Chapter Five
I entered the house through the sunroom and walked into a beehive of activity. Mitch’s dad had showered and changed and now stood in the kitchen rolling out biscuits. Mitch’s mom had also just arrived back and was putting her coat away in the hall closet. The kids were zipping around the house like miniature meteorites. They were blurs of bed-head hair and pajamas as they dodged into the room, then out again. The television was announcing the five-day outlook, all suns and cool temperatures, while Mitch looked on with the remote control in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.
“There you are,” he said, tossing the remote on a chair and walking over to me. He planted a kiss on my cheek, then whispered, “No fair disappearing on me this morning. It’s no fun waking up alone.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “I was definitely alone when I woke up this morning.”
“I had to break up a pillow fight at six-fifty.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. I feel so sorry for you,” I said. “Doesn’t look like you would have gotten to sleep much longer, anyway,” I said, nodding to the activity in the kitchen.
“Sad, but true. The kids have already eaten. They’ve found a box of toys that my mom keeps in the guest room.” The teasing smile dropped off of Mitch’s face. “Did you hear the news? The investigation’s closed and Grandpa Franklin’s body has been released. Dad’s called everyone and they’re on their way over here now. He’s already been on the phone to the funeral home.”
“Yes, I saw Detective Kalra as I was coming inside,” I said. “Did you get the impression she wasn’t ... satisfied with the autopsy?”
“No. She was straightforward. Told us the results and that the case was closed, then she left.”
“So she didn’t have any more questions for anyone?” I asked, glancing around the room, looking to see if Aunt Christine was here, but I didn’t see her.
“No. What are you saying?”
I shrugged. “When I talked to her, she hinted that the case could be reopened.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. She said if anyone knew anything else—”
“Ellie!” Mitch’s dad called as he slid a tray of biscuits into the oven. “Come on in here and have some breakfast. The grits are coming right up.”
“Great, you know how I love those grits.”
“Bill, stop teasing her,” Caroline admonished, and shoved the platter of bacon and pancakes at me. “Help yourself, dear.” It was a running family joke. On my first visit to Smarr, Mitch’s dad had pretended to be shocked when I told him I’d never eaten grits. “Well, you can’t marry Mitch until you’ve had some grits,” he’d declared, and said he’d cook some for me himself. Caroline had rolled her eyes and told me “to pay him no mind.” She had leaned closer and said, “You do see what you’re getting yourself into, don’t you? He’s always like this. And he’s just one member of the family.”
Caroline looked better today than she had for the last few days. She had on her full complement of jewelry—thin sliver hoop earrings that matched her silver necklace, bracelet, and ring. In her black sweater and herringbone pants with low-heeled pumps, she looked every inch the successful Realtor.
“I’ll clean up first,” I said. I didn’t want the whole family to see me without makeup and in sweaty workout clothes. By the time I’d showered and changed into jeans and a white turtleneck sweater, the kitchen and living room were crowded and opinions were flying in a lively discussion. I filled a plate—no grits—and sat down at the table next to Aunt Nanette, amazed at the transformation in the atmosphere of the house. Yesterday it had been tense and quiet, today it was noisy and ... relieved, I realized. Bill had the coffee pot in his hand and was walking around the room, refilling cups.
“The Twenty-third Psalm,” Aunt Nanette declared. “That has to be one of the readings.”
“Yes, but that’s so short,” Aunt Christine countered. She was alone again today and I wondered again about her relationship with Roy and if she was deliberately keeping it from the family. She sat in the living room, a wrinkled tissue in her hand. She had on a faded baby blue sweatshirt, but she was wearing her boot-cut jeans. I did a double take at her boots. They were at least two inches high. I avoided heels whenever I could, but if she wanted to wear them, then that was fine by me. I was proud of her for branching out and trying new things.
Felicity was sitting at the kitchen island, breaking off pieces of a croissant and scattering flaky bits all over the counter. Felicity’s antics hadn’t escaped the family’s notice, but in the uncertainty surrounding the investigation of Grandpa Franklin’s death and the break-in at his house, they’d avoided an all-out confrontation with her. “What about one of those letters from Addison McClure? He certainly talked about them enough and she’s, you know, famous,” Felicity said.
I shook my head, “I’m still surprised that’s true. I thought that was another one of his tall tales.”
