“Really?” said Jess, unable to hide her surprise.
“Yeah. I wanted to try to understand what was going on in Dad’s head.” She waved her hand in the air as if she were foolish for contemplating the idea. “Anyway, there was some interesting stuff about hoarding. Apparently it’s a mental disorder, not just a quirk. Everything I read suggested it has a lot of similarities to OCD.”
“Huh? That doesn’t make sense,” offered Virgie.
“I know. That’s what I thought, too,” agreed Maggie. “But apparently it’s all connected. It’s about obsession. People with OCD are obsessed with organizing while hoarders are obsessed with holding on to everything. Whatever part of the brain that helps people prioritize what’s important—and what’s not—doesn’t work right in a hoarder. Hoarders think everything is important, and so they hold on to it all. They can’t bear to throw anything out.”
“Wow,” Jess reflected. “So Dad was like totally opposite of you.”
“Very funny,” Maggie said. “But yeah, I suppose we are linked in some weird way with our obsessions.” Maggie remembered learning about the brain in her tenth-grade biology class and how neurons fired across the synapses. She’d been spellbound by the thought of a whole world of biological fireworks operating in beautiful synchronicity. Little did she know then how easily neurons could misfire, how certain parts of the brain could fizzle out. How the scaffolding of a mind could collapse with the simple flick of a switch. What had been Arthur’s switch? she wondered. Was it Gloria’s leaving that had started his unraveling?
“Hey, check this out,” Jess said now. “It’s Dad’s old music box, remember?” She retrieved it from the bottom desk drawer and turned it over. When she rotated the switch on the bottom, “Singing in the Rain” began to play, and the funny little man with the yellow hat and umbrella spun around on top. Arthur had brought it back from Germany, intending it as a gift for their mother, but the girls had quickly co-opted it for themselves. Over the years, it had gone from housing their little trinkets to holding Arthur’s cigars.
Jess flipped the latch and lifted the lid, revealing three portly cigars, untouched. She raised the box to her nose and inhaled. “Now this reminds me of the Dad I used to know.”
“I thought Dad quit smoking those years ago,” Maggie said.
“Apparently not,” said Jess. “Or maybe he did and he just forgot about these. It was stuffed in the back of his drawer.”
“We should definitely keep it,” Virgie confirmed.
Jess dropped the lid and handed it over. “All yours.”
Maggie began to sift through another pile of books. Sadly, there wasn’t much in Arthur’s library that she wanted for herself. She retrieved a few fishing books for Mac, but most of the philosophy books got tossed into the donation box. A few minutes later, the heavy black rotary phone on Arthur’s desk rang, startling them all. Maggie reached for the receiver.
“Hello?” She gave Virgie a knowing look. “Oh, hello, Jackson. We’ve been dying to meet you. One minute, please. She’s right here. Virginia?”
“Give it to me!” Virgie yelled, as she ripped the phone out of Maggie’s hand. “Hi, Jackson?” Her voice was syrupy, that of a lovestruck teenager.
Jess glanced at Maggie, and they erupted in laughter; their baby sister was smitten, totally, completely, head over heels in love. Anyone could tell.
Jess
The wind whipped up from the water, sending whitecaps sailing into the shore and crashing against the rocks. A bright, generous sun shone down on the small group that was gathering near the cliffs. While the day was perhaps not the calm, balmy one they’d been anticipating for Arthur’s memorial, Jess thought the drama of it was fitting. More important, her dad, she thought, would approve.
Thirty to forty people lingered near a set of white folding chairs that faced the ocean. Earlier that morning, Ernest (who was proving indispensable this week) had helped them load the chairs at the rental shop and then drove them out to Governor’s Park in his truck. Almost no one in the assembled group, Jess noticed, wore black. Guests were wrapped in woolly gray and purple sweaters to shield themselves from the wind. Maggie and Virgie wore pretty floral dresses, but even they’d given up and thrown windbreakers around their shoulders. Only Gloria donned a black dress, black jacket, and white pearls. Jess’s throat tightened when she saw the pearls; she remembered the anniversary when Arthur had given them to her mom. Their thirty-fifth. The family had supper at the Lighthouse Club, buttery lobsters and crab, and the sisters had written limericks for the occasion. Jess felt nostalgia swell in her; her parents had been so in love then.
