CHAPTER 37

“Is that all you have?” Jillian’s face was stern, her perfectly manicured eyebrows narrowed on her face. Carly noted, with some reservation, that there were bags under her mother’s eyes that even makeup couldn’t hide.

Cynthia lingered in the doorway of her room, her head down. She wore a black shirt and dark pants, which Carly eventually realized were jeans. There’s the problem, Carly figured. Jillian can’t handle her grief over Dorothy so she takes it out on Cynthia’s clothing. No one said anything in the hallway for a long time, merely exchanged tense looks.

“That won’t do for a funeral. Don’t you have anything else?” Jillian finally asked, her voice thin.

“Hey, Cyn,” Carly said. “You’re about my size, right? And if not, I have belts. Come here and we’ll pick you out something else, okay?”

Cynthia nodded, her eyes still down. She didn’t say a thing as she walked across the hallway into Carly’s room. Jillian’s sharp inhalation of breath was broken by a slight quiver.

“Girls. I’ll be in the car, okay? Come as quick as you can. God forbid we’re late to her funeral.”

Not like Dorothy would care all that much. But she knew she would do better than to voice her opinions. She gave her mother a nod and then disappeared into her room with Cynthia.

“Hey,” Carly said softly. “I’m sorry about her.”

“I don’t know what her problem is,” Cynthia said, twisted her fingers into her hair and then scoffed. Cynthia’s hair had been straightened, begrudgingly, at the request of Jillian for the funeral. Carly knew how much Cynthia hated to fight her hair—but fighting with Jillian was always much worse.

“Here,” Carly said, handing Cynthia some black dress pants that she used to wear in high school. “Try these.”

Cynthia gave a weak smile before standing. She shifted around in the bedroom, not bothering to hide herself as she switched outfits. As Carly expected, the pants were a little big on Cynthia, but a belt could fix it just enough. She took down one of the black ones from her closet and handed it over.

“Was she always like this?” Cynthia asked, as she looped the belt around herself.

“Who? Mom?”

Cynthia nodded. “You know. When…your dad died.”

“Ah.” Carly paused and sat on her bed. She ran a hand through her hair and took a deep breath. It had only been a couple days since everyone found out about Dorothy, but they were long days that often stretched into the middle of the night and still felt like a blur. Jillian organized the funeral, went to see lawyers, and Richard made all their meals at home. Carly had been so busy with work and seeing Ashley during visiting hours (though she was drugged up and sleeping for most of them, and they had barely exchanged real words) that Carly had enough to do so her grief stayed at bay. For a time, at least. She was still grappling with the fact that they actually had to go to a funeral today. To think of her great-aunt’s death as a reality, and not a future to be dreaded, was still working through Carly’s mind. She could barely remember a month ago, when things were fine, and now Cynthia was asking her to think back to nearly ten years ago, when her own father had died.

“You were a baby. Well, not even a baby. Mom was still pregnant with you,” Carly finally said. She crushed her eyes shut again and rubbed her temples, trying to place herself. Everything had been really similar to the way it was now. A lot of black, a lot of tension, but less Richard hanging around and making meals and more Davis, Cynthia’s father trying to cheer everyone up with bad jokes and even worse casseroles. Davis’ mother, Nadia, a great big woman with a booming voice, had come to stay with them during the funeral, because Jillian was so pregnant but still tried to do everything by herself. Even when she had warning labor pains and Braxton-Hicks contractions, Jillian still insisted on doing everything herself. All the time. So Nadia, mostly took Carly aside and read to her from her favorite books until the whole affair was over.

“It’s all a blur, really.” Carly shrugged. “You know. I’m starting to think that funerals are all the same.”

“Sad?”

“Yeah. Sad and boring and…just a fucking waste of time.” Carly rose from the bed suddenly, not wishing to linger anymore. “You ready, Cyn?”

Cynthia tried to laugh, but it came out like a small crack of breath. Carly’s stomach dropped seeing her sister so upset and swooped over to her right away. “Shush. Cyn. It’s okay. Davis is fine. I’m fine. We’re all good here, okay?”

“I know,” she said. “I just imagined what it was like for you.”

“I’m fine. My dad died a long, long time ago. I barely remember it, really.”

“No, but you were closer to Aunt D than anyone else.”

Carly nodded her chin against Cynthia’s too-straight hair. She missed the curls and could still smell the chemicals from the relaxer. She hated it, didn’t know why Jillian had wanted Cynthia’s hair so straight or why it really mattered. Carly felt a lot of things right then as she hugged Cynthia—worry over Ashley’s future, their relationship, and anger at her mother for always making grief about her. Carly thought back to her father’s life and how he was never around anyway, even before they divorced. He was always away at conferences and in hotels all across the country. Always calling them on a payphone or collect. It was only fitting that they got news of his death while he was away. Carly felt a lot of things in that moment, but not one of them was sadness. She still hadn’t cried about her aunt. She had been too numb.

