Rachel has come down from Chicago for Aunt Milly’s funeral. Apart from her, at the service at the cemetery, the only people I know better than as a mere acquaintance or a familiar face from around town, are Tess, her family, Mary from the café, Myriam and Isabella, and a few locals I’ve been doing some work for. Still, the turn-out for Aunt Milly’s send-off is numerous and, though it hardly still matters now, I think that would have pleased her.
When I made arrangements for the service, the minister asked if I wanted to say a few words, but I declined the offer. I’d rather say goodbye in silence. The way I did when Tracy died. Her funeral was one of the most harrowing times of my life. People who didn’t know what had happened saw me as the grieving widow, while her family and friends saw me as her killer. I counted myself in the second group.
Burying Aunt Milly today, makes me think about death again, and about how fragile life is. One wrong step, and it can be over and done with. When you’ve seen the life drain out of someone’s eyes right in front of you, and when you’ve caused that to happen, and have come face-to-face with how breakable the human body can be, it changes everything. At least Aunt Milly lived a full, long life. No matter what Tracy did to me, I took that away from her. I robbed her of a future. I robbed her parents of a child.
I should be listening to what the minister is saying, but I’ve become so averse to words spoken by clerical folks, I don’t really care what he has to say. It’s the same old stuff anyway. God this, Jesus that. What did God do with Tracy when she came knocking on heaven’s door? Did he let her in? Forgive her for her earthly sins and take her into his divine embrace? My father said this to me after I came out to him. If you repent, and don’t give in to your unnatural urges, God will embrace you. But it was not God’s embrace I was after. It was his.
I look to my left. Rachel has slotted her arm through mine, and she has a solemn expression on her face. I try to get her attention by looking at her a fraction too long. I need to let someone know how much this funeral is messing with my head. How much it’s bringing everything that’s not right in my life together in my mind. But Rachel keeps staring at the coffin, her face stoic and serene. I try Tess on my right. Sweet Tess, who, after my little breakdown, took me home to share a meal with her family, and showed me what family is really about.
I don’t know if she’d somehow prompted him, but Earl told the story of when Tess came out of the closet and his and his wife’s reaction to that.
“We always knew. We were basically just waiting for Tessie to tell us. We didn’t want to force that out of her.” That was it. No drama. No guilt. No penance required to merit the embrace of God.
This makes me think of that short but awkward phone call with my mother again. And how glad I am that my father was too busy to attend his only sister’s funeral. Pastor Baker only has time to lead a service for people he’s not related to by blood.
How much longer is this going to take? I need to make it through this. Then through the funeral reception at the house which, now, is legally mine. I own a house in Nelson, Texas. I’ve never owned any property before. I take a deep breath and focus on the minister. Does he have children? What would he say to them if one of them came out as gay? Would he crush them in that most vulnerable time of their life? Or offer them God’s embrace through his?
In the distance, I see a car approach. A black town car of the sort you seldom see in Nelson. It looks like a vehicle a mobster would drive. It inches closer and stops where the road ends, parking behind the funeral home’s hearse. Classy, I think, though I am intrigued as to who would do such a thing. Who would drive up here in the middle of a service and park in the middle of the street?
When the car doors open, even before I catch a glimpse of who’s about to come out, I know. It’s them. It can only be them. A moment later my suspicion is confirmed. With their heads held high, as though they didn’t just arrive at a funeral in the most disrespectful manner—and half an hour late—Richard and Phyllis Baker approach.
“Who’s that?” Tess whispers in my ear. “Do you know them?”
“I wish I didn’t, but I do.” I take another deep breath. “They’re my parents.”
A buzz of whisperings passes through the crowd as the Bakers approach. They stop just outside the circle of people. Inadvertently, I find my father’s gaze. Does he even recognize me? He gives me a slow nod, his features unreadable. I guess he does. I give him a hard stare back, then look away.
“Are you all right?” Tess whispers in my ear.
I don’t even know what to say to that.
From my left, Rachel inquires, “Are they who I think they are?” Already, indignation is the main note in her voice.
I nod, hoping to answer both their questions at once.
The priest is unperturbed by the goings-on, and finishes the sermon. When everybody says ‘Amen’ I can hear my father’s voice the loudest.
After the service ends, I don’t know what to do. So I just stand there a while longer, accepting people’s condolences with a meek smile on my face. But I can’t keep my eyes off them. Their presence hangs over me like the darkest cloud. Oh, how I regret making that call now.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” Rachel says. “You don’t owe them a goddamn thing.”
“Would you like me to go over?” Tess points at them with her thumb, as though they’re a mere nuisance to be dealt with. They are. “I can talk to them.”
“It’s fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Do you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” Rachel asks.
This elicits a nervous chuckle from Tess.
I extract myself from our circle of three and head over though, as I do, I fear my legs may give way. When I reach them, my father, typically, has already found an opportunity to talk to the minister, so I don’t say anything. I wait until he catches a glimpse of me.
“Laura.” He opens his arms wide, as if he wants to give me a hug. “Laura, my daughter.” To my relief, he doesn’t go for a fully-fledged hug, he just touches his palms to my shoulders lightly. But it’s still too much.
“Please, don’t touch me.” At least my voice is still working.
“Laura,” my mother, the woman who couldn’t bring herself to say anything of importance to me on the phone when I called her, says, “we came.” She says it as though they made the biggest sacrifice, flying out here and renting that ludicrous car.
“You’re a bit late.”
“Through no fault of our own. Our flight was delayed,” my mother says.
I feel like walking away from her there and then without saying another word. Why would I waste any of my time talking to someone who can’t even say sorry for arriving late at a funeral?
“We’re very sorry about that, Laura,” my father says. “Sadly, Millicent and I hadn’t been on very good terms for a while, but I do know she was always a stickler for punctuality. We should have booked an earlier flight.”
“Is there a reception?” my mother asks. Her face is turned toward me but she doesn’t look straight at me. Her glance shoots right past.
If I had known they’d be coming, I would not have done it at the house. “Yes.”
“We only have a few hours. We need to catch a flight out of Houston tonight,” my father says.
“I’m sure this is all very inconvenient for you,” I say.
That shuts them both up for a minute.
“Look, Laura,” my father starts to say. “We would love to get a chance to—”
“Hey,” someone shouts from the side of the road, “can someone move this black sedan? It’s blocking everyone’s way.”
“Oh, heavens. I told you, Richard,” my mother says.
“I have to go.” I start turning away from them. “People will start arriving at the house soon. Just follow the crowd.”
I walk back to where Tess and Rachel are standing. Tess’s family has joined them.
“Are those your folks?” Earl asks.
“Afraid so.” For some reason, I can’t look him in the eyes when I say this. I’m ashamed of them. Is that how they feel about me?
“Are they coming to yours?” Tess asks, her voice full of concern.
“Yep.”
“We’ll meet you all there, okay?” Tess addresses her family.
When it’s just her, me, and Rachel left, she asks, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I just shrug because, inside, I feel as dead as Aunt Milly’s body in the coffin we just watched being lowered into the ground.