19

Mom had picked up a new black dress for me from the department store in town. It was simple. Just a shift dress with capped sleeves. She’d lamented its lack of shape and how the hemline skimmed the top of my knee, worried that it might offend someone.

“It was all I could find in a pinch,” she’d said.

I pulled on a baby blue knit cardigan, hoping that Mom wouldn’t think it was too casual for a funeral. It wasn’t warm enough to go without. Slipping my feet into my black flats, I went downstairs.

Joel had on a suit that had been Mike’s at least three years before. Mom had him standing on a chair in the kitchen as she pinned up the hem of the slacks.

“You should have tried these on yesterday,” she said, straight pins held between her lips. “Annie? What time is it?”

“Nine,” I answered. “We’ve got time.”

“Well, at least I can do a quick job of it.” She stood and swatted at Joel. “Get down and take those off so I can stitch them real fast.”

He hopped down, shaking the whole kitchen as he did. Then up to his room he went to change out of the slacks.

“Are you going with us?” I asked, starting the water for a cup of tea.

“I don’t know,” she answered, sitting at the table. “Do you think I should?”

“It’s up to you.” I reached into the cupboard for a mug. “It might be nice for Grandma.”

Mom nodded and sighed. “Joel said he liked meeting your father.”

“I guess so.”

“He said he thinks he’s changed. As if he’d know.” She picked up a spool of black thread from the table. Then she lowered her voice. “Do you think Joel expects Frank and me to get back together?”

“No,” I said, dropping a tea bag into my mug. “No. He wouldn’t think that.”

I said those words, but in my mind I was sure he held out hope.

“Do you think Frank wants to see me?”

“He might,” I answered. “If you end up going to the funeral, he will whether he likes it or not.”

“How did he look?”

“Older.”

“Has he put on any weight?”

“I think he’s skinnier.” I turned off the heat under the kettle.

Joel thundered down the steps with his pants in hand, a pair of shorts on with his dress shirt, tie, and jacket. Mom rushed with the slacks to her bedroom. The whirr of her sewing machine started up soon after.

He stood just outside her bedroom, watching her work, and I thought about telling him not to get his hopes up too high about Frank sticking around.

No matter how I thought of it, I knew Joel would end up disappointed.

We’d arrived at the church an hour before the funeral, joining Grandma in welcoming everyone who came to pay their respects. Frank hadn’t shown up yet even though he’d promised Grandma he’d be early. Mom said she didn’t care if he came at all. Still, every time someone new came in, she looked up from where we stood in the narthex.

“He’ll be here,” I told her. “Even Aunt Rose isn’t here yet.”

She nodded and tried to smile at me but tapped a finger on the tip of her chin the way she did when she was nervous. It didn’t help when Aunt Rose finally did arrive and sashayed across the room toward us. She wore a black suit, very much like the one Jackie had worn to President Kennedy’s funeral. But at least Aunt Rose only wore a veil that covered half her face.

It looked perfect on her, of course. I wondered how long she’d waited to wear it.

“Gloria,” she said to Mom in the way that snooty women had. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Rose.” Mom didn’t turn toward her. “You look well.”

“I am.” Aunt Rose sighed. “Aside from the terrible mess in Grand Rapids. I’m sure you’ve heard that we had riots of our own. I could see the smoke clouds from my front door. It’s quite troubling.”

“I’m sure.” Mom flicked an imaginary speck off the sleeve of her dress. “I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

“Thank you.” Aunt Rose pretended to see someone across the room. “Excuse me.”

After she left, Mom grumbled, “I hate her.”

“That’s not very nice,” Joel said.

“I dislike her greatly.” Mom looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Is that better?”

“Annie,” Grandma said, coming to me and taking my hand. “There’s someone who wants to meet you. An old neighbor of ours. She remembers when you were small.”

I followed behind her to the other side of the room, leaving Mom and Joel by themselves.

The church was full of hushed whispers except for the loud talking of Grandma’s old neighbor who absolutely could not believe how much I’d grown. She told me more than a few times how she’d given me butter rum candies whenever I came to visit.

Even though I told her that I remembered, I didn’t.

