Rafe
“She wouldn’t want that.”
My head snaps up when I hear Taz voice what I am thinking.
The past twenty-four hours or so, things have been surprisingly calm. No conflicts at all, only a sad and subdued atmosphere while we all seemed focused on supporting the kids.
Sofie and Spencer are with Kathleen, who offered to look after them while the rest of us are at the funeral home to make arrangements.
I look at the ostentatious, heavy oak casket lined in pink satin Sarah wants for her daughter.
“How could you possibly know what your sister would want?” she snaps. “You’ve hardly been around enough. Suddenly you’re an expert?”
I can almost visualize the punches landing by the way Taz flinches at her mother’s words. Still, she seems to steel herself and responds calmly.
“Not an expert, but Nicky brought up the subject of her funeral last week. She was clear about what was important to her. No visitation or viewing, and a biodegradable casket. She wanted us to remember her spirit instead of cry over the body she left behind. Her words, not mine,” Taz quickly adds.
“I was part of that conversation,” I interject, before Sarah has a chance to throw another barb. “She said since a funeral is for loved ones, we could make that into whatever we wanted, but that she should be able to decide what happened to her body.”
“But it’s pretty. My daughter deserves something pretty.”
I lower my eyes at Sarah’s plea and the depth of pain on her face.
“Sarah…” Ed, who’s been very quiet, lays a shaking hand on his wife’s arm. “Veronica deserves to have her wishes honored. She deserves us remembering her beautiful spirit, so let’s focus on that.”
The rest of the meeting, I’m happy to let Sarah take the lead. I lean against the doorjamb as the funeral director goes over the rest of the details with her.
I’m not religious, but on the rare occasion my wife wanted to take the kids to church, I went with them. I understand having a service for Nicky is important to her parents, and maybe to the kids as well, so I don’t voice any objections.
“Are you okay with all this?” Taz whispers behind me. She’d opted to stay outside in the hallway, probably not wanting to risk another possible scene.
I turn my head to the side and whisper back, “Yeah. They need this.”
“I guess. Okay, well, unless you need me to jump in the fray for you, I’ll be outside. I can’t breathe in here.”
I immediately feel the loss of her heat behind me, but resist turning around to watch her disappear down the hallway.
“Ready to go?”
Taz is leaning against my truck when her parents and I walk out of the funeral home forty minutes later.
“Did you get it worked out?” she asks, looking at her mother.
“Friday. I need to find her something to wear and drop it off tomorrow.” Sarah seems a little at a loss.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Taz’s eyes dart to me. “I mean, if it’s is okay with you, of course. I was going to suggest it might be nice to let Sofie pick clothes for her mom. Perhaps Spencer could pick some jewelry for her to wear.”
I swallow hard, moved she thought of something that hadn’t even occurred to me: giving the kids a chance to do one last special thing for their mother.
“Nicky would like that,” I confirm before turning to her parents. “Mom? Dad?”
Ed nods, managing only the barest of smiles at his daughter as he battles his emotions.
“She would,” Sarah says softly, glancing at Taz before she puts an arm around her husband and flashes a sad smile at me. “I should take Dad home. It’s been a long morning.”
It’s silent in the truck when we head out to pick up the children. I occasionally glance over at Taz to gauge her mood, but she seems miles away. When I pull up alongside the curb in front of Kathleen and Brent’s place, I reach over and put a hand on her arm.
“You okay?”
She blinks her eyes a few times before focusing them on me. “I’m not sure,” she answers surprising me with her honesty. “I feel…hollow. Numb. I keep waiting for the moment it’ll all hit me. It’s like holding my breath in anticipation of a huge wave I know will crash over me, and there’s nothing for me to hold onto. I’m afraid it’ll drown me.”
Before I can react, she’s pulled away from me, has the door open, gets out of the truck, and starts walking toward the house. I scramble to catch up.
Kathleen, who must’ve seen us pull up, has the door open before we climb up her steps. She immediately pulls Taz into a hug.
