The House

by Anjuelle Floyd

  Father Richard turned to Heather and read, “It pains me that I didn’t get to tell you this in person. Heather, I know I didn’t often say it, but I love you. Truly. Take care of David. Kiss Josh and Emily for me. I’ll say hello to your father, if I’m blessed to see him.” Heather lowered her head and nodded in agreement. She then burst into tears. David, stoic and reserved, maintained his grip on Anna’s hand.

  The priest proceeded past Anna to Theo at her left. “To my second son,” he started. Anna would not look at Millicent standing beside Theo. For all intents and purposes Edward’s death had certified Anna’s conviction that if given the chance she would encourage Theo to divorce the woman. Theo deserved better. Anna had wanted more for him. “You stood apart from your elder brother, but you never fought him,” Father Richard read Edward’s words upon the paper. “You looked up to David. But you were your own man. You respected your brother. For that I respect you. I love you. And I love Millicent.”

  The priest turned to Millicent. Eagerly she lifted her head. “And to Millicent—” She wiped her face as if to receive a blessing. “You remind me of myself when I was just starting out. Certain things can’t be rushed. Sometimes we must let life come to us. And if we can’t do that ... well,” Father Richard squinted in an effort to make out Edward’s writing.

  Anna glanced at the casket containing Edward’s body above the earthly hole into which it would be lowered. What might Edward have been thinking when writing the words the priest now read? Had he felt tired, overcome, and sad? Anna didn’t hear Edward’s words that Father Richard had continued reading, rather the ones that remained in her heart. I was scared... afraid ... moments in time. That’s all they were. Moments, barely seconds, 1f any. You. You. You are an eternity.

  A second round of laughter from the mourners startled Anna once more. She saw little humor in the situation. The voices settled. Father Richard stepped beyond Millicent to Serine. Bryce placed his hand upon Serine’s shoulder. Anna gave thanks for Bryce’s presence.

  “Serine. You’re our baby, the youngest part of me and your mother. You hold the brightness I held toward life when starting out, the glory I sought in taking risks despite my fears. You are the best of what I offered, what old age and worrisome experience can never jade.” The irony of Edward’s use choice of words, ... what I offered... old age ... worrisome experience ... , filled Anna’s chest. Serine was truly her father’s daughter. What spark of youth or hopefulness had remained for him to put these farewells together and then ask Father Richard to read them?

  The priest’s eyes took on a kindly glow as he read Edward’s last words to Serine. “Don’t be afraid.” Anna imagined Father Richard’s experience of transferring Edward’s words to the youngest of the bereaved children was the closest the priest would ever get to being a parent. “Never fear, I am with you. Right now. Always.” Serine was a lost child. Lacking the capacity to embrace that loss, she was unable to let it inform her of where to allow life to take her next. Grant and Matthew in the line behind her seemed ready to accompany Serine wherever she chose to journey. Choosing with whom to travel would be Serine’s challenge, a task Anna no longer faced in her own life. With Edward dead, and Inman but a shadow of the person she thought him to be, Anna would make her trek into the future alone.

  Against lips unable to remain sturdy and stiff, Serine began to cry. Edward through and through, Anna mused as she observed Bryce place his arm around Serine’s shoulders. Again she gave thanks for Bryce. Father Richard patted Serine’s hand. He then grasped Bryce, Millicent, and Theo’s, and did the same.

  Walking past Anna, the priest handed Linda the remaining pages of Edward’s letter. Linda accepted the words her father had penned and held them to her chest. It struck Anna that Father Richard had yet to read Edwards’ words to Linda. With Father Richard and Brad on either side, Linda came to Anna. Anna’s stomach began to churn. Linda removed the letters from her chest. Slowly she began to read from the one on top. Anna’s lips trembled and her breathing slowed as Linda read Edward’s words to Anna.

  “I won’t start out with my dear wife. That’s too dramatic. Be sides, it obscures the true nature of our relationship.” Every urge to have Linda stop reading rose and died. David and Theo drew close and tightened their hold on Anna’s arms. I don’t want to hear this! I don’t want to hear this, Anna wanted to silence Linda. I don’t ... want ... to ... More tears flowed.