Gloria stood at the front, talking to the minister about last-minute details. Their father had always been fond of the Book of Job, and Jess was certain her mom was requesting a passage from it for the service. The sisters had drawn up a quick memorial program on the computer last night and printed out fifty copies at Kinko’s this morning. It was hardly a classy affair, but she thought Arthur would have appreciated their nod to keeping it simple. The fact that they’d even assembled a small group beyond the immediate family for the scattering of his ashes was beyond what he had requested in his will. Still, it was fitting, tasteful.
She took in the setting for the ceremony, a pretty little park hemmed in by soaring firs on one side and with expansive views of the water in all other directions. Gloria had suggested the spot, explaining that she and Arthur used to hike along the park’s paths. Jess could almost see them now, holding hands and marveling at the seascape. She wondered if her mother was envisioning the same thing while she talked with the minister.
Shortly, Jay and the Stonehills arrived in the Stonehills’ black Mercedes. Jess watched while they got out and stretched their legs after the long drive, their eyes quickly landing on Gloria. As she stepped away from the minister, they approached to express their sympathies.
“Thank you so much for coming,” said Gloria, clasping Mrs. Stonehill’s hands. “It would have meant a lot to Arthur to know you were here.”
“We loved him dearly,” said Mrs. Stonehill.
“He was a spectacular man,” offered her husband. “We’re going to miss him.” But he had to excuse himself before he could say more, removing his glasses to swipe at tears while his wife hurried after him.
“I loved your dad, but you already knew that,” said Jay as he grabbed Jess in a bear hug. “He was one of a kind.” Jay seemed different somehow from when she’d last seen him; then she realized it was the baseball hat, or lack of it. Jay always wore a baseball cap. In fact, Jess didn’t know as if she’d ever before seen his hair, which turned out to be surprisingly curly and gray.
Off to the side, near a clutch of wildflowers, stood Virgie and Jackson. Despite Jess’s initial wariness about Jackson’s flying out, she now understood why her sister had wanted him here. He struck Jess as smart, caring, even-keeled, and—this was a surprise—a little nerdy. Her baby sister usually dated only the drop-dead handsome guys. The fact that Jackson’s nose was slightly out of proportion to his face, that he was on the thin side, meant that Virgie must really like him. His hand rested on the small of Virgie’s back now, as if his lanky frame would catch her should she ever fall again. Dressed in a black blazer and khaki pants, he was perhaps the only man (other than Mr. Stonehill) wearing a tie. He reminded Jess a bit of Dylan McDermott with his bright blue eyes and dark, thick hair. A slightly geeky Dylan McDermott, who happened to have one of the softest hands Jess had ever shaken.
“I like him,” Jess had whispered to her sister after dinner last night, and Virgie had smiled, as if she’d been keeping a precious secret from them all this time.
“Me, too,” said Maggie, joining them in the hotel hallway.
“I’m so glad,” Virgie said.
“You weren’t really worried we wouldn’t, were you?” asked Maggie.
Her sister grinned. “I thought it was a pretty safe bet. The bigger worry for me was whether he’d like our crazy clan.�
�
Eventually, the minister urged everyone to take a seat so the ceremony could begin. Jess watched while people settled themselves. Some faces were familiar, like that of Florence Arbitrage, whose children Jess and her sisters had attended grade school with. Or Herbert Langley, the president of the library where her dad had worked and who had been instrumental in suggesting whom Arthur would have wanted at his funeral. There were also a number of faces she didn’t recognize, but who came up to her nevertheless to share a particular memory of Arthur.
She fell in step behind her mom, sisters, and Jackson as they headed for the front row. “No Gio?” she whispered to Gloria as they took their seats.
Her mother shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s over.” Jess nodded, but she was surprised. What had happened? “A passing phase,” Gloria whispered in her ear, as if she’d read her mind.