“And?” she asks over Taz’s shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes pinning me.
“Friday noon at the United Methodist. Interment immediately after, and since there won’t be visitation, Sarah suggested we do coffee and sandwiches in the church hall after to give people a chance to pay their respects.”
“I can help with that,” Kathleen offers, letting go of her friend before turning to me for a kiss on the cheek.
“Give Sarah a call,” I suggest, noting Taz is quiet again.
“I will. Come in, the kids are watching cartoons.”
Spencer is curled up in a corner of the couch, Kathleen’s husky beside him with her big head on my son’s leg. Sofie is on the other side, but jumps up when she sees us come in.
“Hey, Pipsqueak.”
She wraps her arms around my hips and I lean down to kiss the top of her head. “Did you see her?”
“Not today. We get to say goodbye on Friday.”
“Us too?” she asks, looking up at me.
I brush a strand of hair from her face and cup her cheek. She’s the spitting image of her mother and my heart breaks to see her hurting.
“If you want.”
Taz
Spencer is done in two seconds.
He picked a necklace that was hanging off the dressing table in the master bedroom. It looks like hand-painted pasta, enhanced with copious amounts of glitter. He proudly confirms he made it for his mom last Christmas.
I half expect Sofie to say something derogatory—if her expression was anything to go by—but she bites her tongue. She does however roll her eyes when her brother disappears downstairs to play.
“Now you,” I encourage her. “Anything you want.”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles, suddenly demure. “What if I get it wrong?”
I grab her hand and pull her down to sit beside me on the edge of the bed. “You couldn’t even if you tried. There is no wrong choice. There are no wrong reasons. The only thing that matters is you pick something you feel would be right.”
“Does it have to be a dress?” she asks.
“Nope. It can be anything. Something that reminds you of a fun time you guys had, something that looked really pretty on her, maybe something that still smells like her.”
She gets up and hesitantly opens the door to the walk-in closet. A heavy weigh settles on my chest as she steps in, running her fingers along my sister’s impressive collection.
She always liked pretty things, followed the latest fashion trends. Unlike me. My main criteria still is clothes have to be clean, comfortable, and durable. My entire wardrobe fits in my duffel bag, which still sits on the floor in the corner of the spare bedroom. In the morning I just grab in there blindly for something clean to wear.
I never give much thought to what I put on, something that used to drive my mother crazy. It probably still does.
Sofie comes out of the closet, carrying a pile of clothes in her arms and dumps them on the bed.
“It’s hard,” she announces, biting her lip.
“Do you want help?” Instead of answering, she nods. I spread the clothes out over the bed and step back, pointing at a navy, formfitted dress with three-quarter sleeves. The tag still attached. “What made you pick that?”
The girl shrugs. “Because she never had a chance to wear it and blue was her favorite color.”
“Fair enough. How about that?” I point out the pale pink, floral summer dress.
“She looks pretty in that dress.”
I note how my niece talks about her mother both in past and present tense. Something I’ve caught myself doing as well. “I can see that. It’s a very pretty dress.”
During our conversation, Sofie hasn’t stopped stroking the last outfit on the bed. A pair of dark gray lounge pants, a black ribbed tank, and a matching gray, fuzzy hoodie.
“Can you tell me about that outfit?”
She picks up the sleeve of the hoodie and puts it to her nose, tears filling her eyes. “It smells like her. She’d wear it around the house, and I’d like to snuggle with her: the hoodie is really soft.”
I reach over and pick up the sweater, rubbing the material against my cheek before giving it a good sniff. “You’re right. It smells and feels like her.” I try to smile at her through my own tears. “In which one do you think your mom would be happiest?”
“That one.”
As I expected, she points at the hoodie I’m holding and I pull her into a hug. Nicky’s sweater is caught in the middle, her scent drifting up around us.
“Perfect choice.”
Rafe is at the bottom of the stairs when we come down and takes the garment bag for Nicky from my hands.
