Grieving is a necessary passage...not a permanent rest stop.
~ Dodinsky
On Saturday morning, Brianna woke up her parents, something she hadn’t done since Christmas when she was little. There were so many family traditions back then. Declan’s death erased all that had gone before. Family activities for four shifted into confusing agendas for three.
Her mom tied a white terrycloth robe around her waist and walked into the kitchen. “Do you want me to help you with breakfast?”
Virginia hovered nearby, wanting attention. “I knew they’d expect you to cook. Why can’t I fix grits for everyone?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Brianna said, ushering her into the den and away from Virginia. Even though her mother couldn’t actually see the stubborn ghost in her kitchen, Brianna knew Virginia’s presence took up all the hot air. Better to go into another room.
“We’ll grab something to eat as we sight-see,” Brianna said. “Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll go in a few minutes?”
“Sure,” her mother said with about as much enthusiasm as someone about to get a root canal.
Brianna hated seeing her parents so lifeless. She hoped to cheer up their spirits by showing them some of her favorite Savannah places, locations Declan would’ve loved.
Grabbing her car keys off the hook in the kitchen, she fiddled with them to ease her anxiety.
“For Yankees, they seem tolerable. Don’t you want to cook grits or something from my Southern cookbook?” Virginia asked.
Brianna smiled at Virginia’s tenacity. At least the Graysons hadn’t abandoned their hopes and dreams, even if her parents already had. “Maybe later.”
By midmorning, Brianna’s parents seemed in better spirits, and they followed her with the implicit trust one gives a tour guide. They saw the many historic squares, sage and lavender Victorian homes, and Forsyth Park with its famous fountain. Its ornate, two-tiered structure stood in the center of the park, surrounded by a cast-iron circular fence. The main centerpiece sprayed water into an arch, and water droplets fell onto plaster white swans and cherub angels at the four corners. Each corner piece blew water from oval mouths, creating an elaborate dancing effect—individual pieces working as part of a whole.
Like family is supposed to do. Brianna stared at the nearest swan. But that changes when one piece dies.
Throughout the day, Brianna pointed out some of Declan’s favorite places. Though her mom smiled, Brianna knew that one movement from her lips required concerted effort. Mom had frowned so often for the last fifteen years, reversing her lips into a smile must be like swimming against the current.
Later, after a full day of sight-seeing, they returned to the house.
Her dad walked into the kitchen for some crackers. “Um, Brianna?”
She winced when she heard his tone. What the hell had Virginia done now?
“Yes?”
“We supported your decision to move down South, but—”
Oh god. Virginia, I’m going to go Ghostbusters on your ass. “But what?”
“Are you becoming a grits connoisseur? These books weren’t here before, were they?”
Brianna sprinted to the kitchen. On the counter, lined up in neat, alphabetical stacks, were dozens of cookbooks, all of them centered on grits and how the almighty grit came into being. The ghost even had one on specialty cheese grits. Did grits come in flavors? Geesh. She still had a lot to learn about the South.
Brianna racked her brain to explain the books to her dad. “I, well, I figured, why not try new recipes, now that I’m living in Savannah.”
“Are you doing okay, here in...his favorite place?” her mother asked, not daring to mention Declan’s name.
Brianna choked back a tear. “Don’t worry about me or my life here. I’m doing just fine.”
They seemed satisfied with her answer, and in many ways, it was true. But seeing her parents again, seeing the spirit gone from their eyes, Brianna wondered if she’d ever be just fine again.