Chapter 37
Now Peter looked around the Michaels kitchen in the morning light. He shook his head and wiped the tears from his face with his palm. He paused, feeling unconsciously with his fingers for the woven leather bracelet he had once wore around his wrist, so long ago.
Amy appeared in the kitchen door with paper bags in her arms. “I brought bagels and cheese and more coffee and danishes.”
“Let me help you.” Peter took the bags and set them on the island.
“Has she come down yet?” Amy asked with some trepidation. “How was she last night?”
“We didn’t talk much.” Peter reached into a bag. “She went right to bed after I gave her the new medication, and it seemed to help her sleep. I never heard her wake, even to go to the bathroom.”
“Good.” Amy laid bagels on a platter. “How’s Tara?”
Peter sighed. “We met with the doctor yesterday. It was malignant.” He paused, his throat tight. “She’s started another round of chemo immediately, so she’s exhausted. You know the drill. She’s sorry she can’t be here today.”
“Oh Peter! I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“We’ll take care of Madeline. You know what sisters Victoria and Hope and Janie are to her. Even Matt has always fussed over his sweet older cousin.” Amy shook her head and surveyed the layout of food critically. “Do you think this is enough?”
“I can always have something delivered by the time we get back from the cemetery.” Peter looked into Amy’s face. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were red-rimmed. He stepped around the island and opened his arms, and she leaned into them. His arms tightened, and they lifted their heads together as the creaking of the floor resumed above. “You all right, sis?”
“No, but maybe no one will be able to tell.” She smiled up at him, and a tear ran down her cheek.
Peter touched it with his finger, and they both closed their eyes.
“Daddy!” Madeline appeared in the doorway in sweatpants and T-shirt, her hair unbrushed and her face puffy.
“Hey, sunshine.” Amy smiled and took Madeline tightly into her arms. Madeline broke out in tears, and even as Amy comforted her she cried louder.
“Sweetie, sweetie. I don’t want Grandma to hear you.” Peter rubbed her head gently. “If she sees you like this, it’ll be hard to calm her down again.”
Madeline let go of Amy and wiped her face with her T-shirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset her.”
“Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Amy smiled, sniffing. “Your Daddy and I are holding on by a string ourselves, believe me.”
“Hey, everybody!” Jake’s voice rang through the house from the front door. Peter turned with a sad smile to see Amanda in the doorway with her arms open. He opened his own to her, and she crossed the kitchen straight into them.
“How’s my Madeline?” Jake spoke in a quiet, deep voice as he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her face into his shoulder.
She began to cry uncontrollably. “Uncle Jake,” she cried, clutching him. “Uncle Jake.”
“Shhh! baby.” Jake patted her tenderly. “Your Uncle Jake is here. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Amanda.” Amy stepped around the island, and she and Amanda hugged without a word. Peter paused with a hand to his mouth, and the house stood silently around the small knot of figures that surrounded the sobbing girl.
“What’s wrong with Madeline?” Sheila appeared in the kitchen doorway, and when they turned to her they all froze. She wore a black skirt and blouse, her blouse buttoned crookedly and the zipper of the skirt caught in the fabric.
“Grandma!” Madeline ran to her.
“My little girl,” Sheila said with a glazed look. “When did you get here? Why aren’t you at home?”
“Grandma, we had dinner together last night. Remember?”
Sheila smiled and looked at Amy. “Something isn’t right?”
“It’s fine. I’ll fix it. Okay?” Amy began to unbutton and rebutton Sheila’s blouse, pulling the fabric loose from the zipper.
“Mom, would you like coffee?” Peter began to fill a mug for her. “Amy brought bagels from D’Alessio’s. You have to eat something. We have a long day ahead of us.”
“April showers.” Sheila sang lightly as Amy adjusted her skirt.
Amy glanced at Peter, and he turned away with a look of despair. Jake and Amanda met each other’s eyes in compassion.
“Sit here. I have some coffee for you, and you can have a bagel.” Peter led Sheila to a stool by the island. She took his hand and, pulling it close to her face, suddenly began to cry.
“Mom, we’re here for you.” Amy put her hand softly on Sheila’ shoulder.
“Whatever you need.” Peter stroked her back. “If I have to stay here and commute every day into work, I don’t mind. We’ll take care of you.”
Sheila lifted her head and looked from one to the other. “What do I do? I’m one of those lonely old women now, sitting alone, eating alone, and sleeping in a wide, empty bed all alone. I can’t do that!” She dropped her voice and whispered to herself. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“You won’t have to.” Amy put her arm around the thin shoulders. “We’re all here together.”
“I’m here too, Grandma.” Madeline leaned across Amy to kiss Sheila’s cheek. “And there’s Victoria and Matt and Uncle Lance, and there’s Hope and Janie and Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jake. You won’t be alone.”
Sheila looked up and smiled, but her eyes had already shifted again, and her gaze was distant.
Later, just before they left for the cemetery, Amanda stood at the kitchen island with Amy, talking softly as they sorted silverware. The house was clean and quiet.
“How’s Ma?” Peter came through the back door and set down a pile of aluminum-covered trays.
“Upstairs,” Lance said from where he was sorting papers at Sheila’s telephone table in the corner. “We gave her a sedative to calm her nerves.”
Jake came through the doorway behind Peter with another stack of silver foil-covered trays. “Holy cow! How many people do you all know?”
“Someone will eat it, believe me.” Amanda laughed. “We’ll spread it out on the kitchen table with plates and utensils and let them hack at it themselves.” She put her arms around Peter and looked into his eyes. “I spoke to Tara ten minutes ago. She’s resting comfortably. I’m glad she won’t be out in this weather with us.”
