The next morning was the funeral. There was bright sunshine. Usually it’s raining for funerals, or maybe that’s just in the movies. I wouldn’t really know; this was my first funeral. My mother had brought my dark blue dress. It felt good to be clean and dressed nice, even if it was under less than desirable circumstances. I was ready before everyone else and so I went out onto the front stoop to get some air. I was sitting on the top step watching the birds on the lawn when I heard someone call my name.
I looked up and there he was, striding up the driveway, goofy grin plastered across that beautiful face. Simon’s long stringy arms swinging like they weren’t attached to anything solid, and that wavy hair of his swooping across his forehead even more than usual. He looked like a movie star wearing a dark blazer, white shirt, and dark pants.
“Hi-ho,” he said softly as he took me into his arms and kissed me—very heroic.
When we pulled apart he held me at arm’s length, looked deep into my eyes, and said, “I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather, Lucy.”
In the midst of such a pool of sorrow I couldn’t have imagined being happier.
My parents were as surprised as I was to see Simon, especially since they didn’t know he existed. He was incredibly respectful to them. He said he was sorry for our loss and didn’t want to intrude in any way. He had merely come up to see me and now that he had, he was fine to get the bus back home. I couldn’t believe he could be so impressive in front of my parents. There was no trace of his awkward outsider persona. And it didn’t seem like an act; it seemed like Simon, just Simon.
“Where do you live, Simon?” my mother asked him.
“New Jersey,” he said.
“New Jersey?” my mom nearly shouted. I guess she had expected him to say “two towns over” or something like that.
“He lives a few blocks from us, Mom,” I told her. “Simon is Maxine’s brother.”
“Oh,” my mother said. She looked as if she were trying to understand a foreign language. Her confusion was understandable enough, considering that a strange young man whom she had never heard of had just traveled hundreds of miles to see her daughter, only to say hello, and having done so, was now content to leave. I suppose what she was really doing was trying to compute that her daughter had a boyfriend, and by evidence of the long trip just endured, a fairly serious one.
My grandfather had never gone to church, but Angela did every week, and so they were having the funeral where she went. It was a modern kind of church, all wood, with slanty angles. It was about a third full, with people scattered around the pews. There was a skylight and a ray of sun was shooting down at an angle, right onto the front row where Angela, my parents, Julie, and I were sitting. The sun got very hot until it moved along.
Angela must have mentioned to the priest some things about my grandfather, because he told some stories, but the man the priest was describing didn’t seem a whole lot like the man I had gotten to know. Maybe that’s just what Grandpa had meant—one person saw something or someone in one way, and another person saw that same thing or person another way.
A few times during the service I looked over at my parents, who were gazing forward, holding hands. I’m not sure they were even listening. My sister was on the other side of them, fiddling with her hair. She had gotten up before me and we had not had a single second alone, so I hadn’t spoken to her about the night before. But I have to say, Julie looked beautiful. Usually when I cry like that—not that I have ever cried like that, but when I have a big cry before bed—in the morning my face is puffy and my eyes are like slits. But Julie looked radiant—that’s the only word for it.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Simon a few rows back, next to Davis. He nodded to me and gave me a small smile. It was nice for everyone to just be in the same place, and be still for a while, thinking about my grandfather—or whatever else it was they were thinking about.
The graveyard was another story. Seeing the coffin and the hole in the ground—it was quite graphic. Not a ton of people from the church went to the graveyard, but those who did circled the grave. There was a large mound of dirt nearby under a blanket of fake grass. The priest was more solemn than he had been in the church. He didn’t look up from his Bible as he read.
Pretty much everyone was crying to one degree or another, except my mom. She didn’t shed a tear. I knew that look on her face; she was keeping an eye on everyone else, making sure we were okay.
When I glanced up I knew right where Simon was without even having to search—off to my left, standing in the back. His hands were folded in front of him and his head was down.
Two men in work clothes stood nearby. They were going to fill the hole with dirt once we left. After the priest finished, people slowly began to shuffle toward the waiting cars. It felt wrong just leaving Grandpa there. I understood that his spirit was gone, but what did we really know about it? I reached into my pocket and grabbed my three flattened coins. Before I turned to go, I tossed all three into the deep hole. I couldn’t hear them land.
I had no idea what we were meant to do after that. How were things supposed to get back to normal after seeing a coffin being put in the ground? But Davis suggested we go to a place called Waterman’s Beach Cottage. Apparently it was one of my grandfather’s favorite places, and Angela liked that idea. So the caravan that had gone from the funeral to the cemetery set out again. The road to Waterman’s Beach Cottage wound past rolling green fields that looked more like farm country than the rocky coast, but suddenly, there was the water.
We turned into a large gravel parking lot beside a crazy building that looked like two small shacks stapled together. With the sun shining and some small fishing boats out on the placid bay, it was quite a spot. A good many small islands were dotting the sea.
There were several picnic tables outside, and we took over the two closest to the water. A few people went to the window to order steamed lobsters, chowder, lobster rolls, a whole assortment of food. It felt strange, after all we’d just been through, to be getting on with such an ordinary thing as eating, But down there by the sea I felt like I could breathe for the first time in days.
