chapter Eleven
I take the front steps two at a time, just like I did as a kid when I didn’t know what else my long scrawny legs were good for. The white paint on the front porch is chipped, but the porch swing looks newly painted. A faded wreath, lonely and battered, hangs from the front door—a gift from Mama, I think. I was here mere days ago when I met with Juli, but it might as well be another lifetime. The house is strangely silent, like it stopped breathing right along with Uncle Robert. A heaviness settles in my gut and suddenly I’m so tired.
“Do you need a minute?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. Just a lot to think about.”
She nods and squeezes my arm while I fumble for the right key. Like it has my entire life, the lock sticks and I have to turn it extra hard to the right. The pins finally line up and the door opens with a loud crack of swollen wood and humidity.
The first thing to hit me is the smell. Granted, Uncle Robert had begun to smell like an old man over the years, but it’s the scent of eucalyptus that hits me hardest. And it’s not the menthol smell of cough drops and arthritis cream, but the real deal. I watch as Heather’s eyes take in the room before us.
“Quite the gardener, I see. I had no idea.”
“Aunt Angela once told him she loved the scent of eucalyptus at the florist’s, so he began growing it to please her.” Now, there are pots of it in every window and dried arrangements on most flat surfaces. To me, it’s the smell of home. “Piano wasn’t the only thing he excelled at.”
“No, of course not,” she says. “We all have hidden talents and passions.”
“Hidden talents and passions,” I repeat, rolling the phrase around on my tongue. “I like that. Much better than saying we all have secrets.”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” she says.
I head to the back of the house, past the parlor with the piano, to Uncle Robert’s bedroom. Consciously I realize he’s gone, but it still feels like I’m violating his privacy by entering. His double bed is neatly made and the furnishings are simple. Well-worn. I head straight for the closet, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible, while Heather wanders around the room.
I’m flipping through the hangers to find his gray suit when I hear her gasp. “This picture,” she says. “This was his wife?”
I turn to find Heather holding a framed picture of Uncle Robert and Aunt Angela taken in maybe the late 1950s or early sixties, judging by the clothes.
“Yep, that’s my aunt. Why?”
“She looks familiar. Can’t say how, but I think I’ve seen this picture before.”
“Weird. Not sure I’ve even seen that picture before. It didn’t used to be in here. Must have gotten it out recently. You know, just this week he told me he’d been thinking about Aunt Angela a lot more. Wonder if he knew his time was coming.”
Heather shrugs and places the frame back on the dresser. I turn back to the closet, locate the suit, and set out to find a matching bowtie. “You think they need socks and stuff, too?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” she says.
“Should be an adult about this, but can I say that I am not looking forward to going through my uncle’s underwear drawer?”
“Isaac!” Heather cracks a contagious smile, even as she admonishes me. “You’re probably going to have to do a lot of things you won’t look forward to.”
“That sounds ominous.”
She shrugs. “Guess so. I remember when my grandparents died, my mama had to make all the decisions and do all the running around because my daddy was too upset. It’s easy to cry and drown in sorrow, but it takes real strength to do what needs to be done so others can grieve.”
“How am I doing so far?”
She snakes her arms around my waist and hugs. “I think you’d make your uncle proud.”
Once again, I’m knocked over by Heather’s ability to say exactly what I need to hear. We find a bag for his unmentionables, plus a belt, a tie, an undershirt, and shoes. At the last minute, I pluck a sprig of eucalyptus from one of the pots and toss it in the bag as well.
Out on the porch, I relock the door and stand for a minute to look at the small yard beyond. On the right is a live oak that still bears rope marks from the tire swing Uncle Robert rigged up the summer I turned five. The rest of the trees are magnolias whose fruit is just beginning to open into the giant white flowers he loved so much.
“Where to next?” Heather asks.
“Home. I need a break.” As soon as I say the words, their truth makes my eyelids heavy.
“Can I buy you lunch, or are you not hungry?”
“Starving.” We walk to the car and I hold open her door. She hands me the keys.
“Well, roomie,” she says, “you drive and I’ll buy.”
“Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Do me a favor?” I place my hands on the roof of the car and lean into the passenger side, where Heather buckles her seatbelt.
“Sure.”
“Don’t ever call yourself my roomie. You know you’re more than that.”
She looks up and grins. “Then what am I?”
“Not quite sure, but roomie is an insult to both of us.”
