by Jon Mills
“It’s still at the funeral home on Creekside Drive?”
“Of course. I’ll see you there.”
He hung up.
Some families held the wake the day before the burial while others preferred to have it all in the same day. She had a feeling it would all be done in one fell swoop. She envisioned her father returning to his routine by the next day. To some it might have appeared cold, but that was just him. His life was like most from his generation. He’d learned a trade instead of attending college. He’d gone on to work as a mechanic for a local garage while her mother had been a stay-at-home mom until they were old enough for her to return to her job as a caregiver at a local nursing home. There wasn’t a night he didn’t come home with grease under his fingernails. She’d got used to the smell of oily blue coveralls, and orange-scented hand cleaner as he washed grime from his hands before taking a seat at the dinner table. They’d always had dinner promptly at six on weekdays, and five on the weekends. The regimen in his life had come from his time in the military. When he wasn’t in his work clothes he wore jeans and shirts, always long-sleeved shirts. After dinner he would sit in a chair in the living room, with a cup of cocoa, and listen to the radio and no one was allowed to disturb him. Even after the Internet was found in almost every household in America, he’d still opt to tune into 55.6 FM. That was before Charlie was taken. In the years after the abduction he’d been the first to bounce back, to accept what he felt was inevitable — that Charlie would never return. Her mother on the other hand wouldn’t entertain the thought. When she wasn’t making flyers, speaking with locals in the neighborhood or canvassing the area for information, she would retreat to the basement and pore over information she’d collected from newspapers and her conversations with the county sheriff department. Some said that if it wasn’t for her persistence, they would have never caught Kyle Harris. After the trial, her mother began to have doubts. Her doctor notched it up to stress; locals said it was grief.
“Anything else I can get you?” the peppy waitress asked.
“Just the bill. Thanks.”
Kara tossed down a few dollars for a tip and paid up front before heading out. A fine rain started to fall. That was one thing she didn’t miss.
Within ten minutes she was back out on the highway, and twenty minutes later she was driving into town. The main thoroughfare cutting through Blackmore was lined with rows of small businesses and residential homes. For the most part it was filled with blue-collar workers — hard-working folks who knew the value of a dollar and would bend over backwards to help a neighbor. Several kids rode their bikes down the sidewalk, an elderly man raked brown leaves from his yard, and faded American flags flapped in the breeze outside nearly every porch. She stopped at a stop sign, hung a right and drove past an elementary school with kids chasing each other outside in the playground. As the SUV rolled past homes slowly Kara reminisced. She drove through some of her old stomping grounds and saw the street her best friend lived on, and the neighborhood where her first crush gave her a kiss. Beyond that was a playground that now held nothing more than an aged, rusted frame minus swings. Homes were boarded up; a convenience store she used to visit had been turned into a bicycle shop. So much had changed. Residents lined the sidewalks going about their day. She slammed on her brakes as a young kid darted out after a ball, and then was quickly whisked away by an angry father. A white-haired woman stared at her as she collected letters from her colorful mailbox. As far back as she could remember, she always had a sense that people were gawking and thinking the same thing — there goes Charlie Walker’s sister. The missing kid’s sibling. The one that got away. How sad. She didn’t want their pity, and she quickly grew tired of being asked how her parents were doing. What about her? Didn’t anyone want to know if she was okay? After all, she was still alive.
She veered right on to Creekside Drive and eased off the gas as she pulled up outside Franklin Funeral Home. It was a bland-looking one-story structure. The double parking lot was full causing everyone else to park along the street. Kara continued on, and finally found a spot on the opposite side of the road. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as she applied the brakes. She glanced at her face in the side mirror before pushing out and joining the line of people streaming in. Most she didn’t recognize. Who were all these people? She couldn’t recall her parents having this many friends. The few she did notice glanced at her with curious faces and strained smiles. Two of her cousins, Milly and Trish, approached and gave her a warm hug and offered their condolences. It was very surreal, as she’d only met them a few times at a family reunion. She scanned the faces for her father but couldn’t pick him out. No doubt he was in one of the back rooms taking a swig from his steel flask, or arguing with the minister about what words should be said.
Several people were signing a registry book nearby, while others huddled in small groups chatting in low voices. It was her Uncle Rob, from her father’s side of the family, that appeared to be in charge of the whole event. He was standing with his wife, Janice, and directing friends and relatives into the chapel where the casket was or towards the bathrooms. He spotted her from across the room and elbowed his way through the crowd. He was a short, pudgy man but with a kind face.
“Kara. My dear, I’m so sorry.” He embraced her for what felt like an uncomfortable amount of time before stepping back.
She dipped her head.
Kara expected to hear that at least a few hundred times before the day was out. No one really knew what to say, especially when someone had taken their own life. Rob’s approach was to change topic.
His eyes widened. “Wow, you have really grown up. The last time I saw you…”
“I was twenty.”
He jabbed his finger. “That’s right, at the trial.” He shook his head and looked at the crowd before turning back to her. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Thanks.”