The lobster rolls were really just fresh lobster and some mayonnaise crammed onto a regular hamburger bun. It didn’t look that appetizing, but it was without a doubt one of the tastiest things I had ever consumed. The second was even better.
Then one of Grandpa’s friends who I recognized from the house started laughing at something someone said. I felt like telling him to show some respect for the dead, but then someone else made a comment and the whole table burst into laughter, including my dad. I watched his face. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen my father laugh. And then suddenly I could see that boy who had been staring out at me from that yearbook page, so carefree. Even with the sadness of the day hanging on us, I felt glad to be alive, glad to be here with everyone. Especially Simon.
After a slice of delectable cherry pie topped with some homemade ice cream, while everyone was just relaxing in a way they never do back in the real world, Simon and I wandered off. We climbed down onto the rocks. They were pretty slick and barnacles clung to a lot of them. There was a real salty smell to the ocean. Simon picked up a long piece of seaweed and held it up in my face.
“Get that away from me,” I shrieked. “It smells disgusting.”
He laughed and threw it toward the water. When we were around the point and out of sight from everyone, he kissed me. He had to bend way over to kiss me—he looked like a stork, like he always did when he was leaning toward me, and I was reminded of the first time he kissed me behind the garage.
While we were kissing, I opened my eyes and looked past his shoulder. The sun’s reflection was shimmering bright on the surface of the water. Far out, I could just make out a fisherman leaning over the side of his tiny boat. A white seagull dove into the deep blue water. The wind blew.
The lobster party went on long after any trace of the sun was left in the sky. That evening, my dad had stayed up talking with Angela. As far as I knew, he had never had much contact with Angela, but it was as if he was making up for lost time concerning my grandfather, or maybe he was just getting some more stuff off his chest.
Whatever they had talked about, the next day it was already near noon and there was still no sign of my dad.
“We’re going to let him sleep as late as he needs to,” my mother said. The original plan had been to get an early start and be home in time for dinner.
Simon had slept on the couch in the living room and planned to take the 9 a.m. bus, but my mom had insisted that he ride back with us.
“I’m sure they’ll both really enjoy that,” Julie said. Then she smiled at me in a way that was rare for her. She usually grinned without opening her mouth, but this was a full-on, toothy grin.
When my dad finally surfaced, my mom and Angela were making sandwiches for lunch.
“There you are,” my mother said.
“I don’t think I’ve slept that late in twenty years,” my dad said. He kissed my mom and she put her arms around him.
“You okay?” she whispered.
“I’m good,” he said, then kissed her again.
I’m not one of those people who believe in parents staying married for the kids and all that crap you hear about—those people who sacrifice their happiness for their children. They just end up resenting each other even more, and maybe resenting the kids, too, which obviously doesn’t help anyone. But as I stood in the kitchen watching my parents kiss—something I have not done a whole lot of in my life—I was really proud of my mother. She had kept her eye on the bigger picture all the time. Not a lot of people could do that. I felt proud to be a woman myself—an almost-woman.
As my dad made his tea he looked at me. “Why don’t you and Simon take the bus back together?”
My mother glanced up at him quickly. She didn’t seem to think I noticed.
“Michael?” she said. It was nice to hear her call him by his name. She hardly ever did that; it was usually “darling” or “sweetheart.”
He smiled at her—his blue eyes squinted. “They’ll be fine,” he said. “But we should go soon.”
My dad was right. The only other bus of the day from Portland to Boston and beyond was at 3 p.m. It was an hour-and-a-half drive to Portland, so if we were going to make it, we needed to get a move on. After all that had happened, the goodbye to Angela and Grandpa’s house wound up being a bit rushed, but that may have been for the best. Otherwise it could have turned into another day of lingering time and sad pauses. We all hugged Angela on the front stoop. I thought of the day I first arrived, when Davis and Grandpa had picked me up and we marched right over this stoop and into the house and then right back out again to go eat meatloaf in town. It seemed a million years ago.
All of us crammed into the car. I was squeezed up tight against Simon, which had its obvious benefits. Considering that it had taken me hours and hours from Portland coming in the other direction, the trip back to Portland was a breeze. The only problem was my parents pushing to get info out of Simon. They hadn’t really gotten much of a chance to grill him until now. The fact that they were trying to be very casual made it worse.
“So, Simon, what’s the name of the school you go to again?”
“Are you into sports?”
“Which ones?”
“You already thinking about colleges?”
“What did your folks say about you coming all the way up to Maine on your own?”
I wanted to throw myself under the speeding tires of the car. Simon looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I couldn’t return his gaze. I was invisible.
“Mom,” my sister finally said, “please.” I looked over at Julie, who glanced back and shook her head. “Whatever,” she mouthed.
For some reason that really made me laugh. Then Simon started laughing, and then Julie started. The three of us were guffawing it up in the back seat.
“What’s so funny?” my dad asked.
“Nothing, Dad,” my sister said, between laughs.
“I think we’re too old, darling,” my mother said to him.