“Cat still got your tongue?” I asked. Maybe he would say something else. I would not forget it. Not ever. Now I would know how important each moment was.
He opened his mouth, but I could see he couldn’t control his throat muscles. I knew this was one of the end stages of Parkinson’s. He hadn’t been able to eat solids for a long time, due to the choking hazard.
He enclosed my hand in his. He was struggling to stay awake now. I squeezed his fingers, a hand once so talented that the art world was at his command.
His finger slid along my palm. I thought his movements were involuntary until I recognized a letter.
I looked down. He was drawing a letter against my skin.
“P?” I asked him.
He gave one of the small nods.
Then an A.
Then I.
“Paint,” I said with a smile. “You’re still drilling that into me, right? Paint your pain?”
He shook his head for no.
“What should I paint, then?” I asked him.
The letters started up again.
H.
O.
P.
E.
Paint your hope.
Chapter 12: Corabelle
Tina and I sat in the front seat of my car long after Albert’s funeral was over. I wasn’t going to leave her side, not today.
Darion moved his hospital shift to attend the service, but he hadn’t anticipated that Tina would refuse to leave the cemetery. So, I took over when he had to go. I could still see the black Mercedes in my rearview mirror, inching along the narrow road through the gravestones.
Everyone else was gone. The turnout had been small. Albert’s girlfriend, Layla. A random uncle, clearly angling for information about the will. A couple other artists who had worked with Albert decades ago and managed to find out where the private ceremony would be.
Tina stared out the window at the semicircle of pillars that housed the ashes of those who had been cremated and stored. The flower stands were still all around, the ribbons fluttering. They wouldn’t last long in this weather. A crew would come along later to attend to that, I assumed.
The chairs were scattered on the turf mat beneath a small tent. Even though the service had been brief, just a few words by a funeral home attendant, the blustery cold had been hard to manage. When we hit the hour mark after the others had left, Darion and I convinced Tina to at least sit inside the car. I knew Darion had not wanted to leave her, but it would take him a while to arrange for his shift to be covered. He assured me he would be back.
I was fine just sitting here, looking out on the peace of the rolling hills. The cemetery was beautiful and well kept. I had nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do. Emotionally, I was barely holding it together myself. Between Jenny’s baby and Manuelito’s mother refusing to bring Gavin’s son back from Mexico, life had been difficult and strained.
Gavin was in Mexico City at the moment, trying to figure out if there was a way to force Rosa to give him visitation. When she hadn’t returned after Christmas, he had gone crazy trying to find her.
Eventually we learned that her missing family had turned back up, the cousins who had raised Manuelito from birth, and she wanted to stay with them. Gavin had been shut out.
I mostly felt numb about everything. I focused on grad school, classes, grading papers.
Except now. I reached over to grasp Tina’s wrist. She took a deep breath at my touch. “I’m so sorry, Tina,” I said. “I thought you were doing better.”
She shrugged. “I thought so too. It’s been a month. Maybe delaying the service was a bad idea.” She fingered the glass shell at her neck. Inside it was a small portion of Albert’s ashes. The rest had gone inside the pillar for Layla to visit. She had wanted someplace to go. Tina had wanted him with her. This had been their compromise.
Albert had no descendants, since his only daughter had died when his wife drove her car into the ocean with the young girl strapped in with her. As far as we could tell, the wayward uncle was the only family, and Albert had not had any contact with him since he was a child.
“Did that uncle get mentioned in the will?” I asked. Darion had kept the man away from Tina when he pestered her. Tina was the executor of Albert’s estate, and she spent the past month working with a lawyer to get everything straight and protect his copyrights.
“Yes, we’re throwing him a bone,” Tina said. “Ten thousand or something if he signs to stay away. The lawyer will handle it.”
She hadn’t talked much about the situation. She raised her hand to adjust the crocheted black cap on her head, and I let go of her wrist. She was so pale, so thin. I didn’t know how she kept going. The charcoal sweater and long wispy skirt made her look tragic and lost.
I didn’t know how to help her.
“We can go,” she said. “I’m ready to go.”
I turned the key in the ignition, wincing when the car sputtered a little to start. “It’s cranky when it’s cold,” I said, trying to laugh. It sounded hollow.