“I see you found something.” He smiles at his daughter. “Good. Check in with your brother, he wanted to draw a picture for Mom. He’s at the kitchen table. Maybe you’d like to do one too?” She doesn’t answer but takes off for the kitchen. “I thought maybe they’d like to leave something with her,” he says, his eyes on Sofie’s retreating back.
“Good idea.” His eyes come to me and I suddenly feel awkward, a little unsure. “I hope you don’t mind, Sofie asked what she should wear for Friday, and I helped her pick something out.”
“That’s fine. I guess I haven’t really thought that far.”
“I hadn’t either,” I confess, thinking about Nicky’s brand new blue dress. “I don’t really have anything funeral appropriate.” The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches as his gaze drifts down my length. It almost feels like a caress on my skin underneath the washed out Duran Duran concert T-shirt and ripped men’s jeans I’m wearing.
“I can see that,” he says, grinning now. “Suitable for a mosh pit, but maybe not church.”
“Anyway…” I drawl, a little irritated being the subject of his amusement. “Sofie suggested I wear this never-worn dress Nicky bought recently, but I wanted to check with you first.”
His face instantly blanks and he waves his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter to me. Use whatever you want. I’m gonna run out and drop this at the funeral home.”
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
I look over at my mom, who’s watching as the kids—each with a hand in one of Rafe’s—approach the casket.
“It’ll be okay.” I lightly touch her arm. “They wanted to give her the drawings they made themselves.”
Mom presses her lips together and leans against my dad, who is flanking her on the other side. I don’t even bother holding back my tears as we watch Rafe crouch down, putting an arm around each of his children. He lifts them simultaneously, stepping closer to my sister’s casket.
“She’s wearing my necklace,” I hear Spencer stage-whisper.
“Why don’t you put your drawings right by her hands.” Rafe’s low voice sounds rough as he leans forward so the kids can reach.
I suddenly have a moment of panic when a vision of one of the kids tumbling from Rafe’s hold hits me, and breathe a sigh of relief when he straightens up.
“I love you, Mommy.”
Sofie’s tear-filled voice rips my heart right out of my chest, and I shove my fist against my mouth to stifle a sob.
“Daddy, I have to pee,” her brother announces loudly, causing my father to chuckle. Rafe’s head swings around, smiling through his tears.
“All right, kid. Let me get you guys to Kathleen, she can take you.”
It had actually been Mom’s idea to ask Kathleen to be here for the kids. She’s in the hallway, waiting.
The moment the door closes behind Rafe and the kids, Mom and Dad make their way over to the casket. I stay right where I am.
“Couldn’t you have suggested a dress?”
I squeeze my eyes shut at Mom’s sharp comment when she sees Nicky. It’s always been my mother’s way, to lash out when she hurts, but I know inside she’s torn up in pain. I ignore the comment, just as I ignore Dad’s soft admonishment.
I hear the door open at the same time Mom hisses, “She’s got sparkles all over herself, for cripes’ sake. She’d be mortified”
A large hand presses in the small of my back as Rafe guides me closer to the casket.
“Actually, she wouldn’t,” he jumps in. “That sweater was her favorite, and she’d happily be covered in glitter if it meant it would make her kids happy. She looks perfect.”
I lift my eyes and look at my sister. Except it’s not her anymore; only the shell where she used to live.
Dad kisses his fingertips and presses them over her heart. “See you soon, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”
Mom reaches in and brushes a few sparkles off her cheek, before she turns to my father and buries her face in his chest.
Rafe stays where he is, but urges me to move closer. I straighten the two drawings the kids dropped in and take one last look at her before stepping back to let funeral home staff close the casket. When they start bolting down the lid, I instinctively lean into Rafe’s strength and his arm settles around my shoulders.
“Wait,” I call out as they start rolling her toward the door.
I hurry forward and bend down, pressing my lips against the cold wood covering her face.
“Bonus kiss,” I whisper.