Bill paused, coffee pot poised over Aunt Nanette’s mug. “Oh, no. It was true. She knew everyone around here back then and babysat for most everybody in Smarr.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to picture one of the world’s most well-known yet reclusive authors changing diapers. Nope, I couldn’t do it. The only thing that came to mind when I thought of Addison McClure was Deep Down Things, a coming-of-age story about a young girl, set in the South during the Civil Rights era.
“I can’t wait to read those letters,” Felicity said as she ripped off another piece of croissant and stuck it in her mouth.
Aunt Nanette lowered her chin and sent Felicity a disapproving stare. “You know he always said those were private letters and that he’d—”
“Take them to the grave with him. I know, I know,” Felicity snapped back. “But he’s not here. Those letters are important. Addison McClure is famous. People want to know more about her.”
Aunt Christine sucked in a breath. “Felicity, I cannot believe you’re talking like this. Of course, we will respect what he wanted. It doesn’t matter what people want to know. Sometimes they don’t need to know everything.”
“It’s her own fault,” Felicity said, sullenly. “If she’d give a few interviews or write some new books, people wouldn’t be so crazy to find out more about her. You saw the ruckus last year when all those news crews came to town for the book festival.” Felicity seemed to sense that she didn’t have—and wasn’t going to win—the approval of most of the room, so she swiveled toward me. “It was the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of her first book. She was the guest of honor at Book Daze that year, and would she give a speech? No. Even with all those camera crews hanging on her every word, all she came up with was two sentences. Two sentences and she was done!” Felicity’s eyebrows were up near her hairline. “I mean, can you imagine? All those people wanting to talk to you, put you on TV, and she mutters ‘thank you,’ and walks away.”
I was sure Felicity would love to be in the spotlight. In fact, she’d be perfect for one of those reality shows. She’d thrive on the attention and act outrageously, too.
Bill said firmly, “We will abide by what Dad wanted. We’re not discussing the letters now.”
Felicity shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, anyway. He always said he’d take them to his grave, so he probably burned them or something stupid like that.”
“Felicity,” Bill said sharply, “that’s enough. Caroline, where were we?”
“The readings,” she said.
“Wait.” Aunt Christine pulled at the neckline of her blue sweatshirt as she said, “We’ve got to do something about his casket. I was there during his prearrangement meeting and of course he picked out the cheapest one—everyone’s going to think we’re cutting corners if we use that casket. We have to upgrade it or it’ll be an embarrassment.”
Bill leaned against the counter and crossed one scuffed loafer over the other. “Now, Christine, he picked what he wanted. We’ve got to leave it at that. Be glad he didn’t pick a plain pine box—that’s what he threatened to do, you know. He didn’t see the point of spending a lot of money on the casket.”
“That’s true,” Aunt Nanette confirmed, her long nose bobbing up and down as she nodded. “Always said he wasn’t actually going to be in it, so what did it matter?”
“Not in it?” Felicity said, shocked. “Of course, he’s going to be in it.”
“His soul,” Aunt Nanette clarified with disdain, and called Queen over to her side. She didn’t say it aloud, but her expression clearly conveyed that she thought young people these days were barely worth talking to.
Caroline pressed her lips together and I wondered if she was counting to ten ... or maybe twenty. Finally, she spoke. “We can’t change the casket at this point. If it will make you feel better, we’ll have Pastor Davis mention Dad’s thrifty ways or something like that. We must finalize the funeral service. We already have ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ for the hymns, which were two of his favorites,” Caroline said. “Back to the readings. We need one more.”
“I’ve always been partial to ‘Remember,’ ” Uncle Bud said. He was a rough, tough kind of guy and reminded me of the illustrations of lumberjacks from storybooks. He was tall with broad shoulders and had a heavy brow that jutted out over his eyes. He tended to scowl. Today, his flannel shirt was a blue-and-black plaid and, since it was cold, he had the sleeves down, covering his phoenix tattoo. It was his only concession to the weather. I’d never seen him wear a coat, much less gloves. He hadn’t shaved today and stubble covered his face.
“Don’t know it,” snapped Aunt Nanette, and Queen turned her head to check and make sure she wasn’t in trouble.