  “Anna, you mean everything to me. I didn’t show it. Believe me, I’ve suffered for that. What I don’t want is for you to ache now that I’m gone. Do not blame yourself for my shortcomings.” Linda’s voice began to crack. Brad rubbed her back. She breathed in. Edward’s words with Linda as the medium spilled forth.

  “Some of us are so afraid and fearful. We’re wrapped up in terror and never realize what’s gripping us. Caught up in doing whatever it is we think will take away the pain, we never recognize how we’re hurting those we love, and those who love us. We are running from the beast.

  “This battle becomes our all-consuming affair to escape the demons within the ones who wear our face and stare back at us each morning, neither recognizing the other, both terrified. Yet what frightens us most is that if we take one moment and let our selves love, better yet, be loved, and receive the affection people like you offer, we will disintegrate. But in the end, love tames the beast, turns it into our friend. The two become one. We see ourselves for who we really are. I was the beast, Anna. You endured me. In the end your love helped me meet death. For that I thank you.”

  After what seemed a lifetime, Linda folded the letter and handed it to Father Richard. Brad then lifted a black case. Linda opened it and lifted out a bow, and then, her violin, the one Edward had brought her from Strasbourg when she was fourteen. Linda placed the wooden instrument under her chin, and tuned it. Slowly, and with her stomach exhibiting a motherly bulge, she played “Lo, A Rose ‘Ere Bloometh.”

  The sad and lilting melody filled the air and erased all traces of laughter from moments earlier leaving only the sound of the violin strings followed by the silence separating the notes. It was in those spaces, as she again fingered the Ecuadorian rose within her left pocket that Anna heard sighs and sniffles. Memories edged upon her chest and consciousness. She wrapped her fingers around the petals that had opened and bloomed in the hours following Ed ward’s transition. Anna’s muted sobs poured forth.?

  Chapter 46

  Edward’s death and all that came with it was surreal. Within eight weeks, he arose and relived his life only to die again, this time his bodily presence extinguished from the earth. Anna considered the graveside ceremony and the reading of Edward’s letter bearing messages to each of them, a spectacle. And yet Edward’s words had stirred her heart. She could not cease crying.

  With anger as her defense she said to Linda in a subtle, yet biting tone, “It was just like your father to create a scene.” Anna sat across from Linda and Brad. All three rode in the limousine taking them back to the house where attendees of the graveside services would gather one last time. “His life was filled with drama,” Anna continued. “It ended with more of the same. And now his funeral and these letters. Those letters,” she repeated. “And he didn’t even address one to you,” she again spoke to Linda. Anna’s elder daughter lowered her gaze as Brad raised his eyebrow, something he rarely did, and almost never in response to anything Anna said or did.

  After a momentary silence, Linda said, “Mine was the first he wrote. It would have been the only one, but I encouraged him to write others.”

  On reaching the house, Anna wanted to rush inside, lock her self in the upstairs bathroom and expel her insides. Beneath the surface of her annoyance and anger, she wished to die. She could not, would not, say that. It would mean telling the truth. She missed Edward. But how do you grieve the loss of what you never possessed, or mourn someone you barely knew? Things would never be the way they were during those last days with Edward, how she had wished them for their entire marri
age. Anna had expected that her love for Edward to fade with his passing. Perhaps she was grieving the loss of her own expectation.

  Linda’s words from weeks back haunted Anna as she greeted guests at the repast. For one time, you’re telling the truth. She felt dishonest in seeing to the comforts and needs of her guests while she, the bereaved, failed and ignored her own desire for comfort. Seeing to others in deferment of herself had been her life. After greeting everyone and encouraging them to eat, she headed for the stairs. She would lie down then perhaps the people would be gone and Anna could set out on the trek of living life without Edward. No sooner that she had reached the first step she heard, “Mrs. Manning.”

