then the eulogy will begin.”
“The burial is after?” Sally asked. He nodded.
“But we aren’t staying for that,” he said. “Just the eulogy.”
“Okay,” Sally said, opening her door and slipping outside. She looked like her mother but had his eyes.
“We should go to the burial with your family,” Deborah said as the kids headed off.
“The burial isn’t here. It’s at a cemetery up the road,” he said. “If we make that trip we’ll be stuck in rush hour traffic.”
“Still…”
“The burial isn’t important,” he said.
“It’s the final goodbye,” Deborah countered.
“They didn’t even ask me…” he started to say, and then trailed off. He’d been about to say: They didn’t even ask me to be a pallbearer and realized how petty it sounded. Of course they didn’t ask him. He wouldn’t have asked them either, given the choice. He hadn’t even talked to his mother more than once in the last two years. And it had been longer than that since he’d visited his brother or sister. He wouldn’t have even come if Deborah hadn’t talked him into it. Do it for the kids, if not for yourself, she’d said. He had no argument for that.
“No burial,” he said, opening his door. Deborah met his eyes and nodded.
“No burial,” she agreed, climbing out her side.
They passed under the awning and into the air conditioned rooms beyond. Scents of rosemary and jasmine wafted in the air, with a hint of lime and decay. Cheap fluorescent lights danced across a sea of pale faces. Muttered conversations droned in the background, punctuated by the occasional echoing cough. The lobby was packed; the parlor was packed; the bathrooms were packed: a testament to the beloved woman everyone had come to see off.
Holding Deborah’s hand he shouldered his way through the crowd. His footsteps clipped across the hardwood floor and then hushed as he passed onto the viewing room’s plush carpet. He angled first to the casket and then changed course and veered to his right and the back corner. Right now Bethany and her husband were saying their farewells. He didn’t want to interrupt them. Or talk to them.
“I’m going to go watch out for the kids,” Deborah said. Richard nodded, scanning the crowd. He’d been expecting this, but it still shocked him just how far he’d detached himself from his birth family. He recognized maybe half the faces gathered in the viewing room.
He milled by the back, eavesdropping various conversations and waiting. Five minutes passed, and then ten, and still there was a line of people waiting for their time next to see his mother. So many people he didn’t know; how many even knew his mother and weren’t the random well-wishers who knew Emily only in passing? He wanted them to hurry up so the service could get underway.
“Richard?”
Damn. Jason.
“Yes?” he asked, half turning and nodding to his younger brother. Jason was a few inches taller than Richard, and also quite a bit skinnier. Being strung out all those years ago had served his waistline rather well.
And he still looked the part of a user, Richard decided, even after all of these years working as a therapist. A trimmed beard adorned his chin and his hair was long and loose about his shoulders.
Disrespectful to the end, Jason was wearing a colorful sweater with brown suede pants. He looked more like a professor waiting for a symposium than a mourner at his mother’s funeral.
No, Richard decided, my brother hasn’t changed at all.
“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” Jason said, offering a glass of water. Richard sniffed it and took a sip.
“Yeah. Well. I’m here.”
“And your family came too,” Jason said, gesturing over at them. Richard nodded curtly and took another sip of water. “Boy they are getting big.”
Richard chose to believe Jason’s comment did not include his wife.
“They are,” Richard agreed. “Francis will be eleven in a few months and Sally just turned fourteen.”
“Ah, a fun age. Difficult, but fun.”
“Oh? I didn’t think you’d be an expert on raising children,” Richard said. Jason’s eyes registered surprise before he composed himself.
“I’m not,” Jason said. He sipped his water. “Not personally. But when I went back for my degree in behavioral sciences child development was part of the curriculum. So yes, I suppose I am something of an expert.”
“You know how you might know something but not really know—”
“Really? Are we going to do this here? Now?” Jason breathed, a touch of anger in his tone.
“No,” Richard agreed, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t remember a time when we didn’t fight,” Jason said. “Growing up or after. It’s the only relationship we really had.”
“It’s mostly my fault,” Richard said. “I like to argue. I have to be right.”
“Probably why you went into law,” Jason said.
Richard chuckled. “No ‘probably’ about it. That’s definitely why.”
“I’m to blame too,” Jason said, setting his water on a nearby table and folding his arms across his chest. “How’s the firm?”