As if on cue, the wind quieted as soon as the minister stood and approached the lectern. Reverend Holmes thanked everyone for coming and began to lead them in an opening prayer. At the prayer’s close, a slight man with a black scally cap walked to the lectern, a silver trumpet in hand. The audience held its breath as he proceeded to play a Bach adagio. The music. It always got to her. Even when she’d been a little girl, Arthur knew the way to her heart was through music. If Jess were in a foul mood after a bad day at school, he’d put on a record of Count Basie or Chopin or Bach and twirl her around the living room. She’d forgotten that! But now the song, as it flitted across the sea air, brought the memories racing back.
Gloria sniffled next to her. Virgie dug in her purse for a tissue. Maggie squeezed her hands tightly in her lap, folded as if in prayer. Arthur’s voice still played in Jess’s mind. The funny, irascible voice of his grandfather years, not the judgmental one of her youth. Maggie had mentioned a similar sensation, of continuing to hear Arthur’s voice, as if he were an immutable, invisible presence hovering around them. “It’s like his energy is still here,” she’d said to Jess the other night. “Little atoms bouncing around. I can feel him, urging us to do the right thing.” And somehow, Jess had known exactly what she meant.
The memories spooled through her mind until the trumpet player closed on a final, plaintive note. Spellbound, the crowd was silent as he lowered his instrument and returned to his seat. As if in deference to the moment, Jay, who had risen to say a few words, waited at his chair for half a beat. Then he walked over to the lectern, cleared his throat, and began.
“Arthur Herington and I knew each other for at least forty years, though to be honest it might have been longer. I don’t remember the exact date when we first shared a beer at Grouchy Ted’s down on the Cape. But I knew from the moment I met him, that I liked him. And even though he couldn’t fix a thing around the house to save his life”—a small chuckle rippled through the crowd—“I can say that he was a kindred soul. We shared the same views when it came to politics (hate the rich, save the poor), beers (nothing like a good Sam Adams), music (blues and classical), and an appreciation for good-looking women.” Here he stopped to nod at Gloria, who blushed even beneath her tears. “Arthur and I especially liked to go out and listen to music together.” He smiled. “I have a lot of good memories of sitting in bars with him listening to a musician picking at his instrument. I think he’d be glad to know that.”
Jay paused and scanned the crowd for a moment. “Some of you I know, many of you I don’t. We’re all here because of one person: Arthur Herington. We all knew and loved Arthur. He was a kind soul even beneath his sometimes rough exterior.” A few more chuckles undulated through the crowd. “But what some of you may not know is that, for me, Arthur was my unsung hero. I suspect he was for many of you as well, in his own quiet way. You see, several summers ago, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer.” Jess breathed in. She’d never known. She glanced at her sisters, who shook their heads.
“I won’t lie,” Jay continued. “It was hell. I thought for sure the good Lord was going to take me. Not many people knew. Heck, it wasn’t the kind of thing you went around advertising. But Arthur knew. He figured out something was wrong as soon as he took one look at me that summer.
“Unlike Arthur, I was never lucky enough to have a family, a wife and children as beautiful as Gloria, Maggie, Jess, and Virgie. But I do have some incredible friends. And do you know who showed up to take me to my doctor’s appointments that summer and, after that, my chemo treatments?” He paused. “That’s right, it was Arthur.” His voice cracked and Gloria shifted in her seat. “He showed up every day, every moment I needed him. And I didn’t have to ask. He just did it. That’s what friends are for, he’d say. And you know what? He was right. I was humbled by his generosity. And—” Here his voice broke and he stopped to collect himself.
“And, he did one thing for me that I’ll never forget. I want to share it with you today because I think it speaks to the nature of our friendship and to Arthur’s character. When I was sick as a dog after chemo, Arthur said he wanted to surprise me with something when I was feeling up to it. A week later, when I was a little better, there was a knock at my door. It was Arthur. He told me to go sit on the couch, that he had a surprise for me.” Jay stopped again and scanned the crowd, seeming to conjure the day once more in his mind.
