by Diane Moody
“That’s what love does. It seeks out ways to express itself, to lift one another up. And anyone could see that was the case between you and Jed.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Feeling Aubrey’s eyes on him, Peyton turned his attention toward her with the distinct impression she wasn’t altogether appreciating the conversation.
“Aubrey, I’m sure you must have known how proud of you your father has always been.”
Her brows arched again. “Yes, I did. Dad and I were very close, Pastor Gellar.”
“Please, call me Peyton. But I didn’t mean—”
“Where are my manners,” Faye said, standing at once to leave the room. “I’ll be right back.”
“Mom, where are you going?” Aubrey started after her mother.
“No, no. You stay, Aubrey. Never mind me,” she answered, her voice drifting down the hall. “You two sit and chat.”
Aubrey sighed and took her seat again.
“I’m sorry, is there something I need to know about?” Peyton asked quietly. “Faye seems … I can’t quite put my finger on it, but different somehow.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” she answered quietly. “She’s been acting so strange. Mom has always been the more emotional one in our family, but now, apart from a few tears now and then, she’s acting like it’s business as usual.”
Aubrey stopped and glanced down at her hands. “My father has died, and I keep expecting her to fall apart and sob or something. That’s her way. But since I’ve been home, she’ll start to get weepy then suddenly shift gears. Like she’s trying to distract herself.”
“That’s actually not so unusual,” he said. “We all handle grief in different ways. I think she’s probably right about being in shock. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. My guess is, she’ll fall apart at some point. Until then, just be patient with her.”
She stared at him briefly. Peyton wondered if she doubted what he said or maybe resented him for being here in the first place.
“Did my father say anything to you about—”
“Here we go,” Faye said, carrying a tray. She set it down on the coffee table between the sofas. “I apologize for not serving you when you first arrived, Pastor.”
Peyton watched as Faye cut a portion of some kind of pastry from an open box of Sara Lee and put it on a dessert plate.
“Mother? What is this?”
Faye looked over her shoulder at her daughter. “It’s coffee cake. Here you go, Pastor.”
Aubrey said nothing more, but declined when Faye handed her a plate.
“Thank you, though you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.” Peyton took a bite, pausing briefly once he tried to chew. His eyes darted to Aubrey who seemed to be watching his every move. He smiled with his mouth closed, the stale cake tasting quite peculiar. He wasn’t sure he should swallow but spitting it out would be rude.
He widened his eyes as he looked again at Aubrey. She seemed to pick up on his unspoken plea.
She stood, reaching over to close the carton then taking the plate from Peyton. “Mother, let’s save the rest of this for later, all right?”
“But—”
“In fact, we should probably ask Pastor Gellar to come another time. I’m sure we need to discuss some plans for the funeral service with him, but right now, I think it’s best for you to go lie down.”
“But I’m not tired, Aubrey.”
Peyton took his cue. “That’s all right, Faye. I actually need to get back to the church. How about we meet tomorrow morning. We can make whatever arrangements are necessary then. That will give you a chance to rest.”
“Oh? Well, all right then,” she said, rubbing her hands together.
Peyton stood. “But before I go, would you allow me to pray for you and your daughter?”
“Yes, Pastor. Please.”
They formed a circle, he and Faye joining hands. Aubrey took her mother’s hand then Peyton’s before bowing her head.
He prayed for both of them, for their unexpected loss, for the beautiful life Jed had lived, and for the life he had shared with Faye and Aubrey. He asked God to comfort them in the days ahead, to fill them with His presence and compassion, and to help them in their time of grief.
Afterward, he gave Faye another gentle hug and extended his hand to Aubrey.
“Please let me know if there’s anything you need,” he told Aubrey as she led him to the front door. “Your mother has my cell number.”
“Thank you, Pastor.”
“It’s Peyton, remember? I’m not the formal type, as you might have guessed.”
She smiled with an odd expression, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to think of him.
“Then thank you, Peyton. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 3
After seeing the young pastor out the front door, Aubrey joined her mother in the kitchen. “Mom, what is going on?”
“What do you mean?” Faye closed the boxed coffee cake and set it aside.
Aubrey folded her arms across her chest. “This,” she said, glancing down at the Sara Lee carton. “You hate store-bought pastries. You’ve always forbidden any kind of packaged cakes or pies or cookies in your kitchen. So how is this even in the house?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I just …” She didn’t say more, just wiped her hands on a dish towel.
Aubrey reached for the carton and flipped it over.
“What are you doing?” Faye snapped, trying to take it from her.
“I’m looking for the expiration date. See? Here it is. It’s three weeks past.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, and there are a couple of spots of mold.”
“Surely not?”
“I think we need to put it out of its misery.” She deposited the carton in the trash bin under the sink.
“Oh, please don’t—”
“Mom, have you stopped baking?”
“What a silly question.”
“But you’ve always loved to bake. You used to send me tins of snickerdoodles and lemon poppyseed scones all the time. Everyone in my office loves them. Why did you stop sending them?”
