Ahren.
He remembered.
He took my hand and led me to the graves, a few short steps away, and I saw that he’d placed a cupcake on each one, all with a single white candle. I sat at the end of Mom’s grave and saw that her glass was empty. I noticed the other two were also empty. “Ahren?” I asked with alarm in my voice.
“What is it, baby?” he replied warmly.
“Someone drank their whiskey! Who would do that? That’s like stealing flowers from one person’s grave and putting them on someone else’s!”
“Gen…” He pulled me toward him to sit in his lap. He was wearing his black suit with a lack, collared shirt, this time with a tie that matched my dress. “I took a walk through the woods, a year ago. I watched you pour three glasses and sing Happy Birthday to yourself. And I watched you cry.” He brushed his thumb down my cheek as I closed my eyes and listened to his words. “I used to leave a drink for my parents, but one night, I finished the bottle I’d taken there with me. I woke up and saw their glasses were still full, and that fucking killed me. Never again would they share a drink with me, and I hated that you were going to come out in the morning and find those glasses still full.”
I thought about it and quickly realized they were never full when I came back to get them. Not anymore.
I lifted my face to see his eyes were wet, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“They’re here in spirit, Gen.” He held my face in his strong hands, so tenderly. My thoughtful, beautiful man, who had taken his time, mostly, been gentle with my heart, and knew my pain first hand. “Happy Birthday.”
****
Ahren
With three shots of whiskey, four beers, and two glasses of champagne, Ahren thought he should have felt drunker than he was. He knew Gen would go to the cemetery. Part of him hoped she’d be so distracted with the happy occasion of Rocky’s wedding that she’d forget. He knew her better than that though. She would never forget, just like he wouldn’t either. There is a solitude in grief that very few people can comprehend, unless they, too, have experienced it. Ahren understood all too well what that felt like, so, as he sat there and held Gen in his arms, the warm autumn breeze picking up as the night wore on, he realized, for the first time ever, that solitude had been extinguished. He loved his parents; he missed them all the time, but those moments, when his thoughts turned to them with sadness, were now replaced with something else. Hope. With every seed he’d planted, and the work he had put into the garden to bring it back to its former glory, the repairs to the house, and the little dock on the river that had rotted into the bank…he was building a home.
He held Gen as the wedding guests watched Cosmo assist Rocky into Ahren’s canoe. The happy couple was staying at one of Mir’s cabins up the river, a cabin which Rocky had redecorated in exchange for a honeymoon getaway. Cosmo said they were going to Cabo in the spring since they would rather be home for the holidays and the lead up to the next big wedding to hit Greer’s Rest.
He turned Gen in his arms to face him and saw the pure exhaustion on her face. “Let’s go home.”
Later, as he held her soft, naked body against his, he knew before she did, she was pregnant. Something felt different. He knew every single inch of her, but now her breasts felt fuller, and she carried a tiredness in her eyes she was unaware of. He smiled in the dark, letting his fingers glide across the smooth skin of her belly, to dip between her legs as she let out a small sigh.
She stirred and curled her hand around his arm “You okay?” she asked sleepily.
“I am.” His fingers moved lightly across her hip. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’ve had a nap. I’m good.” She laughed in the dark.
He’d left the windows to their attic bedroom open. The night was still warm, not dipping below seventy degrees, even in that late hour. He remembered staying at a resort as a kid in Southern California. His parents had rented a house four blocks from a beach in San Diego. He clearly recalled waking in the middle of the night to the sound of crashing waves. Here, at Eden Hills, the sound he woke to was the creek of a giant hemlock that stood only ten feet from the house. That sound took him back to a time when he was a kid, when he had easy conversations with the woman lying next to him.
She’d collected what she called “treasure” from the cemetery and presented her findings to him.
“This is an acorn,” she’d announced proudly. “And it comes from an oak tree, and squirrels eat the inside. Dad says we can’t eat the inside.”
