CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

Burying a child is life’s darkest assignment.

 

Jewell

 

THE RATTLE OF pots and pans and the smell of bacon woke me from the fitful sleep that had plagued me all night. Surely, Ross wasn’t cooking breakfast.

I threw on my robe and hurried downstairs. Mrs. Lake was standing over the stove, hastily turning bacon while trying to keep the eggs from sticking to the skillet.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” she announced, as if it was customary for her to be in our kitchen cooking for us. “I’ve just about scrambled the life out of these eggs.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said. “Where’s Ross?”

“He was leaving as I got here. Said he needed to fill up the tank and get some cigarettes. I hope he’s back before everything gets cold.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee—black the way I liked it. I wasn’t in the mood for small conversation. Although I appreciated my neighbor for coming over this morning, I couldn’t stomach her sympathy. I walked over to the den and sat down on the hearth where she couldn’t see me.

The sun, just topping the horizon, had cast a faint glow over the dark paneling of the room. Other than the ticking of the mantle clock, which seemed to echo against the walls, it was quiet as a tomb compared to last night’s deluge of family and friends.

I sipped my coffee, staring at the murky brew as if it held the answers to all my questions. How was I going to get through this day, or the next one? How was I going to live another minute without my precious Jake? What meaning could my life possibly have from now on?

I buried my face in my palms, pressing my fingers hard against my temples to lessen the constant throbbing. A dog was barking nearby and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the dog’s owner calling it home. A train threaded the tracks on the outskirts of town as its long, low whistle haunted the air. Such ordinary sounds for the day after my son passed away. I folded my arms and rocked back and forth until the room became quiet again.

Amid the stillness, I became aware that Holly was standing in the doorway. She looked completely needy, like a pitiful orphan who longed to steal back to the time when life had no meaning for her other than securing the warmth and nourishment of her mother’s breast.

I turned my head, hoping she would take the hint and go away. When I reluctantly looked back around, Holly mistook my gesture as an invitation and came toward me; timidly at first, and then suddenly, she rushed forward and threw her arms around me. Holly clung so tightly to me that her tears wet my cheeks and streamed down my neck. I felt like I was suffocating.

I wanted no part of this. What was she thinking? I took her arms and threw them off of me.

“Get away,” I screamed.

Holly’s eyes popped from shock and her face reddened. She gasped as if I had knocked all the air out of her lungs.

I didn’t need her blubbering all over me right now, causing a scene with her tragic grasp for pity. I just lost my son. My God! I just lost my son. Why can’t everyone leave me alone? I can’t feel anything but my own sorrow.

Holly’s sobbing was so loud that Mrs. Lake peered around the corner to see what was going on. She quickly led my daughter down the hall, speaking so softly that I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I didn’t care. I wanted Holly out of my sight.

When Ross came home, I could hear him talking to Mrs. Lake, but couldn’t make out their conversation. After a while, Mrs. Lake came into the den.

“Ross went upstairs to check on Holly,” she said, barely looking at me. I knew she thought I was a horrible mother. “I’m going to leave now, unless there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“You’ve done enough already.”

After Mrs. Lake left, Ross came downstairs and sat at the table she had set for breakfast. He didn’t say anything when I joined him. I took it he was unhappy with me. Holly must have made more of what happened than actually did.

“Drew will be here around noon,” Ross finally spoke. “He’ll drive our car and Sybil will follow in theirs. I told Holly to be ready.”

“She’s pouting, isn’t she?”

“She thinks you don’t give a damn about her. I wonder that, too.”

“Why does she have to start up? Not now. I can’t deal with her now.” I had observed this act played out too many times. When things didn’t go her way, Holly would either shout in your face or run to her room and slam the door so she could stifle her screams by biting the nose of the old teddy bear Papa Hendricks had given her. One of Fuzzy’s button eyes was missing and to this day, his nose still reeked of stale perfume from Holly’s early experiments with the French atomizers that lined my vanity. Holly had tied a shoestring around the bear’s neck to hide the uneven stitching that kept his head attached. Later, she hung him on the wall above her bed. For all his years of abuse, Fuzzy still remained intact.

“I told her you needed some time alone,” Ross said.

“I don’t want her coming around me crying like she did. I can’t take it.”

“She’s just a child, Jewell. You’re not the only one who’s lost Jake.”

“I know that.” I got up. I didn’t need a lecture from Ross. “What time is it? I need to get dressed and pack my bags.”

I went upstairs and sat down on the bed next to the empty suitcase Ross had put there for me. Why, oh why, had this happened to me? I lowered my head and rested it in my hands. I closed my eyes, hoping to muster every bit of strength I could. I couldn’t break down now. I had to decide on songs and prayers for Jake’s service, make sure his Boy Scout uniform was cleaned and pressed for his burial; and worse of all, select the coffin where he would sleep for all eternity. Things no mother should ever have to do. I would never see my son become a man. I would go to my grave longing for the young boy who had brought me so much joy and left me in so much pain.