“I know. I miss Aunt D,” Carly said, her voice sounding too far away. “But she always told me that—”

“Girls?” Jillian called from downstairs. “Richard’s idling the car. Are you ready to go now?”

Carly let out a sigh. She hugged Cynthia tighter and then let her go. “Yeah, Mom. We’ll be right there.”

“What were you going to say?” Cynthia asked, turning to her.

“Oh?” Carly paused, checked her phone—still no messages from Darren about Ashley—and then shrugged. “Never mind. Let’s just head out.”

* * *

On the way to the funeral, Carly kept checking her phone. Darren had been texting her small updates as the time went on, letting her know the proper visiting hours and what Ashley’s state was like. She had been awake, more or less, the past few days. But she was still tenuous, still not quite better. And Carly hadn’t been able to talk to her and have a real conversation yet, which was killing her. Sometimes, Darren mentioned, after a seizure there could be some amnesia. Nothing like the soap operas, he assured Carly. Ashley would still remember who she was and usually what was going on, but she would be hazy and sort of blank for a while. She often forgot what happened leading up to a seizure and sometimes it took her a while to come back to her. She’ll still be in love with you, though, Darren informed her. That I don’t think will change for quite some time.

Carly closed her eyes and repeated those words in her head, even as her phone remained quiet. Richard drove the car slowly, as if he could feel the tension around everyone and was being extra gentle and attentive. Jillian was talking, and so was Cynthia, but Carly zoned out into another place.

Carly went over the funeral from her father in her mind, every so often, trying to recall and place herself inside a new arrangement. Things would be different, since she’d no longer be a surviving child, but rather a great-niece. But since Dorothy had very little family, and Jillian had spearheaded the entire organization, Carly knew they would have a prominent spot for the service. Jillian would give the eulogy. Carly resented that idea, but she was also relieved by it. As much as she knew she would have done a better job with remembering Dorothy through words, she also knew that Dorothy wouldn’t have wanted her to dwell this way. What would I even say in a eulogy? Carly wondered. Other than Dorothy was too poetic and special to die like this, from a simple cold that had turned to pneumonia and then dying in her sleep. Dorothy was old, in pain, and this had been coming for a while. But it still didn’t feel right. It would never feel right.

Carly remembered Dorothy telling her that the endings of the poems were always the hardest to write. You always want to put a good word at the end, the right rhyme, the right rhythm. And this day—this trip—and this car ride were all wrong to Carly. Not good at all, just a terrible ending all around. Carly knew that, like her father’s funeral, she’d learn not to remember this aspect, but the better parts.

“And you, back there,” Jillian’s voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. “Carly.”

“What?”

“Oh, hello. So glad you’ve joined us. You’re not even concerned with this at all.”

A chill moved through Carly’s spine at her mother’s tone. “I’m concerned. Concerned about Dorothy.”

“Then why have you been staring at your phone? Don’t make me take it from you.”

Carly’s fingers tightened on the edge of her device. “You can’t take things from me like that. I’m…not a child anymore.”

“You act like it.”

“Stop,” Richard said, finally stepping in. “We’re going to a funeral. I thought these were supposed to bring families together?”

Carly laughed. “You’ve got a lot to learn before you step in, then.”

Jillian’s eye narrowed. She didn’t say a word, but Carly saw something inside her mother’s gaze that she hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since her father, Jordan’s, funeral—more than grief, this was anger.

We were happy once, Carly thought. With Davis and with Cynthia on the way. They had practically been a Norman Rockwell painting then. But Jordan’s death rocked through their house and made her mother angry and bitter. Even though she and Jordan had divorced years ago, Carly suspected that Jillian still loved Jordan. She had channeled that feeling into Davis and her new family, and did it well until Jordan’s death. His passing was a crack in the illusion that was Jillian’s life, and suddenly, as if overnight, she could no longer believe in love in the same way. She had become a workaholic then, taking everything on herself. Carly had always assumed that her mother had become worse when Carly came out as gay in her teenage years. But no, she realized now that her previous interpretation of events had been regular teenage narcissism. Her mother had started to go downhill around the time of Jordan’s death; Carly just didn’t have words, as a child, to put a name to the feeling the crept through the house. The marriage between her and Davis had been over then, too. Sure, Davis hung around for another couple years to try and give it another shot, but Carly’s mother had shut down. Suddenly, Carly realized she had nothing to worry about with Richard anymore. He was a great guy and trying hard, but with this death to shake her up Jillian would remain angry and bitter and let no one else get close to her. Richard—like Steven, the rebound husband after Davis—was doomed.

After a moment, Carly sighed and tucked away her phone. She watched the houses pass by, before she saw the church and graveyard next to it. “If I know anything about Dorothy, she would think all of this ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?” Jillian asked, her voice petulant but curious. “I got her favorite flowers. I know she kept reminding me how much she liked tiger lilies for this very occasion.”

Carly laughed, because that probably was true. Dorothy liked to remind people of her mortality. But it was always in the abstract—not ideals, Carly remembered, but bodies. “She probably did that because we’re all worm food for those flowers, though. Dorothy would have wanted us to think about the science behind all of this.”