“So what have you been up to? Last time I spoke with Anna she said you were an investigator within the New York State Police. Is that right?”
“It is.”
“That’s good. I caught some of the news about the Swanson case. Terrible. I think they’re on the right track with it though. I’m certain it was one of the parents. Do you know if they are going to indict them?”
“Um.”
Her mind was elsewhere, far from the case.
Before she could say anything he frowned. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” She asked. Half listening, and half gawking around the room, she noticed someone she hadn’t seen since high school — it was Bobby Evans and by the band on his finger, the two kids rushing around his legs and the scolding he was getting from Lisa Brown, it looked as if he was married. Gone was the full of head of hair, and the swagger that had once caught her attention. It had now been replaced by a bald head, a goatee, and a dad bod. The years had certainly been unkind to him. To think she’d been into him. They locked eyes for a second, then Rob distracted her.
“You know, you working on those cases after all you’ve been through...”
She registered what he said and paused for a second before replying. “Someone has to catch these bastards, right?” Kara stared back at him with a deadpan expression.
He snorted, nodded then gripped her gently by the forearm. “Well look, welcome home. We’ll catch up after the funeral. Your aunt can’t wait to chat. I think your father arranged to have us back at the house for coffee and sandwiches.”
Great, that meant even more awkward moments. All she wanted to do was pay her respects to her mother, attend the funeral and retreat from the crowds but that wasn’t going to happen, at least not for a few hours.
“How’s he been?” she asked.
He pursed his lips and screwed up his face. “Not good. The doctor gave him some meds to help but you know him, he won’t take them and it doesn’t matter what you tell him, he refuses to listen. Stubborn as a mule. Maybe you’ll have some better luck.”
“Where is he?”
“Probably out back having a cigarette.”
Someone called out to Rob and he excused himself and disappeared into the crowd. After battling through an endless stream of friends and relatives on both sides of the family she eventually made her way into the chapel. Flowers surrounded the closed rosewood casket at the far end; dark drapes hung behind it and either side were two yellow glowing lights. There was no one else in the room. On top of the casket was a beautiful color photo of her mother from better days. The sight of her was overwhelming. Either side of the room were pews. Kara took a deep breath and walked up to the casket. Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for a tissue to dab the corners. She stood there for several minutes staring at the photo. She was full of questions. Why had it taken this many years for her to give up? Why had she given up? Why didn’t she reach out and ask for help? How could this have happened under the same roof as her father? She’d only spoken with her a week prior and there were no signs of depression. Sure, she got choked up over the topic of Charlie but that was to be expected. In fact her mother sounded optimistic, that was something that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Kara shook her head trying to come to grips with her death.
There were so many unanswered questions.
She placed her hand on the casket and closed her eyes.
There were so many things she wanted to ask her but it was too late. Kara turned her head slightly at the sound of a shuffle to find her father approaching. He smelled like cheap cologne, as if he’d sprayed it on heavy to mask the stench of the alcohol. He didn’t look at her but just stared at the coffin with an absent look in his eyes.
“You think she would have liked the flowers?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“I couldn’t decide between white carnations or yellow roses, so I went with both.”
She nodded. “I’m sure she would have been okay with either.” Kara took a deep breath. “How are you?”
There was a moment before he replied. “Well I still haven’t finished building that window seat. And there’s a leak coming in somewhere in the basement.”
It was typical. Instead of spilling how he really felt he hid behind unfinished projects. Her mother had been pleading for years to have him build a window seat. He’d started but like everything in his life, it fell by the wayside.
She sighed. Silence stretched between them, then he did what he usually would when he felt uncomfortable — he would turn the tables.
“How’s things with you?”
Kara shrugged. “Where do I begin?” She explored the depths of the chaos inside her head. It was just a swirling mass of disconnected thoughts tied together by nothing more than a thin veil she called her life. As much as she judged her father for holding back, she was equally guilty of only telling people what she thought they wanted to hear. “I’m still taking the pills if that’s what you’re asking.”
He nodded. “I know someone that can help.”
She scoffed and shook her head. Instead of responding to that she took a page out of her father’s book and flipped the conversation back to him.
“I’ll be here for a couple of days, so I can give you a hand with boxing up mom’s things, clothes, and whatnot, if you want?”
“That would be good.”
“Yeah?”
“Um. Well. Maybe we should hold off, just for a week or two until I can…” He trailed off and she could tell he was still in the thick of shock. Charlie had been a different case completely. Within a year he wanted his room cleared out, and clothing given to Goodwill. He’d even been the one to try and get her mother to go through his room but she wouldn’t. It was too hard. Right up until the day she died, she hung on to the hope that he would return. That’s why they hadn’t moved to another home, or touched his room.
“Sure. Not a problem,” Kara replied.
“Everyone is coming back to our place for a bite to eat. You hungry?”
His questions seemed so off-the-wall but she was used to it.
“A little.” She paused. Nothing but silence before she continued. “Well, I should go and see Auntie Janice and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Help. Right,” he muttered.