Uncle Bud, who was leaning against the kitchen countertop holding a mug of coffee, promptly began to quote,
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
He finished, then looked down quickly at his mug and took a sip of coffee. And his eyes, were they glassy? I have to say hearing Uncle Bud quote poetry was about the last thing I’d ever expected, but the way he spoke the words had affected everyone. The room was completely still. The faint chatter from the kids was the only sound.
Caroline cleared her throat and said, “That’s lovely, Bud. Would you like to recite that at the funeral?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Well, that’s settled then,” Caroline said, and I noticed Aunt Nanette was discreetly wiping the corner of her eye with her napkin. Caroline glanced at the clock and said, “Grisholm’s can have the order of service printed for us.” She turned to Mitch. “You can drop off the final version and catch up with Dermont, or was it Jake you went to school with? I always get those Grisholm boys mixed up.” I looked at Mitch with raised eyebrows.
“It was Dermont,” he said. Then he explained to me, “The Grisholm family owns one of the local funeral homes. All their kids work there and I went to school with Dermont.”
Caroline said, “Also, you’ll need to stop by Grandpa Franklin’s house and pick up a tie. Grisholm’s called and left a message earlier. They need a tie to go with the suit.”
“I forgot the tie?” Aunt Christine said. “I thought I picked one out.”
“It didn’t make it to the funeral home, so Mitch can take one over there,” Caroline said.
“But I’m sure I ... well, maybe not. I remember coming out of his room with the suit and that was when I noticed the breeze, from the window, you know. After that, it was so confusing.”
Aunt Nanette said, “Good grief, Christine. It doesn’t matter. They need a tie. We’ll get the tie over there.”
Aunt Gwen called out, “Oh, that’s okay. We took care of it. Grisholm’s called us this morning when they didn’t get an answer here, so we ran by his house and picked up the tie we gave him for his birthday. We took it to the funeral home. You can mark one thing off your list, Caroline.”
Aunt Christine stiffened. “It wasn’t that awful one with the football helmets on it, was it? You didn’t take that one, did you?”
Aunt Gwen looked a little uncertain. “Well, of course it was. You remember,” she said, cajolingly. “Crimson banner and a football.”
“Of course I remember it and he’s not going to be buried in that tie,” Aunt Christine declared. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at Aunt Christine, whose cheeks were flushed.
Aunt Gwen was the only one who didn’t notice how upset Aunt Christine was. “But he liked it. He wore it the very next Sunday and it goes really well with the suit.”
“He hated that tie.”
“Do you have it mixed up with—”
“No, he hated that tie,” Aunt Christine repeated. “But he wore it to be nice. Nice! He did not attend the University of Alabama and he had no interest in your slavish following of their athletic program.”
Aunt Gwen looked as if someone had slapped her. “Are you sure ... ?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I knew him better than anyone else in this room. Don’t tell me I didn’t. I was the one who spent whole days with him.”
Aunt Gwen opened her mouth to interrupt, but there was an inflexibility in Aunt Christine’s voice that I’d never heard before. But she had been a teacher. I’m sure she had to be firm with her students. She stood, her gaze scanning the rest of the room as she continued. “Sure, the rest of you’d drop in for an hour or two. Or call to talk for a few minutes, but I was with him every day. I was the one who took him to the doctor and to the grocery store and the library. I knew what he liked and didn’t like. And he detested that tie, but he was too much of a gentleman to let you know how he felt. He’ll be buried in his favorite blue tie with the yellow stripes. I’ll take care of it now,” Aunt Christine said as she picked up her purse with trembling fingers and marched out of the room.
“Well,” Caroline said, a bit uncertainly. “I guess that’s settled.”
Aunt Gwen said, “I didn’t know ... I didn’t mean ...”
Uncle Kenny, usually so blustery, was uncharacteristically quiet as he said, “Let it go, honey. Christine deserves to have the last word. She’s right. She did know him best.”
Caroline looked at Bill. “Do you think someone should go with her ... make sure she’s okay?”
After exchanging a quick glance with Mitch, I hopped up. “I’ll go,” I said, and dashed out of the room. I wanted to talk to her and this looked like the perfect opportunity to get her alone. It wasn’t always easy to have a private conversation with everyone around.
I jogged quickly down the driveway and caught up with her at her car. “Wait, Aunt Christine. Would you like some company?”