“Oh sweetie, I’m too busy at the shop for all that baking.”
“Do you still make chocolate chip cookies for your customers? I remember Dad telling me they’d fly off the plate once the store opened. He said everyone raved about them.”
She looked at Aubrey for a moment, then glanced down at her hands. “No, I guess I stopped doing that a while back.”
“But why?” Aubrey asked quietly, resting her hand on her mother’s. “What is it, Mom? What’s going on?”
Aubrey felt the tension inside her again. Something was wrong; something beyond the shock and grief. She studied her mother’s expression, the deep crease between her brows, her worried eyes, her lips parted as if trying to form an answer.
Then Aubrey stopped, reminding herself that her mother had just lost the love of her life. Rather than pelt her with questions, she ought to give her a break.
She pulled Faye to her side and hung her arm over her mother’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you such a hard time. I’m just worried about you.”
“But I’m all right, Aubrey,” she answered quietly, pulling away from her. “So you mustn’t treat me like I’m an invalid.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And certainly not in front of my friends. Why, I can’t imagine what Pastor Gellar must think.”
“He seemed fine to me. That was nice of him to stop by.” She turned to reach for the tea kettle then filled it from the faucet. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll make us some tea.”
Once the tea was brewing in their cups, Faye drummed her fingers on the small kitchen table. “What do you suppose it’s like? Heaven, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll know until we’re there.”
“I was just wondering if your father knows you’re here. He’d
be so pleased. He was planning a trip for us to New York to surprise you for your birthday.”
Aubrey smiled. “He was?”
“Yes, and he was already shopping online for which Broadway show we might all see together. I told him you would probably have plans, but he said that was fine. That we’d just work around your busy schedule.”
“But I would’ve made time for you. Surely, you know that. I would have loved having you both come visit.”
Faye stirred her tea. “I guess I should make sure to cancel the airline tickets.”
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
“You’re probably right.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The grandfather clock in the entry hall chimed at the half hour.
Aubrey set her teacup back on the saucer. “Mom, do you have any idea where Dad kept his important papers? Where we’d find a copy of his will or anything like that?”
“Probably in his roll-top desk in the study.”
“Do you know if he had any specific wishes, if something happened to him?”
Faye glanced up at her. “No, I don’t know. We never talked about that sort of thing. He’d often bring it up or want to explain this or that to me, but you know how I am. I’ve always left the paperwork and finances to him. I wouldn’t have a clue where to start with that sort of thing.”
“That’s okay,” Aubrey said. “We can sort it out later.”
Except that it wasn’t okay. She realized she would have to step in to help her mother. Not just here at home, but at the shop as well.
“I wish Aubrey Lynn was still alive,” Faye said. “She’d know what to do.”
Aubrey Lynn Evans. Aubrey’s namesake, her paternal grandmother. A renowned academician in the field of economics, Dr. Aubrey Lynn Evans taught the subject for years at Ole Miss before she was named department chair. She held that position for more than twenty-five years. Already widowed by the time she retired, she returned to Memphis to live in the mother-in-law suite Jed built for her in their new home in Germantown, a suburb just west of Memphis.
With Aubrey’s father flying all over the world and her mother busy in the Memphis society circles, young Aubrey spent hours with Gran who shared her passion for math and finance and inspired her to reach for the stars. While other girls her age hung out at shopping malls and flirted with the boys at school, Aubrey filled notebooks with mathematical equations and cost-analysis spreadsheets.
The reality hit her sometime later that she was much closer to her grandmother than to her own mother. A fact of life that wasn’t necessarily good or bad; it was simply the landscape in which they lived their lives.
Aubrey Lynn Evans died just two weeks before Aubrey graduated from Ole Miss.
“Do you think your father’s with her now?”
Aubrey blinked, returning from her memories. “With Gran?”
“Yes.”
“Of course he is, Mom.”
“You know, she was crazy about you from the day you were born. But she really didn’t care much for me.”
“That’s not true! Why would you say such a thing?”
“Oh, just the way a person knows when another person merely tolerates them.”
“I’m sure you’re imagining things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aubrey cringed at the abrupt tone of her mother’s voice. “What’s what supposed to mean?”
“You said I was imagining things, but I’m not. I think I’m smart enough to know when someone likes me and when they don’t. And your precious grandmother made no bones about the fact that I should have stayed home more and taken more interest in your life, when the fact of the matter was, the two of you left no room for me. You had your own little club of which I was never welcome.”
Aubrey froze, stunned by the accusation. She couldn’t even think how to respond. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it.
She took a deep breath and shook it off. “Look, Mom, it’s been a really long day. Why don’t we have a bite to eat, then get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, so we should probably make it an early night.”
“Yes, you’re right. I suppose we should.” A complete change of tone, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“What time did that young man say to meet him in the morning?”
“You mean Peyton?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t say what time, but I’ll call him once we get up.”
Faye stood. “All right, sweetheart. You go unpack, and I’ll fix us something to eat.”
“Okay.”