She turned to leave.
“Mom would be pleased you came. I’m glad you were able to fit it into your busy schedule.”
Kara caught the sarcasm but let it slide.
Chapter 4
Later, a light rain fell over the crowd beneath a brooding sky as they gathered in Blackmore Cemetery. The muddy ground had turned into quicksand sludge and caked the bottom of everyone’s pant legs and shoes as they made their way to the final resting place of Anna Marie Walker. Kara pulled at her tailored dark raincoat, and held an umbrella as a minister stood at the foot of the rosewood coffin supported by a hydraulic frame rig over a freshly dug grave. She stood beside her father who smelled of bourbon, and Camel cigarettes. Every few seconds he would tug at his shirt collar, and adjust his black suit. Uncle Rob and Janice were across from them with their three kids. To the right of them was her mom and dad’s therapist, Lloyd Benson, a middle-aged man who had been their lifeline through the nineties. His chin was dipped, wearing what looked like an expression of failure. To his right was Barbara Stein, late sixties, a large woman that hid her heavy frame below loose-fitting clothes. She’d been her mother’s hairdresser and close friend. She would glance over from time to time but avoid eye contact. It was only then, as the minister went through a prayer, that she noticed tears roll down Rob’s face. Out the corner of her eye she noticed her father gripping a red stress ball. It was the same one given to him by a friend twenty-five years ago. He scrunched it in his hand and clenched his jaw as if trying his best to contain his emotions. He didn’t cry but then again she couldn’t recall him being any different after Charlie was taken. Her father had never been one to show his emotions at home, let alone in front of the public. However that could have been the result of descending into a Valium fog. She could hear the steady patter of rain on umbrellas and puddles, the religious words of the minister, and the gentle sobbing from relatives. Although her eyes welled up, no tears fell as Kara had practically drained the well dry the night before at the hotel. Now she looked on, feeling nothing more than a numb ache.
Death was painful in ways words couldn’t express. It put a person’s existence into perspective and brought all of life’s so-called urgent matters to a grinding halt. Having been invited to many funerals over the course of her career by families of the murdered, she’d become accustomed to the finality. Death showed no preference; rich, poor, good, bad, young, old, religious or not. It didn’t matter. When it was time it was time, and no amount of griping at how unfair life was changed it one iota.
She scanned the fair-sized crowd of dark suits and tried to put names to the rest of the sincere faces. It was a mixture of friends, neighbors and those who’d worked with her mother over the years; there was even the former sheriff of Clallam County, Robert Smith. He’d assisted in the case along with a number of detectives, FBI agents and special agents from the Washington State Patrol’s CID division. He was the only one in attendance from law enforcement.
“Today we say farewell to Anna Marie Walker, beloved wife, mother, sister and cherished friend. We are here today to pay our respects and to show our love and support for the Walker family. Not only have we felt the loss of Anna’s passing but also our thoughts are with the family through this challenging time. And let’s not forget that we are here to give and receive comfort. Our hearts ache over the death of God’s beloved child. It’s human nature to want to understand why and maybe one day we will but for now God would have us lean on him and trust that all is as it should be.”
He then began quoting passages from scripture. Each one as meaningless as the next, being as her father had given up religion the day he lost his son. It was done for her mother’s sake. It was her wish. As he continued to drone on about
the Lord’s will, the sound of crunching gravel caught her attention as an old, rusted-up blue pickup truck with dark tinted windows pulled up on the rise of the hill overlooking the tombstones. Kara squinted through the downpour. The window moved ever so slightly but not enough to see who was inside. It idled for a minute or two, kicking out a large plume of white exhaust smoke, then drove on. Kara might not have given it much thought if it wasn’t for her father eyeing it with a look of death and cursing under his breath.
“Mr. Walker, would you care to give the eulogy?”
Kara wasn’t aware that her father would speak at the funeral. She’d barely managed to get two words out of him since arriving. He broke away from the crowd and took a moment to deliver a heartfelt speech about when and where he’d met his wife. He thanked her for keeping him sane through the loss of their youngest, Charlie. However, he didn’t mention anyone else; even though Kara had practically taken on the job of a mother after the abduction because her parents weren’t able to function. Neither did he mention Uncle Rob or Janice who stepped in to watch over her while they attended therapy sessions, nor her mother’s numerous speaking engagements around the country to discuss the dangers for children. It was all about him. Once he was finished he melted back into the crowd. One of the cemetery groundskeepers moved forward.
As the minister wrapped up, he stepped back so the groundskeeper could switch on the hydraulics that would lower the coffin into the ground. Her mother had been adamant that she didn’t want to be cremated. Something about fire and what if she wasn’t actually dead? Kara couldn’t see what the difference was. Being trapped in a box seemed a lot worse. Her father stepped forward and scooped up a handful of soil and released it over the top. Everyone else was invited to the do the same but being as the mud around the grave had turned into a mini landslide of gunk, only family members participated.