The old neighbor had me cornered, Grandma having abandoned me to greet another old friend. I was sure that I’d have a butter rum Lifesaver forced upon me at any moment. I could only hope that it wasn’t from a roll that had been in her handbag for overlong, with lint stuck to the candy.

I was just about to excuse myself when Frank finally came through the doors.

He had on a three-piece suit, black, with a gray tie. His hair was styled with pomade and he’d shaved. Though the gray in his hair looked haggard the day before, now it made him look distinguished.

If someone had told me that he was the brother of Gregory Peck, I would have believed it, cleaned up the way he was.

The whole narthex silenced, save for the woman in front of me. But I blocked out her voice. All eyes were on Frank. Surely they’d heard one way or the other that he’d returned to Fort Colson. But seeing him was still something to behold.

Even with all that attention, he looked only at my mother. And she blinked at him, not smiling or showing any sign of recognition.

“Excuse me, please,” I said, moving away from Mrs. Butter-Rum-Candy and making my way to where Mom and Joel stood.

Frank made it there just about the same time I did.

“Hi, Glo,” Frank said.

“I’ll be sitting in the family row,” she told him.

He nodded, putting out his arm for her. She didn’t take it but walked right on by him. Not knowing what to do but also not wanting all the town to talk, I slipped my hand into his crooked elbow. He reached up with his right hand, enclosing my fingers in his. It might have been instinct or a moment of thoughtless movement. Still, it almost felt familiar to me.

“She needs time,” I whispered.

But then I felt foolish for saying it.

She wouldn’t get time. None of us would. I reminded myself that Frank wouldn’t allow for that. I was sure he’d pull his camper out of the park as soon as he could change out of that nice suit of his. His promise of a week was nothing more than words. I just knew it.

Forgiveness would take time.

Time I doubted he’d be willing to make.

I wasn’t sure who decided such things, but throughout the funeral Grandpa’s casket stood open behind the minister. From where I sat, all I could see was the tip of his pale nose peeking beyond the edge of the coffin.

“I’m not going to look at him,” I whispered to Joel during the close of the service.

“You don’t have to.” He gave me a smile, but his eyes were sad.

“Are you going to?”

Frank cleared his throat from where he sat on the other side of Joel. Mom put her hand on mine and gave me the hairy eyeball, what Mike always called the “church scold.” I turned my face to look straight forward but avoided the casket.

I stood when the minister lifted his hands and made an attempt to sing the words of the closing hymn. The best I could do was mouth them. Even then, I was certain the rock would dislodge itself from where it had settled in my throat and I’d collapse from the release of grief.

Shutting my mouth, I clamped my emotions, resolved to hold them off until I was alone in my room. At the long, drawn-out amen, an usher came, directing our row to exit. But instead of retreating toward the back of the sanctuary, he pointed us toward the casket.

Mom put her hand on the small of my back, pushing me. “You’ll regret it later if you don’t,” she whispered into my ear.

I let her guide me, but only because I didn’t want to make a scene.

Frank stepped to the casket first, putting his fingers on the silky white fabric that hung over the side. His expression didn’t change as he looked at Grandpa’s face. I wondered if he felt any regret. I wondered if he wished he’d had one last chance to visit him.

He bent the knuckles of his fingers, knocking on the silk twice before stepping aside to let Joel and Mom have their turn. I stayed back a step or two, hoping I’d be able to pass by without having to look in. I didn’t know what it was that made me want to rush out. It wasn’t fear. I knew that much to be true.

“Annie,” Mom said, reaching for me and cupping her hand around my elbow, pulling me forward.

I felt all the eyes of the sanctuary on me as I stood at the head of the casket. Shutting my lids, I breathed in as deeply as I could, taking in the sickly fragrant aroma of the floral arrangements mixed with whatever chemicals they’d used in their embalming of my grandfather.

Steeling myself, I opened my eyes, seeing his face for the first time since we’d last visited him. He looked so natural, so like himself. I’d heard that before and, from the other funerals I’d been to, I’d never thought it was so. All the other dead people I’d seen had a waxy, artificial look about them.