She shrugged and unlocked her small white car. I slid into the passenger seat. As she pulled out of the driveway, her hands fluttered over the steering wheel. “I really shouldn’t have said that to Gwen. I feel terrible. Oh, my.”
“I’m sure Gwen will get over it. Everyone is a little emotional right now,” I said. Aunt Gwen was the type of person who’d steamroll over people and didn’t even realize what she’d done. Creating that little scene was probably the only way to get through to her.
“Yes, but to say those things ... I shouldn’t have.” She sighed. “They don’t understand what it’s been like taking care of him. It was so hard.” Her voice wavered and she swallowed hard. “They didn’t want to admit it, but I knew. I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.”
“How did you know?” I asked.
“It’s hard to put it into words,” she said slowly. “He’d changed. His mind ... I could tell things weren’t right. And then when he started talking about Momma and his dead brother ... well, I just knew. Here we are.” She stared at the house for a moment, then bit her lip. “I think it’s a good thing you came with me. I’m such a silly old lady. I’m nervous about going in there. Well, best to do what has to be done quickly,” she said as she shut off the car and stepped onto the gravel driveway.
She’d parked at the side of the house and we entered through the kitchen. The curtains were still drawn and in the light of day the rooms looked gloomy. She flipped on a light in the kitchen. “I suppose we’d better leave the curtains closed,” she said as she moved quickly through the living room and clicked on a table lamp for more light. “I’ll just be a moment,” she said, and disappeared down the hall to Grandpa Franklin’s room. I walked into the living room, studying Grandpa Franklin’s chair again. It still looked just the same.
Aunt Christine reappeared with a blue tie and came to stand beside me. “Makes me sad, just looking at it.” Something on the floor had caught her attention. “Now, that’s not right,” she murmured as she leaned down and straightened a stack of books on the lower shelf of the table. She picked up a magazine that had slipped between the table and chair. “And look at this. Who left this out?” She opened a small drawer in the table and froze in place.
I leaned around her shoulder and saw the drawer was a jumble of paper crammed inside. “Oh, this is all wrong,” Aunt Christine said as she pulled out several magazines and a newspaper insert with the television schedule. A remote control slipped out of the middle of the pile and thudded to the floor.
She dropped into the recliner and began to straighten the papers, her hands perfectly steady now. “This is just not right. Dad would never have a mess like this in his drawer. He was very tidy.”
I reached down and picked up the remote control. “Maybe the police messed it up during their investigation,” I said.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I was here, right at the table in the kitchen, and I watched them. I remember a nice young police lady looking around this room. She had on plastic gloves and she opened this drawer and glanced at the papers, but didn’t take anything out. They weren’t smashed into the drawer then. And he never kept the remote in there. He was very particular about where everything went.” She glanced up at me. “Of course, you know all about that.”
I put the remote control down on the tabletop and realized I’d missed something she’d said, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“That you’d know something about keeping everything in its place.”
“Oh, yes. Right,” I said with a smile. Everything In Its Place was the name of my part-time organizing business. Sorting, organizing, and paying attention to detail were integral parts of my life. I looked at the remote control again. “You know, I don’t think the remote was in the drawer when Mitch and I came by here the other night.”
“No, Dad never put it in the drawer. It was always right there on the corner, so he could reach it easily.” She patted the edges of the magazines into line and replaced them. “I imagine someone could have stopped by yesterday and watched TV. Or, Kenny might have watched sports while Gwen was getting that awful tie ... ,” she trailed off uncertainly as she looked around the room. “That’s odd,” she said. “Look at the couch cushions. They’re on backwards. They weren’t like that the other day. Would have driven Dad crazy.”
“Here, I’ll fix them,” I said, and went over to switch the cushions around so that the zippers weren’t facing out. “There. All done,” I said.
“What in the world?” Aunt Christine said. I turned and saw she was running her hands around the cushion of the recliner she’d been sitting in. “It’s been slit.”
Ellie Avery’s Tips for Preserving Family Treasures
Sort and Purge
This step may take some time, but you don’t want to think you’ve finished organizing your family photos and then find another box you’ve overlooked.
• Gather all the items you want to organize.
• Divide the items into groups such as photos, school papers, etc.
• Begin thinning at this stage, as well. Make separate piles for trash and donate.