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“This place is so lovely.” Heather laughed. “It’s kind of a shame no one will actually see it.”
Kali nodded then answered, remembering a moment too late that even though she was looking right at her, Heather probably wouldn’t see the slight movement. “Yeah. It’s really nice.”
“At least they won’t need to see the food to appreciate it.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Kali.” Heather nudged Kali’s shoulder. “You doing all right?”
“Yeah.” Kali turned to Heather with a smile. “Sorry, kind of a rough night.”
“Headaches bothering you?”
They weren’t. Amazingly. “Mmhmm.” Kali ran her hand over the linen. Had she ever eaten in a restaurant this fancy? “The manager’s taking a long time, don’t you think?”
“It’s probably intentional. He wants to give us time to discuss, come up with any questions we may have. I’m pretty sold, though.”
Kali turned her head to take in the space once more. “It’s spacious. The ceilings are high, the walls uncluttered. It’s very accessible from outside. The seating isn’t too close together and the manager seems more than willing to accommodate. I’m with you—this is the one.”
Heather gave a satisfied smile. “Every year it’s getting easier. The first year we held it we went to ten restaurants before we found one that was on board.”
“Well, I guess as the word gets out they realize it’s good marketing for them too.”
Heather turned so she was facing Kali directly. “Have you decided who you’re bringing?”
She had. She thought she had. Only now they were supposed to be giving each other space. Serious space, not invited to his father’s funeral space. “Not sure yet.”
“I’ve brought my husband every other year but this year I decided to give my sister the free pass. She’s come before, of course, buying a ticket. But my eldest has a soccer game so my husband’s going to that.” Heather paused. “Theo’s father isn’t in the picture anymore, is he?”
“Actually, he is.” Kali wrapped her arms around her middle. “Just recently.”
“But you’re not ...”
“No. We’re not.” Kali turned, pretending to take in the room again. “I think he’d like to be, but the past is the past.”
“I understand that. Though as life passes, you do realize things can be forgiven that you never thought possible, and the bonds of family are strong.” Heather hesitated. “You and the father, it’s amiable?”
Kali swallowed and stepped to the wall, letting her fingers graze over the raised wallpaper.
Heather let out a short sigh. “I’m sorry if I press too much, Kali. When I get excited, my filters don’t always work as they should.”
“It’s okay. I just—”
“Ladies.” The manager walked back into the room. “My apologies for the delay. As you know, we’re opening for the day shortly and there was a halibut issue in the kitchen.” He gave a slight laugh, “Halibut issue,” and shook his head. “But that’s the life.”
“No problem.” Heather shifted her head, and Kali could tell from her gaze she was searching for the source of the voice through her pinhole of vision.
“So, what are your thoughts?” the manager asked.
Heather grinned as she zeroed in on his face. “If you’re game, we are.”
***
MARILYN STOOD IN FRONT of her children, her eyes red, her face puffy, her shoulders held back—strong and tall. “Tonight it’s just the five of us.” She looked to Linda. “Though you could have brought Steven and the boys.”
Linda waved an arm. “You said you wanted your children tonight. They’ll manage on their own.”
Marilyn nodded a smile as Lincoln looked to Joseph, who didn’t have Lucy by his side. Marilyn made no mention that he could have brought her.
“The rest of the family wanted to come but I’ve thought about this. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.” Marilyn’s lips pressed into a little heart before she continued. “Tonight is for us, the family your father and I built. Tomorrow the relatives can come by, some close friends. The next day will be the wake. A closed casket, with a huge blow up picture he chose in the early days, so everyone will remember him as he was.” A pause. “Then the funeral.”
Marilyn placed her hands on her hips. “Until then, as much as we can, I want us to focus on the joy. Not on what we’ve lost, but what we had for too short a time. Focus on the amazing man your father was and all he did.
“At the funeral we can focus on the loss. Bawl as much as we want. Lament. Rage. Curse the heavens.” She paused. “For everything else, the focus will be on what he gave us. How full of life he was in the short years we had him as him.”
Lincoln shifted in his spot between Linda and Rachel. Linda had walked into the room with stooped shoulders, a trembling chin, and a hand full of tissues. Rachel had already been sitting, staring distantly at nothing but the wall, it seemed. She’d barely acknowledged Lincoln when he sat down beside her. Lincoln looked now to Joseph, who stared at their mother, his expression solemn, his jaw clenched and quivering. For the first time in almost a year, Lincoln felt no hate. All he saw was his brother, who he missed. Who he loved.
Lincoln brought his attention back to their mother.
“After the funeral, there’ll be a gathering here. A party. With whiskey and food and music. I’ve ordered your father’s favourite local band to set up out back.”
Marilyn let her gaze travel over her children. “Don’t think I’m saying you can’t be sad now, or mourn or grieve. But as I said, I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve read about this a lot. We’ve been grieving your father since you were children. And you’ll be grieving him in one way or another for the rest of your lives. For these few days, as we’re surrounded by each other and all the people who loved him, all the people whose lives he touched, let’s be joyful—as best we can. Let’s remember. Let’s have his presence in it all and maybe, for just these few days, it won’t feel so much like he’s gone.”