“Good,” Richard said.
“We absorbed another dozen clients in the last two months. I’ve been swamped.”
“I’m sure. Too swamped to call?”
“Nothing to call about,” Richard replied. “How’s the uh…clinic? He wracked his brain and fell short on the clinic’s name. Something about ‘second chances’, he was sure.
“Doing really well. State funding gets cut yearly but we have a lot of private donors and volunteers. If things go well with the summer audit we might get the expansion grant. Then we can open another branch near Montgomery Boulevard. That’s where it’s really needed.”
Richard nodded politely.
“And so our mother begins her last great journey,” Richard said.
“Who’s to say it’s the last?” Jason asked.
“What?”
“We don’t know what comes after death, so why would it be the ‘last great journey?’ Why not the next great journey?”
Richard narrowed his eyes, not sure if he was being mocked. “The next great journey, then.”
“I know it’s only semantics,” Jason admitted. “But I can’t help being contrary as well. Family trait.”
“That’s why I stayed away,” Richard said. “Bad blood.”
“No bad blood on my side,” Jason said, patting him on the shoulder. “You are welcome to drop by whenever you like.”
Richard glanced over, deciding the conversation was over. Seats were being set out for the eulogy, and the casket was free. He excused himself from his brother—setting the water on a counter—and shouldered through the crowd to his mother’s casket.
She was tiny and frail, considerably more than he would have guessed, with wrinkles covering her skin. The formaldehyde made her look like a plastic doll. Her expression was relaxed, at peace. She could have been sleeping, lying back on excessively plush white pillows with her arms folded across her chest.
They’d chosen a reddish-pink overcoat and the pearl necklace Calvin bought her some thirty years earlier. It was the only adornment she wore on a regular basis, and hence the only thing traveling with her to the grave; a good choice: she never was much for gaudy jewelry.
Richard felt someone come up alongside him. He glanced over. Calvin stood there, face drawn. He looked old and frail. Tired. Nothing like the powerful and terrifying man who raised him.
It is good to see her, Richard decided. He was glad she looked peaceful. From what he’d heard, her going had been hard and painful. But that was over with and done. No sense making her suffer anymore. She was with God now, at His side, and if Richard knew anything about his mother then God would have his hands full for some time now.
“She’s at peace now,” Calvin said, putting a hand on Richard’s shoulder. He squeezed gently. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Richard nodded but didn’t say anything.
He turned away from the casket and started walking toward his family, who were taking seats near the back of the viewing room. Richard expected Calvin to find a seat near the front, probably with Beth and her family, but instead his scrawny old father kept pace with him.
“Hello Deborah,” Calvin said as they got close. She looked up, surprised, and glanced from Richard to Calvin. Richard kept his face impassive and held his annoyance in check.
“Hello,” Deborah said. “It’s good to see you Calvin. Our hearts go out to you.”
“Thank you,” Calvin said with a nod. His mouth was moving slowly, as if he were chewing gum.
“Kids, hug your grandfather,” Deborah said. Both kids stood up and gently hugged the old man, using all the force of a historian unrolling a piece of ancient papyrus. He gently squeezed them back, smiling, and then sat down in the chair next to Deborah.
“Dad…” Richard said, irked. “Don’t you want to be closer to the front? Closer to mom?”
“I’m fine here. With my family,” he said, looking straight ahead.
“Your family is up there.”
“Posh,” he said, waving his hand as if swatting a fly. “I see them all the time.”
With an annoyed sigh Richard sat in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left and folding his arms. The pastor stood at the podium, hands raised to the sky and a smile on his lips.
“Dad, are you sure you’ll be able to hear him from all the way back here?” Richard asked, trying one more time.
“Heh,” Calvin said, chewing. “It’s all lies anyway.”
“What?”
“Everyone becomes a saint at their own funeral.”
“In this case it’s true. She was a good woman,” Deborah offered.
Calvin nodded and then shrugged. “Nothing they say here today could change that. It is what it is, and I don’t need a pastor telling me otherwise.”
“Shh…” a few people hissed.
“Oh shh yourselves,” Calvin said to them. “It’s my damn wife!”
Deborah laughed. Richard shot her a glare and she fell silent.
A few moments passed in silence before the pastor spoke. Prophetically, Richard realized they were too far away to hear much of what was said. Only the occasional word made it back to where they sat.
