And giving the contact information to Luke?
That was also the right thing to do. There’s a reason Dad gave me Tom DuBelle’s number. Mom or Beau wouldn’t have called. He trusted me to do what I decided was necessary. I did have the authority to make that judgment call and do what I believed was best.
Jay had trusted him with Tom’s information like other people trusted Jay with their dead. And he remembered how important this responsibility was to Jay. It wasn’t a job; it was a calling. He didn’t mark caskets and vaults up two and four hundred percent. He didn’t coerce people into unnecessary things they couldn’t afford. Money didn’t matter, and as long as he could support his family, Jay was satisfied.
I didn’t pay a dime for what he did for my grandmother. Nothing.
Not that Ginger had anything to give, but how many would’ve turned him away? Or if they hadn’t, wouldn’t have cared since there wasn’t anything in it for them? They’d have insisted on cremation since it was cheaper. If they did agree to embalm, they would’ve whizzed through—potentially botching it with the speed or by using too much pressure. Stuffing her quickly, like she was a turkey instead of a person.
But Ginger had seen Jay care for his grandmother’s body and treat her with dignity. With love—although he’d never known her. Jay had invited him to watch. And as frightening as the idea was, an eighteen-year-old Ginger put his faith in the stranger.
✩
He remembered following the gurney into the embalming room. Jay had unzipped the black bag, and Ginger helped lift the rigid body onto the table. His grandmother had been wearing her favorite dress, the one with orange flowers and lace at the sleeves and collar. Now it was ripped and stained with blood. Her chest had also been covered in the blood, and there were dark purple bruises on her skin. But it hadn’t been as horrifying as he expected. It was evidence that the doctors had tried.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Jay hit a few keys on a computer at the side of the room. Classical music filled the air, and Jay was at his side again, a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t like to work in silence.”
“I don’t mind,” Ginger replied.
“Have you ever seen a dead body?”
“No, sir.”
“They aren’t always beautiful, but listening to beautiful music helps.”
Ginger hadn’t cared what Jay listened to. There was still a dead body. There was still his grandmother, with her torn and gory clothing, her eyelids and mouth partially open. Music hadn’t changed that.
Jay had removed his suit coat and folded his sleeve cuffs before he’d filled a shallow bowl with water and a clean-smelling liquid. He watched as Jay took a dampened cloth and delicately ran it over his grandmother’s skin. He swept it over her face, shutting her eyes and turning her head so her mouth closed.
“In the Jewish community, there’s a special group of people who care for the dead.” He dipped his cloth back into the bowl and moved it down the old woman’s arm. “The chevra kadisha. And the task they do is regarded as very admirable because the receiver is unable to return it. They call it a chesed-shel-emet—it’s a good deed of truth.”
“Are you Jewish?” Ginger asked.
“No. But I think about that sometimes. Giving with complete transparency and no motivation other than respect and love,” Jay had said. “If people didn’t worry as much about their personal payoff, or what others wanted them to do, if they tried to do more good deeds of truth, things would be better. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, Jay is fine.” He’d smiled and set down the clean hand. He then walked around the table and offered the cloth to Ginger. “Go ahead. It’s not why you do it, but you’ll feel better. I promise.”
Notwithstanding his apprehension, Ginger had taken the cloth. He’d dipped it in the water and wrung it out, as Jay had done. Tentatively at first, he’d touched it to his grandmother’s cold right arm. And he decided, as he washed the cloth over her skin, that Jay was correct. He’d felt better in performing an action with no motive save for showing love and honor.
✩
Ginger had felt the same way with each body he’d cared for, including Jay’s. He’d remembered this conversation when Jay had been on the table. He had been filling the same bowl with the same antiseptic. And the same opera music had been playing from the speakers in the corner.
He was still anxious for Jackie to finish her conversation with Luke and come downstairs, but this memory gave him strength.