“Okay, then, how about we don’t label it yet?”
“Sounds good. Know what else sounds good? A big bowl of pho. You up for Vietnamese food?”
“You’re on.”
***
Heather returns to work in the morning. I drive to the funeral home alone. Mr. Dotson’s secretary meets me at the door with a sympathetic smile and the soft, kind words everyone doles out to the bereaved.
“Can I see him?” The question’s out before I’ve thought of the consequences.
“No, honey, not until we’ve dressed him and gotten him ready for you.”
“Right, of course. Don’t know what I was thinking. My apologies, ma’am. And here are his clothes.”
“Bless your heart, there’s no need to apologize. Perfectly understandable. Do you have a few minutes, or are you in a hurry?”
“No, I’m off all week.”
“I was hoping you could go over the obituary with me, unless you’d prefer to leave that to your mama.”
I think of Heather’s statement about doing what has to be done so others can grieve. “No, she’s got her hands full. I can take a look.”
“Great,” she says. “Follow me.”
Her office is further back in the bowels of the funeral home, which tells me she’s the one who really runs things around here.
“I need you to sign off on this before I send it to the newspaper. This will also be read during the funeral service. Mr. Cline wrote it and approved it when he preplanned his funeral, but there may have been some changes since then.”
Sure enough, little John isn’t on here, but other than that, everything looks good.
“If you’ll just sign here, we’ll get it all taken care of.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I leave the funeral home feeling satisfied that I was able to handle this small task for Mama. It’s one in a long series, but it’s a step in the right direction.
***
I listen to the message a second time. And a third, just to be sure I’m hearing it correctly. It’s Dave and he’s sending his condolences. Says he and Conrad will be at the funeral and if there’s anything I need, to let him know. I haven’t seen Conrad since he and Dave came down last fall to tell me my ex was pregnant. It wasn’t mine, but that was also the night I got hammered at Felix’s and hit on Juli. Don’t remember much else except Conrad and Dave hauling me out of there before I puked.
After placing my phone on the counter, I wander to the window in the kitchen and stare at the buildings beyond. It would mean the world to me to have my two best friends here this week, not only to help pay respects to Uncle Robert—who treated them like family—but because I miss the hell out of them, especially Dave.
Our last meeting wasn’t particularly encouraging. Thank goodness I’ve had Heather to keep my mind off the estrangement. There are a number of ways this could go down, but obviously I hope we can patch things up and move forward. I realize we’ll never be as tight as we once were, but I’m okay with that. Juli is his focus now, as she should be. Quite a few things have been put into perspective lately…namely that family is crucial, and two half-persons don’t equal a whole when they come together.
I wouldn’t say I’m completely over Julianne, but she’s not my main focus anymore, nor is the sting of what we could have had quite so sharp. No, it’s faded to a dull ache over the last few weeks. I have Heather to thank for that. And what exactly is Heather to me? What am I to her? That remains unclear as well. Like she said, perhaps we shouldn’t label it yet, but it sure feels like it could be something.
A bird suddenly flies into the closed window and falls to the ground below. I stand on my toes to see if it’s moving or maybe just stunned, but judging by the angle of its neck, it’ll never get off the ground again. Now I’m faced with the problem of what the hell to do with it. Bury it? Throw it in the trash can? Just leave it there and hope that some animal will carry it off?
The phone rings. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Dave.”
“Hey, man. Sorry to hear about Uncle Robert. You hanging in there?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Got your message.”
“Yeah? Is it okay if Conrad and I come down for the funeral?”
“Of course. It’s Wednesday.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I, uh, I may have called your mom when I didn’t hear back from you. I thought you might be avoiding me.”
“No, man, I couldn’t do that. Just been busy taking care of things. So…does this mean we’re cool?”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “We’re approximately halfway between okay and cool. It’s going to take a little more time, but I have to warn you, Juli plans to come to the wake and funeral. Will you be able to behave yourself?”
“You have my word.”
“Good. I’ll call you when our plane gets in.”
“Oh, hey, we’re short on pallbearers. Would you guys mind helping out?”
“I’d be honored. I’m sure Conrad will do it, too.”
“Great. You need a place to stay?”
“Um…”
If I could reel the words back in, I would. No doubt he has an open invitation to the Casquettes’ house. “Never mind. I forgot. Just know that my door’s open.”
