Wicked Games
Voices echo through the small space as we arrive at the restaurant and I look up at the gathered crowd. I brush the doorway with my shoulder not really watching where I’m going and stare unseeing at the thirty or so people scattered around the room waiting for us. There’s a buffet filling a long table off to one side. Some of the flowers from the church are situated in the corners in a failed attempt to brighten the dismal surroundings. As I look around, I wonder how Serena could have possibly arranged all of this.
“Ben, I can’t do it,” Serena says to me with tears in her eyes.
“I don’t understand,” I mumble.
“A few words about mom, I can’t get up there and say a few words about her,” she whispers.
I take her hand. “I’ll do it.”
The one thing I’m good at, the only thing that never fails me, is finding the right words. With a newfound strength, I make my way around and talk to those who knew my mother. Then as people begin to fill their plates, I find my sister and we stand together in the front of the room.
I clear my throat and everyone silences. “My sister and I want to thank all of you for coming today, for being a part of the celebration of our mother’s life. She was an amazing woman who endured a lot in her lifetime. She was the person who kept the people around her from falling apart. I suppose some of her superpower came from the loss of her husband and from being left to raise two children alone. In some people that hardship might have led to a hardening and pulling away. But not Grace Covington; she held a softness that everyone who knew her found amazing.”
I pause and look around the room filled with those who loved her—Joe the banker, Barb the florist, Noel the guy who took over my father’s shop, his wife, Faith, who was my mother’s best friend. Then I spot Dahl and River. I respect him for being here with her and comforting her. I’m not sure if I were in his situation, I could do the same. I continue speaking.
“I’m her younger child and I really don’t remember that young mom who was married to the man she loved beyond reason. But my sister told me what she remembers about our parents. She told me that in the loss of her husband and through her sorrow our mother only grew in wisdom and strength. She reached out in ways that I am just now becoming aware of. Through her loss she gained a different perspective on being a mother. She learned that love can help put back together things that don’t seem repairable.” I stop, choking on sobs as I try to get the words out. I glance up and spot the emerald green dress and red hair of S’belle Wilde. Suddenly my thoughts gallop off in a new direction. I know she’s a party planner—my sister must have hired her to plan all of this. She’s clearly in charge, pointing her finger and directing those around her what to do.
But my sister picks up the slack for me when I can’t find the words to continue. She takes a piece of paper from her purse. “I was thirteen when I read the following verse at my father’s funeral and the words are just as true today as they were then. ‘For this reason I bow my knees . . .’” She recites the bible verse she has kept close to her for so many years. Once she is done, together we thank everyone again for being there and I excuse myself needing some air.
I stagger outside and block out my surroundings for the longest time.
“Ben, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.” I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
I swing around to glare at him, trying to figure out if I should keep my mouth shut but I decide against it. “Jason, look, I know what you’re up to.”
“What would that be?”
“Using our loss and your son’s addiction to get back with my sister.”
“Is that what you think? Because the way I see it—she needs someone.”