Marilyn took a seat on the loveseat across from her children. Again her gaze travelled over the four of them. “Can we do that?”
Lincoln looked to his sisters then turned to Joseph, who leaned forward, his arms on his knees. “We’ll do our best, Mom.” His smile was tight but genuine. “I think it’s a nice idea. To think of Dad as he was.” Joseph blinked, his voice deep and rough. “It’s been a while since I’ve done that to be honest.”
Marilyn shifted and reached for Joseph’s hand. He leaned forward and grasped it as she squeezed. “I think it’s been that way for a lot of people. Myself sometimes too.” She released his hand and leaned against the arm of the chair, her shoulders slumping. “He’s been someone to pity, to avoid, to fear. But that’s not who he was, not at all. That was the disease. Your father, though,” she let out a soft laugh, “he was a man among men. Someone to trust, to follow, to respect. Someone who was loved and loved back.”
An ache spread through Lincoln’s throat as Marilyn looked to her lap before raising her gaze to her children. “That man knew how to love. I want to celebrate that. Remind people of that. Remind you of that.” Again her smile seemed lit from somewhere deep within. “I know you have your differences, your hurts, but for these next few days, for me, please put them aside. They’re real. And they’re hard. I know that. But they’re also less than the love you share beneath it all, than the blood that courses through your veins. So put it aside. Four days.” She looked to the ceiling. “Not even. Today’s almost done.” This time she looked at each child before continuing. “Okay?”
They nodded. Rachel quickly. Linda and Joseph more hesitantly. Lincoln last, though he wasn’t sure why. His mother’s request wasn’t unreasonable. If anything, it felt like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Like a burden lifting.
“Good.” Marilyn slapped her hands on her knees. “Your Aunt Mev brought over one of her favourite stews.”
“I thought I smelled that,” said Rachel, finally perking up the slightest bit. “The stew beef one, right?”
“I think so,” said Marilyn. “I was thinking dinner then family movies? See you all learning to walk and talk and ride your bikes.” She stood and they all followed.
Linda’s voice came out softer than Lincoln had remembered hearing since her boys were babies. “How about your wedding video? That’d be a good place to start, don’t you think? The day that started it all—for our family, anyway?”
Marilyn’s eyes crinkled as she laid her arm across Linda’s shoulders. “The day that cemented it all, at least. It started long before that. Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw your father?”
“You told me.” Joseph took his place at the table as Rachel brought over the stew. “It was on Natal Day, and you and Aunt Mev were there to meet two men Mev had met at a church picnic.”
“Two older men,” added Rachel as she set the stew in the centre of the table.
“And you met those men. Aunt Mev liked the one for her, you were not so keen on the one for you,” continued Linda.
“You all started dancing,” grinned Joseph, “your man gave you a spin, your sandal broke—”
“And you literally fell into Dad’s arms,” finished Rachel.
“So you do know the story,” laughed Marilyn. “And what happened next?”
As Lincoln’s siblings continued the tale he soaked in this piece of history he’d never heard. They laughed, ate, and recounted stories—just the five of them, almost six. It felt like Dad was there, almost. It felt like home. Home in a way he hadn’t felt, not this fully, since the day his father couldn’t find the way back to their house, since everything changed.
It felt good.
Late in the night, after family movies, a look through his parents’ wedding album, and a game of Monopoly, Lincoln climbed into his childhood bed, the familiar yet foreign sounds of his siblings getting ready for bed filtering through the closed doors. A smile crossed his face as he drifted to sleep. It was good to be home.
The next two days filled with more stories, more family, more friends. Uncle Albert told the story of the first ladder his father had built, and how it collapsed beneath him when he was on the second to top rung. He’d been cleaning their mother’s gutters and pulled the whole front portion off as he grasped it, trying to save himself.
Joseph recounted the way their father had always made time to tuck each of them in at night and read a story. ‘Bedtime stories weren’t just for mothers,’ he used to say. And when Joseph was eight and declared he was too big for stories, their father had nodded. But the next week, when Joseph came down with the flu and changed his mind, their father was back in his room, every night, and kept the routine up till he was eleven.
Lincoln was more silent than the rest. He had less years of memories. And when tales of his father came up after diagnosis, even after being admitted to the home—tales of when, despite what should have been, Alexander returned to them for brief moments, just as he was, Lincoln had nothing to say. Rachel talked of the way he used to tease the nurses. Marilyn spoke of the days he’d lean forward, eager to know all the details of his children’s lives. Linda’s smile glistened as she told everyone of the days he remembered his grandchildren, who had been born long after he was deemed lost.
Laughter flowed through the room and into tears. Expressions of anger over the cruelty and uselessness of such a disease erupted. Tensions between Lincoln and his siblings, his siblings and their significant others, trickled in as well—he caught Joseph and Lucy arguing twice and Linda and Steven maybe three times as much.
But mostly the days were defined by love and shared memories. It was good. More healing than Lincoln could have imagined. Still, he missed Kali, missed Theo’s smile and still surprising bursts of laughter.