Aubrey took their teacups to the sink and stood there a moment, glancing at the area on the floor where her father had taken his last breath. A chill rustled up her spine. Suddenly, she turned and pulled her mother into a tight hug. She struggled to speak, the pesky boulder in her throat trying to choke her words again. “Oh Mom, I’m missing Daddy so much.”
Faye pulled back and reached up to press her palm against her daughter’s cheek. “I know, honey. I miss him too.”
“The house is so quiet without him. I miss hearing him sing all the time. All those Nat King Cole songs he loved so much.”
“Me too.”
Aubrey dipped her head, resting her forehead against her mother’s.
“Do you remember the song he always sang whenever you’d be home?” Faye asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Barely above a whisper, her mother sang the sentimental lyrics. “Stay as sweet as you are …”
That’s as far as she got. Neither of them could utter another word, and none were necessary.
Mother and daughter, together in their grief.
Chapter 4
The next morning, they met with Peyton in his tiny office at the church. He asked several questions, taking notes as to their preferences regarding the memorial service. He was quite thorough, and Aubrey had to admire his kind and attentive manner, especially toward her mother. Of course, this was his profession, she reminded herself. It’s how he makes his living. But for one so young, he sure seemed a natural at it.
But it was more than that. Aubrey could tell this was personal for Peyton. She couldn’t help the pinprick of jealousy needling through her as she listened to him talk about her father in such loving terms. It was a childish response on her part, but she couldn’t seem to let it go.
Afterward, he drove them to the funeral home where they were led down a quiet hall to a room with a sign showing her father’s name. Inside, an open casket.
“I’ll be out here if you need me,” Peyton said, moving to a row of seats in the hallway.
Aubrey took a breath, trying to still the beating of her heart as she and her mother entered the room. As they neared the casket, a lump much larger than before wedged itself in her throat. She wrapped her arm around her mother at her side.
“I should have been here, Mom,” she whispered. “I should have come home more often. And now he’s gone, and there are so many things I wish I’d asked him. So many things I wish I’d said to him.”
“Oh sweetie, none of that matters now,” Faye said, her own voice hushed. “Don’t you go there. Your father loved you, and he was so proud of you, honey. He had no regrets, and neither should you. He had a lifetime of memories of his little girl going all the way back to the day he first held you in his arms.”
Odd, but the first response in Aubrey’s mind wasn’t about her father. It was about her mother and how coherent and sharp she was today. As if a fog had lifted.
But the second response was more troubling. Aubrey fought her emotions. She tried to reason with herself, wanting to believe her mother’s sweet assurances, but knowing in her heart she’d been too caught up in her own life to make time for her parents over the last few years. And now this.
“Your father was the sweetest man I’ve ever known. I didn’t deserve him, but he sure made me feel like a queen. Oh Aubrey, I don’t know what I’m
going to do without him …”
She cradled her mother against her shoulder and let her weep. Though her own eyes stung, no tears fell. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried and wondered what was wrong with her. She inhaled, pushing back the realization, trying to keep her focus during this final visit with her father.
Aubrey glanced again at his lifeless body, his white hair trimmed neat as always, the familiar laugh lines framing his closed eyes. His warm smile was missing, though a hint of it remained. Not even death could steal the evidence of her father’s contagious happiness.
When their visit was over, they accompanied Peyton to an office where they discussed the arrangements for Jed’s memorial service with one of the funeral home directors. As a veteran of the Vietnam War, her father would be buried with full military honors. The gentleman assured them all the necessary arrangements would be made.
Somehow, she and her mother plodded through the next couple of days as a steady stream of friends stopped by to offer their condolences, many bringing food. Hot meals, cakes and pies, and offers to help however they could.
On the morning of the funeral, as their limousine turned into the entrance of the Veteran’s Cemetery on the western fringe of Nashville, Aubrey was amazed at the solemn beauty of the rolling hills covered with thousands of white stone crosses. An immediate sense of hushed reverence for the men and women buried here seemed to envelop them as they passed by. On a distant hill near the mausoleum, an American flag fluttered in the breeze, its red, white, and blue bunting waving brightly against the blue autumn sky. As they wound along the road leading to the chapel, her mother pointed to a doe grazing between rows of markers. Beside her, a young fawn walked on long, spindly legs.
“Look there. You see, Aubrey? Life goes on. We’re here to say goodbye to your father, and yet new life is here too. That little one is just getting started.”
“I’ve never seen a real fawn with the white spots,” Aubrey said. “Not with my own eyes, I mean. Such beautiful creatures.”
Faye reached for her hand after the limo came to a stop in front of the chapel, then the two of them stepped out onto the pavement. The octagonal building featured brick pillars at each of the eight points, with wide floor-to-ceiling windows between each of them, all beneath a pointed tin roof. The funeral guide escorted them through thick clusters of townsfolk, many of them touching her mother’s arm or offering a quick hug as she passed. He held the door to usher them into the crowded room, then led them to take their seats on the front row of chairs.