It’s all trust. All good deeds of truth. That’s what I was doing when I gave Luke that business card. It was the right thing. Dad wouldn’t fault me, and I shouldn’t blame myself either.
When he heard a door open and close somewhere in the house, he went to the cupboard to retrieve Jackie’s mug. But on turning around, it wasn’t his mother-in-law in the doorway.
Beau. Ginger dropped the mug, and it broke into dozens of fragments.
The crash brought her attention directly to him.
“Beau.” The word had to twist its way through a jagged metal-edged maze. Seeing her was a mix of emotions. Awful pain, but also joy. Ginger wanted to wrap her in his arms. They ached to hold her close.
He took only two steps before she scowled and left the room.
“Damn it, Mom.” Beau whipped around, and he noticed the phone to her ear. “You’re always in the kitchen swilling your poison. Where are you?”
No! No! No!
Ginger wouldn’t let this happen. He’d do what he should’ve done initially in the storage room.
He pushed over the table chairs and ran after her. She was climbing the stairs to Jackie’s room, and he caught her arm as she stepped onto the landing.
“Beau, talk to me, please.” He took her wrist with his other hand. It felt thinner. Had she not been eating?
“Get off me.” She tried to pull her arm away.
Ginger refused. He examined her face. Her eyes looked tired. Her hair was longer. And she was starting to show. How could she have changed this much in a month?
“No. Talk to me. Mom can wait.”
“I’m talking to Mom and Luke. Now let me go.”
“I can’t. You have to talk to me.” It was dramatic, but Ginger fell to his knees and cradled her hand to his cheek. “Please, don’t go.”
She held the cell phone to her shoulder to mute the microphone and looked down on him with impatience.
But it’s not hatred. It’s not disgust. I can handle impatience.
“I need to finish this conversation, Jacob. If you wait up until I’m done, I’ll talk to you. But you need to let me go right now, or it’s no deal.”
He released her instantly, and Beau stalked into her mother’s room, snapping the door shut behind her.
Ginger decided it’d be safest to stay approximately where he was. He sat on the top step, leaned his back to the railing, and put his feet to the wall, creating a barrier. It was uncomfortable, with his knees bent and only half his body on the step, but Beau wouldn’t be able to pass. The only way she could leave the house without taking the staircase would be to jump from the window. And she didn’t hate him that much. At least he hoped she didn’t.
Hours later, Ginger woke with his cheek on the landing, and his legs stretched over three steps. Someone could’ve picked out footholds in the four steps he was sprawled across to sneak away. Someone small and nimble like Beau.
Oh God, she’s escaped! My one shot and I blew it! He sat up and nearly fell backward.
“Ging, calm down.”
Contrary to any likelihood, there she was. Crouched on the landing with her hand on his shoulder. Waking him gently, and not using his full name.
“The agreement was that you’d wait up. This is twice that you should be glad I don’t keep all my promises.”
“What promises?”
“I said that if you had any further involvement with Tom DuBelle, I’d kill you. Or I strongly implied that I’d kill you. And you’
re still alive.” Beau took her hand from his shoulder, and he noticed she was still wearing her wedding ring. That was a good sign.
“Barely.”
“Luke is safe, but he won’t be coming home for a while.”
“Why not?”
“He’s dying.” Beau shook her head as his eyes widened. “No, not Luke. Tom. But save the shock. Luke is staying with him until he goes. He’s taking care of him.”
“That boy can’t handle himself. How can he take care of a terminally ill person?” It was ridiculous. At the first sign of anything too difficult or that clashed with what Luke wanted to do, he’d be out the door.
“I know. But apparently he’s been doing it for the past month. He goes with Tom to the doctor, makes sure he takes his medication, and keeps him company.”
“How sick is he? To have traveled here a month ago and suddenly need full-time care?”
“Pancreatic cancer. He had six months to live when he was here. And he doesn’t need a caregiver yet, but he will. Luke wants to be that person.”
