This Can’t Be

Wednesday, May 13th, 1997

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven...” The minister droned on as the casket was set in position. It was comprised of a burgundy lacquered surface, brass filigree, and brass handles. Dean stared at it. Scotty Abernathy’s girlfriend, Gina, had picked it out. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her how gaudy June would have found it. Besides, he reasoned, funerals are for the living.

The sky above was patched with clouds. The air was heavy and thick, rain was certain to arrive by evening. Dean sighed. The past few days had been a haze of grief along with waking and dreaming of a woman whose vivacious smile he had tried to forget for more than five decades. It felt wrong to think of Maggie in a time like this. Dean wondered if he wasn’t betraying June as he mourned both of them. How could the loss of Maggie feel so fresh all over again? It was a sharp ache, a pain that ran through him, slowing his movements.

The church service had been well-attended. June had spent a decade before her illness working for a charity that helped to get homeless families off of the streets and into homes of their own. Dean had lost track of how many had come up and given him hugs, telling him about her kindness and generosity. The news of her passing had spurred many to attend the service.

Why today, of all days?

Dean couldn’t help but wonder. The crashes, both of them, had happened on the 13th of May. Now that he was here, at the end of his life, he could acknowledge it again and not fear the repercussions.

What was there to lose, after all? Maggie had existed, Theo’s arrival in their lives had proved that. And then there were June’s last words to him. She had said her name! Had she actually seen Maggie? At the crossroads of life and death, had June truly seen Maggie for the first time? How he had wanted to ask her that in those last moments. With his family surrounding them, he had held back and given her those last moments of peace. She had earned it.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and Dean was pulled into a hug. “Dino, come visit me in New York. Gina’s been redecorating again and she’s got some damn Taj Mahal theme going on in the spare bedroom. I’ll take you to the Met, show you the sights, and at night you’ll dream you’re some goddamn Persian prince. What do ya say?”

Dean smiled at Scotty. He was tired. He had slept ten, eleven hours each night since June passed, but it never seemed to be enough. Watching her fade away had been hard, but living without her steady presence was even harder.

Sarah, who had stayed by her mother’s side, barely sleeping and coordinating everything in the days since June’s death, looked as bad as he did.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that, Scotty.”

“Of course, Dino,” the man paused, a flash of sadness crossed his face, and “She was a good woman.” He leaned closer, “Probably better than you deserved.”

“Without a doubt.”

Gina, who had been a short distance away swooped in, her hair streaked with blond and brown highlights, her eyes still bloodshot from the tears over the service. She hugged Dean, her overabundance of perfume washed over him, a cloud of fruity and floral notes filling his nose.

“Oh Dean! I am so sorry!”

She began to sob again, and Dean patted her back. Gina and June, as different as they were, had bonded over coffee and baked Italian desserts years ago during a visit to New York. Dean smiled as he remembered June’s assessment of her.

“She decorates in a style that fluctuates between a bordello and Liberace, but Dean, that woman can cook.”

Theo stepped forward, “Scotty, let me give you and Gina a ride to the airport.” Scotty nodded and beckoned Gina over.

Dean watched Scotty and Theo walk away, and felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

“Daddy?” Sarah’s hand wrapped around his arm. Beside her stood Michael.

“I’m fine, Sweetheart.”

She kissed his cheek and took the opportunity to whisper in his ear, “I’m so sorry about the coffin, I had no idea she would pick that.”

Dean managed a small smile, “I doubt your mother would have minded. She loved Gina and I think she secretly loved every tacky gaudy over the top part of her as well. If she is looking down on this, I’ll bet she is having a good laugh.”

Sarah smothered a giggle, “You are probably right, Daddy.”

The line had been long, but now it was done, the people dwindling, moving away to their cars, and on to the reception back at the house. By now, Betty and Jasper would be opening the doors, inviting people in, and directing them where to put the endless casseroles and dishes. Some things, it seemed, stayed the same.

“Daddy?” Sarah asked, “Shall we head back now?”

He wasn’t ready to return to a house without June in it. He missed her, he missed Maggie, and he missed Danny. All of them. His body ached from it, his skin felt old, stretched over bone, worn out. The words that marched through his mind, the ones he carried a notebook with him at all times to capture, had fallen silent.

“I just need a few minutes alone. Get some air, stretch out my legs.” He patted Sarah’s arm, “Borrow your keys?”

Sarah reached into her purse, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and wait for you?” She handed the keys over, reluctantly. “I don’t have to head back now, Betty and Jasper are handling things at the house.”

Michael spoke up, his eyes steady on his grandfather, “C’mon Mom, let’s give him a little time on his own. He’s had nothing but our company for days now.”