“Thanks. Later.”
“Later.”
Progress. Awkward, but progress nonetheless. I wish I could call Uncle Robert and tell him Dave and I are speaking again, that some good has come out of our loss. Not sure if I still believe in God and His saving Grace, but I’m hopeful that someone’s looking out for me, that there’s a plan or reason for these events. Uncle Robert would smile, knowing he was the instrument to bring me and Dave back to being friends.
The next day passes in a blur of phone calls, awkward back pats, and travel arrangements for out-of-town relatives and friends. I shouldn’t be shocked, but the sheer number of colleagues and acquaintances of Uncle Robert’s who reach out to our family is astounding.
The morning of the visitation, my mama’s house looks like a florist’s shop, despite our wishes that money be given to Mobile’s music association. Now that the initial shock is over, she’s returned to her efficient, stalwart self.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” she says, and pats my cheek. Déjà vu strikes as my nieces and nephews run through the house chasing each other, squealing and occasionally bouncing their heads off furniture. My two brothers-in-law sit side by side on the couch in front of the TV, while my sisters try to convince their kids that they each need to use the bathroom before we all leave for the funeral home.
Little Jayne saunters up, takes my hand and leans against my side.
“How you holding up, kiddo?”
“I miss him.” She sniffs. Her little watery eyes spill over but she scrubs away the evidence before anyone else notices.
“It’s okay, me too. Hey, you wanna ride over with me? We can open the sun roof.”
“Really?” Her frown instantly disappears. “I’ll ask my mama if I can.”
She dashes off just as my text alert chimes: See you there. Chin up. xoxo Ah, yes. It’s time for Heather and me to make our…whatever-it-is known to the whole family. Injecting some crazy into this situation is a sure-fire way to dry the tears of the Laroche women. Surely they can’t make too big of a scene in a funeral home packed with all our friends and family. I shake my head, aware that I’ve just jinxed myself for even thinking it.
I type back: See in you a few. Hold onto your hat.
Jayne comes bounding back. “Mama said I can ride with you! Do I get to sit up front, too?”
“As long as you wear your seatbelt, I don’t see why not. Anyone else want to come with us? I’ve got to get over there a little early to talk to Mr. Dotson.” The chaos in the house doesn’t even pause. I take that as a no. “Looks like it’s you and me, Jayne.”
She dashes out the door and I follow behind at my older-uncle pace. A grin breaks free when I see her lightly run a finger along the line of the hood. I thought I might one day have nephews to share my motor-head tendencies with, but Jayne’s the one who’s always admired my Charger.
She wriggles into the front seat, snaps her seatbelt, and shoots me a goofy grin that lights up the whole interior. “Shoot, sweet pea, your feet don’t even touch the floor! When are you gonna grow? I need someone who can help me wax this thing, but not if you can’t reach the top.”
“I just went to the doctor and I grew two inches this year. Think I’ll be tall like you and Grandma?”
“Never can tell. Say, you ever been to a funeral?”
“No, sir,” she says while shaking her head. “Wait, we had one when we buried Pinkie in the backyard.”
“Oh, I see. Did your mama tell you what to expect?”
“Kind of. She said Uncle Robert would be there all dressed up, but won’t know we’re there. And she said we can touch him, but he’ll be cold, and maybe slimy like a snake. I don’t think I want to touch him.”
“No one said you had to. You do whatever makes you comfortable. It’s a chance for us to say goodbye to him in whatever way we want. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And if you get scared or have a question, you can come to me.”
“I’m not scared,” she says, and I can see the dander on her little back bristling. Yep, she’s a Laroche.
“No, course not. Tough girl like you? Nah. Here, press this button.”
She wiggles up in her seat and stretches to press the button to open the sun roof. Despite her black dress, the sunlight that angles in through the opening dances off the freckles on her nose and leaves her in a radiant splash of color. Jayne grins and my heart squeezes. I resist the urge to chuck her under the chin, but I can’t squash the growing feeling that if anyone ever messes with her, I’ll personally pound them into the ground.
I remember the day she was born, the first grandchild. I had been in Boston, but Uncle Robert kept calling me with updates. Mama was too excited to talk. When they emailed me that first picture, I was a goner. She was tiny and pink, but had a full head of dark hair the same color as mine and Mama’s. I remember showing everyone within a five-mile radius, and dragged my girlfriend at the time to a baby store to help me pick out a gift. Nothing jumped out at me. Couldn’t figure out why until I went home to Mobile for the holidays and walked into a jewelry store to get something for Mama. There in a small display case in the back was a tiny pearl bracelet, just the right size for a baby.