But my grandpa, lying in his casket with his hair parted the way he preferred, his tie knotted perfectly, the color on his cheek so naturally painted, he could have been sleeping.

A memory rushed into my mind. Some afternoon when we drove out to visit. Before Frank had left. Sun streaming through flossy sheers. Grandpa on his back on top of the quilt Grandma spread across their bed. My squeaky, little girl voice calling for him, telling him to wake up. His exaggerated snores rumbling from his nose and mouth. A twitch of a smile played at the corner of his lips. Tiny hand shaking old man’s shoulder. His smile cracked wide, his eyes opening.

“You all right?” Joel whispered.

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was cover my face with my hands. That was when I felt arms thicker than Joel’s around me. The smells of Old Spice and Brylcreem overpowered the flowers, and I knew it was Frank. I patted his back, hoping that would be enough to get him to let me go. It was.

Breaking away, I pushed through a side door that led to a stairway. I rushed down the steps to a fellowship hall, where a few ladies worked getting the luncheon put together. Before they could see me, I snuck behind a burnt orange colored curtain pulled across a stage. I sat on the ancient, threadbare carpet. In one corner was a manger and right behind it, a tomb painted on particle board, no doubt props for Sunday school plays.

O, death, where is your victory? O, death, where is your sting?

The victory was upstairs in the casket. The sting was in my chest.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. The curtain rustled, letting a little light into the stage area. Mom ducked in and sat on the floor beside me.

“Well, this is a good place to hide,” she said.

“I don’t want to go to the graveside.” I wiped at my eyes under my glasses.

“Neither do I.” She pulled a hanky from her handbag, reaching over and dabbing at my cheek. “But your grandmother needs us there. Do you think Frank’s going to offer her any kind of comfort? Or Aunt Rose?”

I laughed, a tear falling off the tip of my nose.

“I just wish Mike could have come home.”

“I know,” she said. “Me too.”

We sat there just long enough to be sure that most of the mourners were out of the sanctuary. Then, out we went to join the procession of cars that snaked its way through town and to the cemetery, Grandpa in the hearse that led the way.

Frank hitched a ride back with us to the church, where his pickup was still parked. Mom drove, he was in the passenger’s seat, and Joel and I sat in the back. Frank kept sneaking peeks at Mom, who kept her face straight, her eyes on the road.

“Mom, what’s for supper?” Joel asked, leaning forward and resting his chest against the back of the front seat. “Maybe you could come over, Dad.”

Hearing Joel use that name for Frank made a shiver jolt up my spine and caused my stomach to lurch. I resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

The name hadn’t escaped Mom’s attention either. Her shoulders tensed and she gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Not tonight, son,” Frank answered, looking at Joel over his shoulder. “I’ve got a few things I need to do in town.”

Joel nodded, but I knew from the way he leaned back in his seat that he was disappointed.

Mom’s eyes flicked into the rearview mirror, glancing at him. If she had a soft spot for anyone, it was Joel.

“Friday is Joel’s birthday,” she said. “Why don’t you join us for dinner then. Unless you have something else planned.”

“I can be there,” Frank answered.

“Bring Grandma,” I said. “She shouldn’t be alone.”

Mom nodded. “The more the merrier.”

Joel smiled the rest of the evening.

Dear Annie,

Thanks for writing back to me. I don’t receive many letters from home, believe it or not. It was nice to have my name shouted out at mail call for once. Caroline isn’t one to write much. If you see her around, could you let her know I’d like a letter from her?

When you write back, would you tell me about the books you’re reading? Maybe even tell me what you think of the world, politics, this war, ANYTHING.

I miss intellectual conversations. The guys I’m stationed with aren’t exactly the smartest around.

Yours,
Walt

Dear Walt,

To be honest, I don’t see Caroline very much. Even if I do, I don’t know that she’d listen to me, but I’m willing to try. If nothing else, I could have my oma write to you. She loves nothing more than sending letters.

Today was my grandfather’s funeral and I’m not too keen to write much more. It’s been an exhausting day.

Sincerely,
Annie

PS: I’m currently reading The Outsiders. It’s about the conflict between poor greasers and rich kids in the same town. It’s pretty good.