“Why?” Ginger wanted to slap his hands in front of his mouth. He thought about throwing himself down the stairs. Here it came. Beau’s fear spoken aloud to become truth—Luke now regarded Tom as his real father. Ginger didn’t have to launch himself down the stairs. She would shove him.
“He believes it’s what Dad would want him to do.” She curled onto her knees. “Apparently, you and Luke are able to determine with one hundred percent accuracy what Dad would’ve wanted.”
“He made mistakes, but he was a good man. And it’s not hard to imagine what a good man would do in any given situation; it’s just not easy to carry it out.” Ginger eyed her hand, flat on the landing. “He has no other reason?”
“No, and I believe him. He truthfully wants to be there for this person who meant so much to Dad.” Beau leaned on her right hand and placed her left to her stomach. “They’ve apparently kept in regular contact for years. Dad’s viewing wasn’t the first time Tom has been here. That man saw me graduate high school. He was at our wedding. He saw Luke perform. He has our pictures on his piano.”
Ginger wasn’t sure how to read her. She seemed neither upset nor happy.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. When Luke told me Tom has been essentially stalking us for years, I was furious. I mean, Dad was here through everything. Not just the fun, ‘proud of your kid’ times. What right did Tom have to invade special, happy moments?” Beau spoke in an even voice, and Ginger marveled at how incensed she must’ve been to now be so tired. “Where was he when I was seven years old and still wetting the bed? It wasn’t Tom washing the sheets and consoling me. Or when I had my first crush and heartache? Where was Tom DuBelle when I lost our baby?”
A bolt of electricity blasted through Ginger’s brain.
That’s why you were angry and wanted to pretend he hadn’t existed. Why you were so cruel. You blame yourself. And is that what’s spawned the coldness to linger? You haven’t been the same—Beau was looking at him, so he filed away the insight and nodded.
She checked behind her shoulder. “At one point, Mom excused herself to the bathroom. And Luke said to me, ‘Tom loved Dad very much.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess it means that he didn’t want to stay away, but he felt he had to.”
“Did Dad love him back?”
“Not the way he loved Mom. But he still deeply cared for this man.” Beau said. “And Luke intends to take care of him until he dies.”
“I’m sorry, but that doesn’t sound like Luke. It’s too…” Ginger couldn’t think of any words that wouldn’t make the boy seem like a dick.
“Chesed-shel-emet?”
She smiled at him. God, he loved this woman. She’d split him apart, but he loved her. Ginger put his hand over hers.
“I asked Luke right off, ‘What do you think of Tom DuBelle?’” Beau didn’t pull away, but Ginger bristled, waiting for the answer. “And he said, ‘He’s not Dad, but he’s a good man.’”
“Is that okay with you?”
“I think I can handle that. There was only one Dad, and no one can take his place. But there can be many good men.” She withdrew her hand and patted his cheek. “You’re a good man, Ging. You did what you thought was best, and with no selfish motivation. That makes it the right thing. Do you know who told me that?”
He shook his head, feeling he couldn’t speak. He just wanted to be still—the relief was starting to sink in.
“Luke. He said he wouldn’t be able to care for Tom if Dad hadn’t taught him that being a good man is doing these good deeds of truth. He was adamant that’s what you’d done, so I shouldn’t blame you for it. And he’s right.”
Ginger could’ve cried, but he felt he’d been strained to his limits. He only hung on her words, the emotion combusting and filling his chest.
“I treated you like Luke treated us. Only I don’t have a noble excuse for not talking to you for a month, or for any of my actions lately. I can’t give a reason, but I’m sorry.”
“It’s all forgiven.” He took her hand from his cheek and brought it to his lips. “Absolutely forgiven.”
“There’s another thing as well. I know what you did.”
Ginger felt his face drain of color. But she was pushing her fingers through his hair, so whatever he’d done now couldn’t be that horrible.