“And into my living room marches a fellow carrying a violin. And another guy carrying a violin. Then another man with a huge cello. And one more fellow with an instrument I didn’t recognize at the time, but it was a viola. Can you imagine? They go and set up in my living room without saying a word, as if they did this all the time. And the next thing I know Arthur sits down next to me with a shit-eating grin.” He paused, “Sorry, Pastor. And Arthur says to me, ‘If you aren’t well enough to go out and listen to some music, I thought we could bring it to you.’ ”
Jess felt goose bumps run along her arms. She’d never heard this story.
“And so there we sat, on a late summer’s day, listening to these gifted musicians play the most enchanting music I’ve ever heard.” He gestured to the trumpeter. “I was reminded of that today. Arthur had hired my own private string quartet. We listened to them play Chopin, Bach, a little Beethoven. It was the most divine present a person could ask for. I’ll never forget it. I think it sums up Arthur, my friend, your friend, in a heartbeat.”
He folded up his paper and said, barely audible, “My, how I’m going to miss that man.” And with that he hung his head and walked back to his seat.
Tears streamed down Jess’s face. She glanced over at her sisters, who dabbed at their eyes. Gloria cried quietly next to her, and Jess laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
Gloria shook her head. “No, not really.”
At last, Reverend Holmes stood and spoke. “Thank you, Jay, for that beautiful memory. I think I can say it spoke to all of us. I can see why it stays with you.”
There was more music followed by a reading and then a Maya Angelou poem. As the minister finished the poem, a cloud passed across the sun and then disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared. Jess shuddered. It was as if Arthur were signaling that he was here, watching them. After a final benediction, the minister invited the group to join them in the blessing of the ashes before casting them out to sea.
He carried the tall vase to an area set off to one side, an enclosure protected from the wind by a scattering of pine trees. The family trailed after him, then the guests. Jess watched while Reverend Holmes blessed the urn and then tapped out a small amount of ashes into Gloria’s hands. She closed her eyes, as if in silent prayer. Then, she took a deep breath and shouted, “Rest in peace, Arthur Herington!” tossing the ashes into the wind, where the gray dust sparkled in the light before spiraling away. Next it was Maggie’s turn. She kissed her cupped hands. “Bye, Daddy,” she whispered, “Be good up there,” and threw her handful skyward.
When the minister poured the ashes into Jess’s hands, she was surprised by the texture, how grainy the ashes felt. She could still see bits of smoo
th bone in the dust. Her stomach knotted. She was holding her father in her hands. Did she have a piece of his heart, she wondered, in this mix of bone and dust? Or was it something less grand, like a toe or an elbow bone? The only way she could get through the moment, she knew, was to focus on his heart. Yes, there must be a piece of his heart in here somewhere. And with that silent thought and a prayer that he watch over them, she tossed his dust out to sea. Then she stepped back and waited as Virgie, between jagged cries, managed to send her handful of Arthur sailing. Jess watched the ashes catch and dip on the wind.
It was then that she felt the sobs rush up her body. And it was Jay who stretched an arm around her, leading her away from the cerulean sea, her father’s final resting place.
Virgie
After the ceremony, they headed back to the hotel for a farewell dinner. Jay and the Stonehills joined them. Virgie and Jess excused themselves to check their makeup in the ladies’ room. Virgie was worried that mascara was running down her face in long black streaks, but in fact, her face appeared raw and tender with hardly a stitch of makeup on it. Well, she thought, she’d more or less washed it with her tears at the memorial service.
She reapplied mascara and dabbed her forehead with powder. “That went as well as could be expected,” she said, pursing her lips together and reapplying lip gloss.
“I agree.” Jess brushed her hair. “Jay’s speech pretty much undid me, though.”
“Me, too. I never even knew he had cancer, did you?”
Jess shook her head. “That’s quite a secret to keep. And the story about Dad and the string quartet? That was amazing.”
“I know. Goose bumps.” She snapped her purse shut and offered her sister a small smile. “Ready to go back?” Jess nodded.
The Summer of Good Intentions Page 25