I had waved down the clerk and bought it without even looking at the price. Don’t think I ever did find something for Mama.
“Hey, you still got the bracelet I got you when you were a baby?” Jayne presses her lips together and scrunches up her nose. “Never mind, you probably don’t remember.”
“You mean this one?” She holds up her wrist, and there it is. It’s pretty tight, but still fits.
The backs of my eyes sting for a second. “We’ll have to see about getting you a bigger one that fits, kiddo.” A grin splits her face and there in the corners of her mouth and the tilt of her head are reminders of Uncle Robert that I never noticed. It makes me wonder… “You see if your mama will let you stop by some time and we’ll start piano lessons, too. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like someone wants to be the favorite uncle,” she says.
I burst out laughing. “Maybe so. Tell me, what’s your favorite piece?”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin with her finger. “Me and Uncle Robert were working on Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D’ when he got sick. I really like it, but it makes me sad.”
“That’s okay. Songs can make you sad.”
“Yeah,” she says, looking out the window. “It scared me when he got sick.”
“Ah, I see.”
We’re quiet the rest of the drive. There are only a handful of cars at the funeral home, so we park up close, shut the sun roof, and mount the steps to the front door. Jayne has gone pale.
“C’mon, Baby Jayne, I’ll be right next to you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Mr. Dotson is there to greet us, and ushers us into his office. The blue air is smothering. Jayne takes a seat and stares at the collection of relics while I look over a few papers and sign on the line.
“If there’s anything you need, just let me know,” he says, while giving Jayne the evil eye for touching one of his prized cigars.
I whisk her out as quickly as possible.
“I don’t like him,” she says.
“No one does,” I whisper, and lead her over to one of the overstuffed couches covered in that special floral print reserved for nursing homes and funeral parlors. “Are you ready to see him?” She nods. I watch her lower lip tremble, but she takes a deep breath and squares her tiny shoulders. “Good girl.”
We stand, silently pad across the thick carpet, and turn the corner into the main receiving room. I close my eyes, swallow, and open them. Before me is a dark mahogany casket lined with pale blue silk. Inside, dressed in his best gray suit and bowtie, is the finest gentleman to ever grace the city of Mobile.
Jayne’s hand grows slick in mine. We move closer. It’s him, and yet not him. The clothes are his—it’s hard to miss the lingering scent of eucalyptus—but the hair is goofy and his skin is waxy. I can see where half his face really drooped with this final stroke. With one finger I work free the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead.
“Much better,” Jayne says.
“Agreed.”
I spend a few minutes with Uncle Robert, while Jayne surveys the funeral home. She gravitates toward a beige chair, picks up a Bible sitting on the table next to it and begins flipping pages. Her mouth moves as she sounds out the words. While she reads aloud the Psalm, I say my goodbye to Uncle Robert. I place my hand on his, feel his cold, leathery skin and his plain gold wedding band. We decided to bury him with it, just as Aunt Angela had been buried with hers. Even in death, they were united by that gesture. Now, I pray, they are united for eternity.
For the longest time, I didn’t believe in that kind of love. Most days I still don’t, but if anyone could convince me of its existence, it would be Uncle Robert. Just like there are no guarantees in life, there are no guarantees in love. I can only hope to find a fraction of the happiness he and my aunt shared. I think he hoped for the same thing.
Voices filter through the maze of rooms. Jayne stops reading, sets aside the Bible, and stands next to me in front of the casket. Without looking at me she says, “He’s fine, you know.”
“I know. You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” She answers by wrapping her skinny arms around my waist. I kiss the top of her head just as Mama and my sisters quietly approach.
Mama presses a handkerchief to her nose. “They did a good job, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
“Why, they even got his hair right,” she says, and laugh-cries as she touches the lock of hair over his forehead. Jayne elbows me. I wink in reply.
My sisters each take a turn at the casket, their husbands standing by. It’s strange to see them without all the little ones running around, but they’re at home with babysitters. Only Jayne and Brent have been deemed old enough to attend. He’s as pale as Jayne was when we first walked in. I watch with pride as she holds out her hand to Brent, silently lending her support. Such an old soul she has. I can only hope one day to have a daughter as extraordinary as she.