He remembered the feeling of pride he had when he informed her, “My dad knows about all trees and plants, and you can eat acorns. You just have to cook them first.”
“Really?” She’d moved from sitting cross-legged to her knees in an instant.
“Really.”
It wasn’t long before he looked forward to just talking with her. She was fun. She didn’t get creeped out by bugs or his curiosity about the cemetery. And he’d always thought she was pretty. Even way back then, the feelings stirred in his body, waking a desire that, a few years later, he understood to be inappropriate.
And now, almost positive that same girl was pregnant with his child, he had to admit, the road that led them to now, though painful, had been worth it.
“Tomorrow, Gen. We have something important to do.”
She suddenly sat up in bed and climbed on top of him. Her full breasts brushing against his chest, her hair still pinned at the sides as she announced, “Everything is good.”
He reached up to pull her down so he could kiss her…and hopefully do more, but he’d start there.
“No.” She took his hand and held it in hers. “We did it. It’s almost been a year. No one has died, no one has experienced a nervous breakdown, I have all my limbs and so do you… I feel…”
He used his other hand to pull her face to his as he explained, “I know, Gen. Believe me, this has not gone unnoticed. I fucking thank God every single day for hearing and answering my prayers. And my parents’. And yours. And your Gran’s, if you want to get technical about it.” He laughed. Then he kissed her smiling lips.
She pulled back just a touch to say against his mouth, “I love you, Ahren.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
****
Genevieve
Bryce had called me at exactly nine in the morning. He had to assume I would be nursing a hangover, though I wasn’t. Still…where was the love? Where was the understanding? Where was the—
“Cookie!” he shouted across the large common room. “Get your ass over here.”
I hated when he shouted. It wasn’t that Bryce was about to drop dead, or I certainly hoped he wasn’t, but he was old, and I didn’t think the stress was good for his heart.
“Yes, Bryce.” I grinned and plopped down in a chair next to his. “Ouch!” I said and grabbed my boob.
“Ya ever knock yourself out with those things?” he asked with eyebrows raised.
I cupped my breast protectively. “Um, no.” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “No, my boob hurts. Like, aches.” The other one did, too.
“Need me to massage ‘em?” He asked his dirty-old-man question with such concern, it took a minute to register before I burst out laughing.
“No, I’m good,” I replied. “Now, what’s so important you call me down here at the crack of dawn?”
“I need a ride.”
“Oh, a ride where?” I was so bummed I hadn’t brought cake. How could I have forgotten cake?
“The morgue.”
Huh? “And this would be because…”
“Gotta identify my brother. Pretty sure it’s him, they think, but I’m his only relative. Haven’t spoken in, oh, about twenty years. Somethin’ like that. It won’t take long.”
Although he sounded matter-of-fact about the whole thing, I guessed he wasn’t. Not really. Even if they hadn’t spoken in years, even if there was bad blood between them or something, I assumed it had affected h
im.
“Let me just okay it with Ruby and Cheryl, okay?” I got up too quick and was suddenly lightheaded. “Whoa.”
“Sure you’re okay there?” Bryce reached out to hold me steady.
“Yeah, I’m low on cake. And coffee. We’ll hit Brewster’s on the way. You can be my cake co-pilot.” I smiled, and he returned one of his own.
****
We stood at the window, a curtain was opened and the body bag unzipped. An entire minute had passed when Bryce finally said sadly, “Ah, Darryl, damn it.”
On the way to the morgue, Bryce shared that Darryl used to commute from Napa to Richmond. He worked at a refinery there. His shift started at seven in the morning, so he left well before the sun came up. One morning, he hit what he thought was a deer.
“Said it just darted right out of the shadows. He was shocked as shit when he got out of the car and found it was a woman. She jogged every morning, wore these radio headphone things. Anyway, left behind a husband, two little kids… He started drinkin’, couldn’t pull him out of it. Lost his job, started living on the street.” He looked over at that point in his story to say, “Sometimes, people want help. They fuck up their lives just enough they’re forced to get it. Sometimes, people don’t want help. They fuck up their lives so much, you can’t help even if you wanted to. He created different demons, so he wouldn’t have to face the one that haunted him since that day.”