“Be nice,” Jillian remarked with fervor in her voice.

“I am nice.”

“Someone did just die,” Cynthia added.

“I know. But funerals are always for the living. People cry during them because they mourn the last contact they had or last words said. Sometimes, in the best cases, funerals celebrate life. But not always. I’m sad, sure, but I’m also okay. Dorothy would have—”

“What, Carly?” Jillian asked. “What would she have wanted?”

Carly bit her lip. She knew that Dorothy would have wanted Carly to go to the hospital, to stay with Ashley, but that wasn’t something she could say aloud. To remind everyone of the very real peril her girlfriend just went through, on a day they were supposed to be mourning the dead, was a no-no. Even as Carly felt her phone buzz in her pocket, she remained silent with her hands folded on her lap.

“She would have wanted us to be happy she lived so long,” Carly said. “Not sad she died. It was a good life—and she lived it well.”

Jillian glanced back at her in the rearview mirror. She breathed in and out deeply, then conceded. “Well, at least we can agree on something.”

Carly let out a small smile. “Yeah, maybe we can agree on that.”

Richard eyed her in the mirror. When Carly gave him a small nod, he seemed relieved. And she caught herself hoping he did stay around for a while. Out of all the men since Davis, he was the one Carly could put money on getting Jillian to open up again. And if she did… Then maybe we could go back to the Norman Rockwell family. Maybe we could be happy again.

Before Carly could entertain the thought very long, Richard pulled into the lot. Everyone else seemed to already be there. Carly could spot the people she only saw at her mother’s weddings and now, family funerals. Everything seemed like one big show, but not a cool party like Dorothy would have wanted to send her into whatever afterlife. Carly’s skin felt itchy just thinking of the ceremony, and she shivered as she stepped out into the summer sunlight. In a quick moment before Jillian could see, Carly looked down at her phone. A message from Darren stared up at her.

Ashley is awake and alert, all vital signs good. She’s going to stay over for observation another night, but she can go home.

Oh thank God, Carly thought. She wanted to cry with relief. Luckily she was going to a place where tears wouldn’t be too out of place. She felt Cynthia come by her side and take her wrist.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I am. For the first time in a while.”

“What happened?”

“Ashley…she’s fine. She can go home soon.”

“With you?”

Carly’s face softened. She felt her eyes well up with tears. All she could do was nod for some time. “Yeah…with me.”

Cynthia squeezed Carly’s hand before she started to cry too. As if synchronized, they turned toward one another and hugged. Carly heard Richard and her mother’s footsteps stop ahead of them, and turn around to wait until they were done. Carly could imagine her mother opening her mouth to yell at her, but then stop and wait as her children embraced.

“Ashley’s okay,” Carly said, letting out a slow sob. “Oh God, I’m so happy she’s okay.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Even if it means you abandon me with Mom, hah.” Cynthia’s laugh was a little strangled, but genuine from what Carly could tell.

“I’d never abandon you.”

“Maybe…”

Carly didn’t respond, only hugged Cynthia closer. As their embrace continued, the crying calmed. Whatever they mourned—maybe it was the same thing that Carly had come to realize about Davis and her mother—was resolved for now, at least.

“Has Mom told you yet?” Cynthia said, whispering into Carly’s ear.

“What?”

“About the meeting yesterday?”

Carly let out a low sigh. The division of state had happened the day before, when Dorothy’s will had been gone over. Carly had gone right from work to the hospital and then home, late enough to crawl into bed and get ready for the funeral. She had been avoiding her mother expertly.

“No.”

“Oh.” Cynthia paused. She pulled away from the hug slightly to glance at where Jillian and Richard were now embracing and crying. More people pooled around the front of the lot, and Carly knew they had to speak quickly. Carly recalled the way her mother had been acting all day; Carly had chalked it up to emotions because of the funeral, but it could have been something during the will and division of state. Her heart started to pound, suddenly worried that Dorothy had been carrying a deep secret.

“What’s going on? Come on, Cyn, you’re killing me.”

Cyn nudged her slightly on the arm. “You get the house, Carly.”

“What?”

“Dorothy’s house. Mom was surprised but… I can’t say I am.”

The news washed over Carly. All the memories of the house came back, the conversations, the structure appearing like a ghost in her mind. Not ideals, she remembered in her aunt’s voice, just bodies. Carly knew she had probably been given the house because it was the most useful thing Aunt Dorothy owned. More than that—Ashley was awake now, and able to come home. And maybe she really can come home to me.

“Girls,” Jillian called. “We have to go. I hope you’re ready.”

Cynthia squeezed Carly’s hand and then wiped away another tear.

“Yeah,” they both said in unison, and walked together into the sea of people they had barely met until today. “We are.”

When Carly walked inside the church, her eyes took a while to adjust to darkness inside from the sunlight outdoors. Once she did, and she saw the casket, she was no longer afraid.

Thanks, Aunt Dorothy. Good-bye.