A clock somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms chimes six times. Right on cue, people begin to file in. Some I recognize, some I don’t. A number pretend to not notice me, though I know they’re aware of my presence. It’s fine. I’ve come to accept it.
At twenty minutes after, she walks into the room and I swear, the already sedate gathering hushes further. I don’t care. I leave my place near the casket and close the distance between us in four giant steps. Without even saying hello, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her long blond hair.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” she says.
Just for a second—one tiny, meaningless second—I lose my grip on the strong front I’ve been presenting. I know she senses it. I can tell by the way she spreads out her fingers on my back and fits her face into the crook of my neck. Then it’s over. I draw back and give her a reasonably believable smile.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I tell her. Ignoring the pointed looks from some of my relatives, I lead Heather over to where Jayne is playing tic-tac-toe with Brent. “Heather, I’d like you to meet Jayne, my niece. Don’t tell my other nieces, but Jayne is by far the coolest. Jayne, this is Heather.”
Jayne blinks a few times before stretching out her hand. “Hi. Are you Uncle Isaac’s girlfriend?” Heather’s hand freezes in midair, but Jayne leans forward to shake it. “You are, aren’t you? Your face is getting red, so it must be true.”
I lean closer to Jayne and whisper behind my hand, “She is. Isn’t she pretty?”
“Yes, very,” Jayne says.
Brent nods in agreement.
Still holding her hand, I move toward the casket where Mama, Christie, and Tiffany are still greeting a steady stream of Uncle Robert’s acquaintances. Their eyes bulge like cartoon characters when we draw close.
Have to clear my throat before addressing them. “Believe y’all know each other, but I wanted to let you know that Heather and I have reconnected lately. Been hanging out a lot and she’s been a rock over the last few weeks. Our families have had differences, but…let’s just say we see eye-to-eye on most of that.”
Both my sisters adopt an “oh, that’s nice” expression that means they’re confused, surprised, and concerned.
Tiffany opens her mouth. “Well, bless your heart. This is really something. You look great, Heather.”
“Thank you, good to see you,” she says. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything so fake as a group of women greeting each other. I can see my sisters sizing her up, looking for reasons to dislike her and pick her apart as soon as she’s out of earshot. It’s disappointing. “Mrs. Laroche, I know we spoke earlier, but let me say how very sorry I am for your loss. I have fond memories of Mr. Cline and I know he’ll be missed very much. Such a kind man.”
“Thank you, Heather. That’s sweet.” Mama coughs into her hand and smiles. “Did you come here with your mother?”
The air grows thick. “No, I haven’t spoken to her in a while. That would certainly be awkward.”
“Yes, quite. Excuse me, dear.” Mama turns back to the line and shakes the next person’s hand.
Once we’re out of earshot, Heather unloads. “Holy crap, could that have been any more awkward? Thanks for shoving me under the bus like that.”
“How did I shove you under the bus? I just wanted everyone to say hello and get it over with.”
“Get it over with? Like I’m a Band-Aid that needs to be ripped off? Thanks, Isaac.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you being so testy? Thought that was my role.”
Heather slumps her shoulders and leans into me. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I just had a tough day at work and I’ve been worried about you.”
“Aw, sweet pea, no worries. I’m good. I’ve had Baby Jayne to keep me in line.”
“She’s a cute kid. Looks a lot like you. So, about what you said to her…”
“Yes?” I smirk, knowing it’ll drive her crazy if she has to ask out loud.
“Is that what we’re going to tell people?”
“Wh–” Dammit, she got me. I take her face in my hands. “Yes, that’s what we’re going to tell people, because it’s the truth. You said you didn’t want to label this, but I do. You want to reject that label, you tell me now.”
Warm blood pools in her cheeks, making her even more beautiful than ever. “Isaac, I need to take a break for a moment. Excuse me.” She removes my hands and quickly weaves through the crowd toward the ladies’ room.
A deep breath does nothing to alleviate the floating butterflies that have turned my stomach into their punching bag. Behind me, a nasal drawl carries above the rest. It can’t be. It just can’t. Surely my paranoia and self-doubt are peaking from Heather’s odd reaction, because there’s no way in hell Marcie Swann is behind me, handing out platitudes like she’s Mother f*cking Theresa.