  Anna turned back and saw Grant. He approached her and ex tended his hand. “My condolences,” he said.

  “Thank you for coming,” Anna said. She felt awkward that Serine had not invited Grant to stand with the family at the gravesite. Grant had instead stood with Matt, the two of them behind Serine in the line ahead, and next to Bryce all too eager to comfort and support. Anna would have to do something about that.

  Grant said, “I’ve told Serine to take as much time as she needs. We can spare her for a couple of weeks.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Anna could barely speak the words. The shame of how Serine had misled both Grant and Matt still churned within her stomach, and wrenched Anna’s emotions.

  “I thought it was the least I could do since she came clean with me.”

  “Oh?” Anna said.

  “She returned my ring. She said that the idea of marrying frightened her and that she would not make a good wife in light of how her father had behaved toward you.”

  Anna took a hard swallow. “It seems Serine realizes that she needs some time to think, and grow up.”

  “That may be the case.” Grant glanced down at his feet and then pocketed his hands splaying the sides of the jacket to his black suit. The matching vest bestowed an air befitting that of a judge, which Anna imagined him someday working as. “Serine needs to know that she’s not a bad person.”

  “That’s kind of hard considering what she did with you and Matt.” Again Grant glanced at his shoes, shiny and black like his suit.

  “It was ridiculous of me to imagine Serine marrying me and becoming mother to a five-year-old.”

  Once more Anna took a long swallow. She then breathed in. Serine had said nothing of Grant having a child. “My daughter’s mother and I divorced last year. I love Serine. But I also have to admit, the idea of having a wife made it easier for me to demand part custody.” Sadness overtook Grant’s chestnut face with a red undertone. For a moment he looked like Edward. “A child needs two parents,” Grant said. “I was determined to give her that. Only problem was I never pushed Serine to tell me how she truly felt.”

  “Has she told you now?”

  “She didn’t have to. Returning my ring was probably the hardest thing she’s done in a while. She did it two days before her father died.”

  Anna lowered her head. Grant drew near, lowered his voice. “I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you blaming her for everything that happened. I know about Matt. I didn’t like it. But ... “ He turned away. His hands were still pocketed. “Don’t let her isolate herself. I’ve told her she can return to work whenever she’s ready.”

  “How long will it take for you to accept what’s happened and to see her back at work, not as your fiancée, but as one of your assistants?” Anna said.

  “She won’t be working with me as closely anymore. I’ve transferred her to another division. We both thought that was best.” Grant appeared about to cry.

  At that, Anna reached out and embraced Grant. Moments passed, Anna sensing the spirit of his deceased mother close by and watching as he lowered his head upon Anna’s shoulder.

  “Take care,” she whispered in Grant’s ear. “You’re a good person.” She released him and he left.

  Anna went upstairs with all that Grant had shared heavy upon her heart. Closing the door, she walked across the room, memories of Serine’s argument with Grant by the pool tugging her to the window. She gazed onto the pool below still of full of water. She would have to drain it. Noting that task, she gazed left and there stood Serine with Matt. They occupied the same spot, as Serine had with Grant, at the far steps from the patio chair where Edward had reclined while reading the magazine with the Buddhist nun on the cover.

  Tears filled Anna’s eyes as Serine, with shoulders slumped stood speaking with Matt. Even from a story away, Anna could see Matt’s eyes intensely following Serine’s every word. After a few moments Serine embraced Matt. He kissed her cheek and then left. As he walked away Serine gripped her shoulders as if cold. She then slumped to her knees.

  Serine was still clutching her shoulders when Bryce approached and tried helping her up. She pushed him away, gently but firmly. Anna screwed her face, felt the impulse to run down and scold Serine. Grant’s words then seeped into her mind. Serine needs to know that she’s not a horrible person, that you love her.

  Anna was meditating on Grant’s missive when a knock arose at the door. Anna turned and Millicent entered.

  “Is everything alright?” The younger of Anna’s daughters-in-law inquired.

  “I’m fine, just tired, thank you.” Anna was hoping the words of appreciation would signal a dismissal. Instead Millicent remained.