I pulled the car over to the side of the road. We were at the stop light at the beginning of town. On one corner was a small gas station and convenience store—owned by Stu Cooper, who changed oil, tires, and wiper blades and still filled your gas tank while he washed your windows. I chose to drive into the gas station, but not because I needed any of those things. I pulled up to the air thingy used to fill the tires and jumped out before I puked…everywhere.
Bryce eventually made his way to me, as had Stu, armed with blue paper towels he used to clean the windshield, so basically sandpaper, and a fresh bottle of water.
Chad ran up next to us and said, “I was just filling up. She okay?”
Oh my good Lord. Another wave of nausea hit, and the rest of my pecan-pumpkin pie flew across the concrete path and neatly trimmed shrubs. Two sets of feet ran up, and there was Guava, pulling my hair back, and Rocky rubbing my back. Rocky must have been at her mom’s shop three doors down from the gas station. I was forced to drink some of the bottled water, and no sooner did I drink it, I felt it coming right back up with the remaining contents of my stomach.
“We should call Dr. Laverton,” Guava suggested. “Honey, did you eat something?” I was looking at the remnants of pie, which killed me, because I loved that pie. It was now going on my list next to Tikka Masala.
I shook my head and heard a screech of tires burn into the gas station. Heads turned, but I did not. No, because I wasn’t done hurling my guts yet.
A strong hand took over for Guava. Ahren kissed my neck as he fielded questions about what I’d had for breakfast, should they call the doctor, when he whispered, “Do you want them to know you’re pregnant?”
“Pregnant?” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Then I turned and puked again to the sound of hoots and clapping while Ahren laughed and continued to hold my hair and rub my back.
As far as work went, all was well in the world. Gloria had changed something in me. Maybe it was because I was pregnant, as well, but Genevieve Clare, Professional Mourner was unavailable due to personal reasons. I confided in Guava that I had serious misgivings about the interior design of holiday cabins. I had no interest in that at all. I imagined I’d sit in the office and do what I used to do for Dad. I’d answer the phone, hand out pamphlets of local attractions, help tourists find accommodation and recommend day drives. All of that sounded like fun to me.
Guava put everything into perspective by saying, “You’re going to have a new baby in the house. A baby that is about to shake the very core of who you are as a person and who you and Ahren are as a couple.”
I looked from the window of her shop across the street to Dad’s old office. Ahren and Cosmo had been busy fixing it up. I hadn’t been inside for a few years and had no interest in seeing it covered in dust, a relic of its former self. I hadn’t left it to rot with that intention. I didn’t go in because it was painful. Therefore, I left its transformation in the capable hands of the guys and explained I’d be across the street, helping Guava at the shop.
Our local doctor’s office was two blocks from Main Street. Apparently, I was one of those lucky women who suffer from severe morning sickness. Not only was I taking some expensive make-the-boat-stop-rocking anti-nausea medicine, I was working on a steady diet of saltine crackers and ginger ale. My eyes drifted across the street to Brewster’s. I longed for sugar and custard, cream filling and fried dough…but even the thought made bile rise into my throat.
And I missed coffee. The life force that was coffee would have to wait for another eight months. I didn’t even want to try to drink it for fear it would go on my list next to pie, a favorite food and beverage likely never to touch my lips again. I’d made a mistake when Bryce and I stopped at Brewster’s and bought three pieces of cake and pie. Bryce didn’t have much of an appetite, and I was absolutely starving. Famished. I licked the cardboard; I just couldn’t get enough. Had I stuck to the normal one-piece quota, I probably would have been all right.