“Pastor John,” Calvin said. “He came to see us once a month when Mellie couldn’t make it to the Church anymore.”
“I’m sure Emily appreciated that,” Deborah said.
Calvin snorted. “He annoyed the hell out of her, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t her illness that made her stop showing up. It’s always ‘fire and brimstone’ this and ‘end of the world’ that with Pastor John. Personally, I like the guy.”
Finally, the pastor wrapped things up and the crowd began milling about, waiting for directions on what to do next.
Calvin stood up, stretching his back and yawning. “I think I’ll ride with you over to the cemetery.”
Richard shook his head. “We aren’t going.”
“Yes you are. You have to help put Mellie to rest.”
“No one asked me to come.”
“That’s because I’m not asking. I’m telling.”
“We aren’t going dad. Traffic will be bad,” Richard said, his voice hushed. People were noticing them. It was getting uncomfortable.
“Oh shut up already. You can spare one day for your mother. You’ve avoided us for all these years.”
“I didn’t avoid you,” Richard said, his face flushing in anger. “You left me no choice.”
“Say what you want.”
“I’m not saying what I want. I’m saying what’s true.”
“Emily didn’t get to see her grandchildren,” Calvin said, chewing. His rheumy eyes were suddenly full of anger. “That’s what’s true.”
“She was why she didn’t get to see them. If she hadn’t been so cruel to Deborah things would have been fine.”
“Oh she said a few things—“
“She said Deborah would never be welcome in her family,” Richard interrupted. The room fell silent around them. He didn’t care. “She told her she would never be good enough.”
Calvin lowered his eyes. “And she regretted saying it. She was young. We made mistakes.”
“She might have,” Richard said quietly. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“You should have forgiven her.”
“There was nothing to forgive. You made me choose between my wife and my family,” Richard said. “My wife will win every time. I married her. I love her. And you made her unwelcome. Given the circumstances, Emily was lucky she saw us as often as she did.”
“Damn it, Richard. All she ever wanted was a chance to say she was sorry.”
“There was no point!”
“Maybe not to you,” Calvin said. “But to her, it meant the world. One word of forgiveness from you would have meant everything. Nothing to forgive? Couldn’t you let it go, then? Was it worth it, punishing her like that?”
The words hit Richard in the gut. “I was never punishing her…”
“Call it whatever you want,” Calvin said, “and it comes to t
he same damn thing. You were mad, and boy do you know how to hold a grudge. Always did. So go if you want to. Leave. Nurse your grudge. But you will always, always, be my son.”
Then Calvin turned and waved his hand, a clear dismissal. Richard stood still for a long moment. For the first time he could remember, he was at a loss for words. All the anger he felt for the years of betrayal were bubbling to the surface. So many things he was angry for, so many crimes and cruelties, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Come on,” he said, heading for the exit. People parted around him and every face held the same expression of stunned disbelief. Richard was too angry and hurt to care. He didn’t even check if his family was following.
He climbed into his Lexus and slammed the door, rubbing his hand across the five o’clock shadow. The same memory that had haunted him through the years played out in his mind.: when he’d told them he was done, that they would never see him or his family again.
And echoing in the back of his mind, the voice of his father kept repeating: ‘was it worth it?’
His family climbed into the car around him and sat in silence.
It was never about whether or not it was worth it, Richard reminded himself. It was about what was right. What Emily did was unfathomable. It was unforgivable. And he’d never forgiven them.
Thirty years, and he’d never forgiven them.
And now she is gone.
The realization struck him like a battering ram. He felt a tear slip down his cheek. It hadn’t really sunk in until now. His mother was gone. Emily was gone. She would never come back, had passed into the next life, and he was still angry with her.
Why the hell was he still angry with her?
Tears were flowing freely and he felt the first sob wrench his chest. He bit it back, the sudden flood of emotion, and rubbed his cheeks. He cleared his throat and glanced over at his wife. She was staring at her lap. “I never…” she started to say.
He reached over and took her hand, shaking his head emphatically. “No. It’s not you. It was never you.” He squeezed her hand and chuckled. “My stupid, ignorant, arrogant father. We should have done that a long time ago.”
Richard opened the car door and stepped outside. People were starting to come out and get in their own cars, arranging them behind the hearse in a line.