  “I want you to know, Mother Manning, that I really appreciate what Father Manning wrote.”

  Anna hated those names, Mother Manning, Father Manning. So ancient. And to be coming from a person who had yet to give her a grandchild, who for all intents and purposes, in Anna’s mind, did not care for her son and saw him only as an accoutrement and appendage. Anna turned around and simply stared.

  “I’m sure it’s going to be difficult for you,” Millicent continued, apparently unaware of Anna’s brimming anger. The girl was pushy and brazen. “I wish I could have come and helped.” Millicent lowered her head. “It’s been hard these last few months.”

  Anna’s body became what felt like a large welt of flames. “Perhaps you mean the entire five years of your marriage.” Anna would not succumb to the pain of losing Edward coupled with her feelings of having misjudged and failed Serine. Millicent, in whom Anna had envisioned Edward’s worst traits, became Anna’s target. “You don’t love my son.”

  Millicent’s soft dark eyes ran dry of life, and lent a whisper of vulnerability against her ebony skin. “That’s not true,” she said.

  Those words only fueled Anna’s anger. “You don’t think Theo is ambitious enough. Tell the truth.”

  “Theo has his goals.”

  “They’re just not as important as yours or time with your father?” Anna retorted. Millicent arched her back as if to regain composure in the defiant way that had crossed Anna the first time she had met Millicent. “Don’t let your father-in-law’s posthumous dramatics in those notes fool you into thinking that I don’t see what’s happening. You’ve never meant my son well. He’s been your lap dog, a punching bag to empty your frustrations on through this sham of a marriage. He gets the anger your father deserves.”

  “I’m going to assume that you’re hurt by the death of Father Manning,” Millicent said. “And that you’ve lost all reasoning. Especially in light of all that it took for you to accept him back.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know all too well what your marriage and Theo’s life was like growing up in this house with his father away all the time,” Millicent stammered. “Edward’s dilly dallying with everyone about town and across the globe.”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  “Never. Neither will I let you stand here and insult me about my marriage that I’ve worked hard at trying to make succeed.”

  “Oh, you mean like those late night meetings with your father that stretch into the morning?” Anna said. “Thelonius is no foreigner to having his own trysts.”

  “
You know nothing about my father.”

  “I know everything I need to. He is everything and more than Edward was.”

  “My father may have made mistakes, but at least he found a way to apologize before death came knocking at his door,” Millicent said.

  “I won’t have you stand here in my house and speak of Edward, no, Father Manning, as you so like to call him.”

  “I’ll speak of him as I see fit,” said Millicent. “Don’t stick your nose into things you know nothing about.”

  “Get out,” Anna yelled.

  “Perhaps I will, and take Theo with me.”

  The door opened. Theo entered.

  “There you are. Some of the guests were asking about you,” he said to Anna on approaching her. “Should I tell them you’re resting?”

  Anna calmed her anger. Perhaps Theo would think she was up set about Edward, her loss, their loss. She eyed Millicent, her head down and observing the carpet. Theo popped back to Millicent as if he had recalled something. Ushering her toward Anna he said, “Have you told, Mom.”

  What could it be now? Anna wondered.

  Millicent shook her head, no.

  “Well if you won’t then—” Theo gleamed. “Mom, Millicent is pregnant. We’re going to have a child, same as Linda and Brad.” Millicent’s head shot up. “Linda’s pregnant?”

  “I didn’t tell you, but she’s seven months,” Theo said, and then turning back to Anna added, “Millicent is five months.”

  “I thought our son would be born into his own space.” Millicent said with a frown.

  “Think of it this way, he’ll have a cousin who can be like a brother.” Theo patted her hand and smiled.

  There she goes again, focused on self, and wanting her own space. The girl knows nothing of sharing. On closer inspection, Anna realized a bulge forming within Millicent’s thin frame. She smiled as best she could.

  “I’m happy for you,” Anna said. She leaned over and kissed then hugged Theo. To Millicent she said, “This must be a surprise.”