Guava did not need my help. I was using her place as a vantage point to view the Cosmo and Ahren show. Richie had delivered a pile of wood for something or other. I didn’t know what. It was a surprisingly warm day for November. The sky was a beautiful bright blue, and my man was dressed in work boots, khaki work pants, and a tight, white t-shirt. His back was wet with sweat, and I sighed as he held an electric saw in one hand, his foot propped on the wood to steady it as he made a cut.
“Damn,” Guava said right next to me. “Cosmo is my son-in-law, and he is handsome, but Ahren… Damn.”
I had to agree with her on that. Even though I was feeling better, I was afraid to have sex for fear that would make me nauseous and ruin jiggy-jiggy along with pie. I decided to share this with Guava. “I’m afraid to have sex,” I stated.
Her eyes bored down on me. “Because of the baby?”
“No, because I don’t want my body to associate sex with vomit. Or the act of vomiting anyway.”
Guava didn’t just laugh, she had tears coming down her face she was laughing so hard.
“That is not helping me, Guava. Look at him over there, all man, building and sawing things. He works the garden and the cemetery at Eden Hills, comes to the porch for a drink I have waiting for him, and I swear, he could be covered head-to-toe in compost and I would still be happy to clean him with my tongue.”
She started to laugh again and said, “I had really bad morning sickness. It stopped after about three months. The doctor had said after the hormones peak I would start to feel better and I did.”
“I hope so. Pity all that hot is going to waste.” Guava made me some sort of herbal tea that sent me into a delightful slumber. Her shop was wall-to-wall candles, wind chimes, and other artsy-fartsy stuff crafted by locals. She also had two comfy chairs that beckoned me to take a load off.
****
“Thanks Guava,” Ahren whispered. I was being carried. I’d never felt more exhausted in all my life. Except after my parents and Gran died. Grief really took so much out of you and, apparently, growing a person did the same thing.
“Uh, Ahren?” I asked through my sleepy fog.
“Hey, baby.” His voice was soft. If he kept talking like that, I’d fall right back to sleep again.
“I can walk, you know.”
“And I can carry you.”
I decided not to argue with him. Once in the car, buckled in carefully and driving home, I noticed he was clean and in fresh clothes. “You showered,” I observed.
“Guava told me you were having a nap. I went home, got dinner ready, showered, and came back to get you.” He
turned onto the road that led to our house.
I snuggled into the seat and reached for his hand. “You looked sexy, all working-man, sweaty and outdoorsy.”
“You’ll feel better soon, and when you do, you can take advantage of me.”
Conversation was making me feel woozy, so I nodded.
Later that night, tucked into his side, Ahren told me how things were going to be from now on. He wasn’t usually bossy. He understood I’d been on my own for quite some time and would likely resist any man telling me what to do, even him. But I knew his brand of bossy came from a place of love.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
I nodded into his chest.
“Gen, you’re cutting back on the funerals, yeah?”
I pushed up and looked at his eyes. His voice was firm, not concerned, not warm, firm. Almost as if he was angry…or scared.
“Yeah, I put a notice on the site. I’ll do word-of-mouth for my oldies until I restructure.” My concern was for the old people. I had come to terms with the fact I wouldn’t be donning my little black hat any time soon, not for a good long while.
He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. Then he took my head in his hands, closed his eyes, and spoke. “We have lived, eaten, and breathed grief and death for a long time, Gen. Too long. I understand why you want to help those people, I get it, and if you want to work in a funeral home, in a place where you’re removed from the situation, I’m happy for you to do that. But this, what you’ve been doing, it’s more than a job; it’s personal.” He was right, but I’d never thought it was a negative thing either.
“Yeah, it is, but it’s not bad. I know where you’re coming from, but—”
“We’re getting married, we’re having a child, and that child will grow up next to a cemetery. That’s… I loved that as a kid, and you did, too. I don’t want to hide that from our child. In fact, I think we should get a dog.”
Confused, I needed more information on his random manic ramblings. “What?”
The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare Page 18