CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

TIMOTHY WENT HOME to an empty house—the emptiest and loneliest it had ever been. He suffered aloneness in a way he never imagined. He searched for familiar living memories. He imagined Mom in the kitchen making her rolls. He envisioned her in her rocking chair in the living room—she called it the front room. He saw her in his mind’s eye sitting at the dining room table reading her Bible. He remembered family dinners. He recalled the day he left for the Army, and she didn’t want to let go of him. He relived the day he returned home from Vietnam, and she met him at the front door. He visited all of these familiar places. He already missed her pitiful expressions, and that made him smile. He sat in the chair and rocked. Death strips time of urgency. Lost in time, Timothy sat and rocked until the phone startled him. He had little desire to answer it or talk to anyone but knew it might be important—something about the funeral arrangements. The responsible Timothy went to the phone.

“When did you get home?” Leslie asked.

“About an hour ago. How are you?”

“Sad. Really sad.”

“I hear ya.”

“Ike went to get the kids from school. We are taking them out early today. They need to know. This is going to be a tough afternoon.”

“It’s already a tough day,” he said.

“Frank changed his flight and will come in on the red eye tomorrow morning. I asked Ike to pick him up when he gets in. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure.” Frank was the least of Timothy’s concerns now.

“Do you want to come over later for dinner? You don’t have to be by yourself, you know.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here. This place feels pretty empty right now, and I better get used to it.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind—”

Timothy wanted to change the conversation. “Where is Frank staying?”

“He’s got a hotel room.”

“He could’ve stayed here with me,” Timothy said.

“I think he felt awkward since he never called much.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure he feels this in his own way. How could he not? This was his mother that died,” Timothy said.

“Yes, I’m sure he does in his own way.”

“Tomorrow, we have some things to take care of at the funeral home and church. We should probably start at church and then go to the funeral home. How about we meet at the rectory after Ike gets Frank?”

“Okay.” She paused for a long moment. “I can’t believe she’s gone, Tim. I didn’t see this coming.”

“None of us did, Sis. Let’s talk in the morning, and don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Timothy said but didn’t believe it. He hoped he sounded confident.

Timothy went to the refrigerator for a beer. He popped open a can of Pabst and returned to Mom’s rocking chair. This first beer went down smoothly and quickly. He decided to have another and a third to keep the second one company. Time of day meant nothing to him at this point. He liked the way it soothed his pain. If one is good, two is better, and three’s not enough. Cheryl hates that saying. The doorbell rang, and he answered it.

“Oh, Tim, I’m sorry,” Cheryl said. “Why didn’t you call me from the hospital?”

“I’m sorry. I should have. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking real clear. I was kind of in a fog. Still am.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. He hugged her like a stiff tree. She cupped his face in her hands and looked into his moist red eyes.

“You look sad.”

“I feel sad. How did you hear? Leslie, right?”

“Yes, she’s worried you want to be by yourself. That’s why she called.”

“I have this great big hole in me right now. I’m empty. There’s nothing here,” he said, pointing to his gut. “It’s like there’s a part of me missing. I hurt when my dad passed but not like this.”

“It’s different when your mother dies. At least, that’s what people tell me,” she said.

“I feel like I’ve lost my biggest fan in life.”

“You still have a pretty big fan in me,” she said.

“Thanks.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s go sit. Want a beer?”

“No, I’m fine,” she said. “How many have you had?”

“Lost count after the last one.”

“Is it helping?”

“I’ll let you know.”

They spent the next couple of hours talking about nothing in particular but Mom in general.

Cheryl was a good listener. Patient. Nonjudgmental. Accepting. He laid open his grief the way a repentant sinner seeks forgiveness in a confessional. She offered an occasional smile and nod, enough to encourage him to continue.

“You probably didn’t want to hear all of this,” he said.

“I want to hear anything you have to say.”

The doorbell rang.

“Okay, I wonder who this is,” Timothy said as he walked to the door and opened it.

Scoot stood on the porch. “Hey, bro. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Scoot.”

They exchanged a male hug—close but not weird.

“Come in. Cheryl’s here.”

“I know. She called me earlier.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be damned,” Timothy said.

“You probably will be.” Scoot couldn’t resist.

“Want a beer?” Timothy asked.

“Always.”

“Hey, Cheryl. How’s it goin’ girl?” Scoot said as Timothy went for the beers. Cheryl hugged Scoot.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

“Me too,” Scoot said.

Timothy returned with a couple of beers, which they quickly drained, and went for a couple more. They sat for a while and told Mom stories. They told war stories. They told Bobby stories.

“Time for a girl to leave, boys,” Cheryl said.

“Thanks. This means a lot to me you came over.” He kissed her.

“I know. I’ll call you later. See you later, Scoot,” she said.

Scoot nodded and held up his can.

Timothy and Cheryl hugged and kissed and said their goodbyes again. He returned and sat across from Scoot.

“You gotta good woman there, man,” Scoot said.

“I know. Probably too good for me.”

“Probably.” Scoot smiled again.

“Scoot, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I want to run as far and as fast as I can and keep running until I’ve got nothing left. I feel like I’m ripping at the seams.”

“Dude, you said the same thing when Bobby went missing. It’s your life unraveling. At least, you think it’s unraveling.”

“That’s exactly what’s happening. It’s coming apart a thread at a time. I want to run away from it all. Take a break. Have no responsibilities.”

“Hell, that sounds good. We can take a couple of shop bikes and split this summer for a while. I know a place in the hills of South Dakota that don’t put up with foul moods. They heal ya real quick. Let’s get another beer,” Scoot said. He often said there were few things in life another beer couldn’t fix. They were about to test out how true that was.