“Baby, I may not have gone to mortuary school, but I grew up in my father’s funeral home. I’ve seen hundreds, possibly thousands of bodies in caskets. And people put all kinds of things in there with them. Letters, books, beer cans… It’s an insult to my experience that you thought you could hide something in Dad’s casket without me noticing.” Her hand moved to his temple. “When you order the headstone, I want you to put the name you gave him on there too. And I’m sorry I—”
Ginger scrunched higher on the step and wrapped his arms around her. He put his face to Beau’s shoulder and summoned the strength to cry one last time.
Chapter Seventeen
Williamsport, Pennsylvania
October 2038
His family waited at his parents’ house to welcome him home, but Luke decided to make a detour. They’d disapprove, chiefly Beau, who was anxious for him to meet his new nephew. And Jackie would give him an earful, but the reproofs no longer seemed like scolding a child. She didn’t talk to him with the affection Jay had, but her criticisms now came with an underlying layer of respect. When his mother said “You’re being a stupid jackass, Luke,” he felt she meant “You’re being a stupid jackass, Luke,” right now. He could be a stupid jackass. But he wasn’t always a stupid jackass. No one laughed at him anymore. And no one referred to him as a boy.
He wanted to visit his father’s grave before anyone could volunteer to go with him or “happen” to show up.
When he pulled the car aside on the gravel road, Luke cut the engine and sat motionless. He didn’t know that there was anything specific he wanted to say to Jay. He felt he’d made peace with his father. That had been part of what he’d been doing the past eight months. Yet there he was, parked in the cemetery.
“I want to be alone for a minute,” he said aloud. “I’ll be back.”
Luke got out of the car and walked to Jay’s grave. The grass still wasn’t fully grown in, but the headstone was there, which made the spot seem more official. It was a blue pearl granite upright, and the concrete base was wide enough to accommodate three permanent planters. Beau had placed a red geranium in the space on the right and a white geranium in the middle. Jay hadn’t necessarily liked geraniums, and his first nephew hadn’t lived long enough to like anything, but the flowers were a nice touch.
He’d been astounded to learn how Ginger had lied about putting the child’s ashes with their aunt’s body, and instead, hid them until he snuck the white box into Jay’s casket.
Eight months ago, I would’ve loved to exploit that. To goad Beau into wondering what
else he was lying about and keeping from her.
But he no longer saw Ginger as a looming threat and vulture who’d stolen his family.
Perhaps they’d been invisible to each other—five strangers passing routinely in the street. He saw them every day; he recognized them, but he hadn’t noticed much about them.
Six months ago, the invisible theory struck him as he’d flipped through a photo album in Tom DuBelle’s Salt Lake City condo. He’d glanced through pictures of himself with his parents, with Beau, with other relatives, and he’d wondered.
How did I not notice that Beau was moving on without me? She was growing up, and I was still a boy? How did I not realize that the digs Mom makes and her tough exterior is a front for her own insecurity? And Ginger never tried to take my place. He went out of his way to make sure he didn’t infringe upon me.
Photo after photo showed Luke next to Jay, never Ginger. He always stepped away to let Luke be with his father, though Luke knew he’d craved Jay’s attention.
Was that the first time you had your picture taken with Dad and without me? Luke had been looking at one of Beau and Ginger’s wedding photos.
The bride and groom in the middle, with Jackie and Jay framing them. Previously, this pose would’ve been offensive. While the album was one of many filled with pictures of Luke and his father, he’d have honed in on this “evidence” of his exclusion.
And I would’ve been welcome in that picture too. At the time, he’d been fighting with the person running the stage during the reception. The man had been insisting Luke didn’t need the spotlight on him while he sang during the couple’s first dance. This was unthinkable, insulting, appalling, and absurd.
Luke felt a flush creep over his cheeks. I guess my unreasonableness had its occasional advantages. That was a nice picture.
He moved through several more sections until he came to a page that contained photographs from the opening night of his last performance. There was one backstage with the five of them.
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