Sarah’s expression spoke volumes, but she allowed Michael to take her by the arm and lead her away. “We will see you at the house soon, right Daddy?”

Dean nodded and watched them walk away. Nearby, the cemetery attendants stood waiting to lower the coffin into the ground. They stood a distance away, quiet, watching the last of the mourners leave.

Dean reached out. His fingers traced the filigree on the coffin. “I miss you, June. So much.”

He backed away and nodded to the attendants. They hesitated for a moment and then got to work. It didn’t take long for the coffin to be lowered into the ground, the ropes creaking slightly as it settled into place and then the dirt smacking against the glossy rounded surface of the coffin.

Dean turned away. It was done. She was gone, the earth settling in close around her.

Since the crash, all those years ago, Dean had taken up the habit of walking. It was when he got his best ideas, ones that spurred on books which rose to the very top of the New York Times bestseller lists. There had been ten in all that had made it to the number one spot. Books he had written. Those had been heady times.

There had been valleys as well. Books that were not lauded or recognized, despite a loyal following of fans.

As Dean walked along the spongy grass, still damp from the brief morning rain, his thoughts were on June, on Maggie, and all of his children and grandchildren. He didn’t notice as the trees enveloped him, and closed in tight. His body ached as he entered a tiny grove encircled on all sides by trees. Standing outside it, the greenery was so thick that he hadn’t expected the clearing.

Within the circle of trees in one shade-dappled corner, was a bench. He was tired, the weariness inside him something that no amount of sleep would ever fix. He sank onto the worn stone bench. The paper in his pocket crackled and he took it out. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to share the words on it with anyone else. Perhaps June was listening right now, perhaps Maggie was as well. He unfolded the paper and read the words aloud. Around him, the birds fell silent.

You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one...like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity...For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then you shall truly dance.

He finished reading. His voice sounded old, fragile even to his ears. He looked around and saw for the first time a handful of gravestones in the shadows. They were covered with vines, honeysuckle, which wrapped around them, covering them in a forest of green. The flowers would be blooming soon, but right now, there were only the green vines, twisting, obscuring. The one on the far left was broken, pieces missing. The other three were intact, but covered in the honeysuckle, which had spread over their surfaces, obscuring the names below.

He stared at them. They weren't terribly old. Some parts of the cemetery harked back to the mid-to-late nineteenth century, but these stones were far more recent. He leaned forward and pulled the vines off of the last stone. What he saw took his breath away.

“Sarah Magdalene Edmonds,” he read softly, “Born March fifteenth, nineteen fifty-five, died May thirteenth, nineteen sixty-two.”

His heart began to beat an irregular time, and his pulse pounded in his ears.

He cleared away the next stone, “Theodore Aaronson Edmonds, born August tenth, nineteen fifty. Died May thirteenth, nineteen sixty-two.”

A deep aching pain began to radiate from his chest. “How is this possible?”

He cleared the third stone and tears obscured his vision, “Magdalene Aaronson Edmonds, born June second, Nineteen thirty one. Died May thirteenth, Nineteen sixty-two.”

By now the pain had spread from his chest down his left arm, his fingers felt numb in response. He gasped for breath, reaching for the last headstone, and slipped down onto his knees, sinking in the damp soil. 

“Dean,” the dizzying scent of Lavender Yardley perfume surrounded him. He looked up, shocked to see her.

“Maggie?” his eyes moved across her, taking it all in. All the years fell away.

“I’ve missed you, Dean,” his wife said, her hand brushing his cheek.

Pain and pleasure intertwined themselves inextricably within him. He could feel his heartbeat, now sluggish, pulsing in his ears. It seemed his heart was unsure of whether to continue or stop altogether. The pain was excruciating, but his eyes were filled with the sight of Maggie standing in front of him. She wore her favorite dress, a smoky blue sleeveless number and she smiled at him, her magnificent blue eyes filled with tears.

His heart stuttered, stopped, and he could feel his body falling, his limbs folded up, and limp, unable to hold his weight any longer. His hand, caught in the honeysuckle, pulled up to his chest reflexively, taking a swath of vine with it. He could see the broken edge of that final headstone. The first name was obliterated, but the last name, Edmonds, and the dates, “Born September 15th, 1925 and Died May 13th, 1962,” were etched deeply into the stone.

His birth date, his stone.

He collapsed, rolling onto his back, the view of the green leaves and tall trees a canopy above, and the faces of his family just feet away. Dean smiled. He had lived a long life, filled with love and happiness and success.

He closed his eyes, his mouth shaping words that remained silent, unspoken. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then you shall truly dance.

In the distance, thunder rumbled low and slow, shaking the air. A storm was coming.