He smiled down at her, the unspoken question asked and answered without words.
Amanda helped Amy move trays onto the table, removing the foil carefully.
Jake stood at the island with Peter, putting plastic cups together and taking soda bottles from the grocery bags. “Peter, can I do anything? Do you need me to take care of anything for you?”
“I’m a little worried, that’s all—” Peter suddenly signaled to Jake to lower his voice as Madeline came through the kitchen doorway with Janie and Hope.
“Has anyone checked on Grandma?” Madeline ran to Peter.
“She’s resting up, honey,” he answered over her head, holding her close. “Today is going to be a long one for her.”
“Too long for anyone.” Madeline rested her head sadly on his shoulder.
Peter glanced down at the top of her soft brown head. “Your mother’s doing okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Aunt Amanda just talked to her, and I spoke to her a little while ago.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes, but I didn’t put you on the phone because she was too tired. She said to tell you she loves you and she wishes she could be here with us. I can tell she’s feeling better.” Peter smiled as he caressed Madeline’s cheek.
“Janie!” Amanda said, reaching to slap Janie’s fingers picking celery out of the potato salad. “Take a plate and a napkin.” She shook her head at Jake.
“Wolverines.” He watched fondly as Hope and Janie filled their plates.
“We’re growing girls, Daddy.” Hope nuzzled his arm.
“Dig in.” Peter ruffled her hair and turned to Madeline. “Aren’t you hungry, sweetheart?”
“Maybe later. My tummy’s shot.” She rubbed her stomach as she passed Amy and Amanda, and Amanda brushed her brown hair back with her hand, looking into the lovely almond-shaped eyes.
“Still having trouble?”
“I can’t help it, Aunt Amanda.” Madeline paused to lean on her, and Amanda pulled the girl to her.
“Do you want me to get you some antacids?” Amy touched Madeline’s arm.
“Thanks, Aunt Amy. I had some ginger ale. I’ll be okay.” Madeline smiled up at her as Amy laid a finger softly on one of the shadows under her eyes.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Come on, pip-squeak. Let’s find Victoria and Matt.” Hope looped an arm around Madeline’s neck, and she and Janie hustled her into the dining room, their paper plates balanced precariously between them.
Peter smiled as he watched them go.
Jake raised his eyebrows. “—And you were saying?”
“I was saying—” Peter took a moment. “I was saying I didn’t want to speak in front of Madeline about my mother. My girl’s been through so much. The last thing she needs is to see her grandmother break down.”
“It’s that bad?”
Peter shook his head. “She’s completely out of it. I know the doctor put her on an anti-anxiety pill, but there’s something more. Even in the hospital she was spacey.” Peter measured coffee for the rented coffee urn, and Jake carried it to the sink to fill it with water. “I just keep thinking how fleeting life is, you know? One moment you’re looking up at a snowy moon feeling like you’re on top of the world, and the next you’re buying roses to put on your father’s casket.”
“I know it’s been hard.” Jake tried to fit the lid on the urn awkwardly until Peter took it out of his hands. “It’s all relative though. This might sound cheesy, but he’s not gone. He’s just somewhere else. I’m sure he’s looking at you and is proud of you, proud of what you’ve done with your life.” Jake plugged the urn into the wall and turned to Peter. “It makes you think how special the time we have here is, right?” He patted Peter’s arm.
Peter nodded. “It makes you realize you shouldn’t waste time on things that aren’t important. You should do the things you want. Spend your life with the people you want to be with, no matter what.”
The sound of the hissing coffee urn resonated through the kitchen. Peter looked at Jake, and Jake nodded, their eyes locked.
The priest completed the burial service in the rain, while raindrops hit umbrellas and the wood that held the casket in the grave. The sound of rain grew louder as he gave instructions for each mourner to place a rose on the casket.
Peter stood with his arms around Sheila under an umbrella, Madeline crowded against him. The rain created tiny drops of mud on his shoes as he watched the mourners form a line to place their roses. Hope and Janie laid their roses together, and Amanda glanced at Peter as she passed in front of him, her eyes brimming. She smiled faintly. Mr. Grant placed his flower and nodded his head at Peter as he waited for his wife. Tim Ryan placed his flower and bowed his head briefly. Each of Peter’s co-workers from the architectural firm took his hand as they made their way through the crowd, dodging the rain that became heavier and brought with it a cold breeze.
Peter felt Sheila begin to tremble against him. “Let’s get you out of the weather,” he said quietly into her ear.
“I have to be the last.” Sheila’s voice was uneven and shrill.
Amy heard and signaled to Peter to wait for Matthew and Victoria, who shared an umbrella at the end of the procession, Matthew was now a head taller than Victoria, their hair the sleek brown that Peter’s had been when he was young. Victoria brushed the bangs back from her face with Amy’s adolescent grace.
Peter saw Richard’s calm expression on Matthew’s face as he leaned in to Sheila when they reached the grave and spoke gently. “It’s all right, Grandma.”
Sheila stared straight ahead at the casket, her eyes filled with tears.
Peter tightened his arm and glanced below the wooden planks under the casket. Although they were covered by a tarp, he could see a tiny opening flapping in the wind. When it was his turn to step forward, he exhaled, closed his eyes, and touched the casket, hearing that tiny opening as it flapped.
A bright crack appeared in the sky, and thunder echoed a moment later.
“May our beloved Richard Michaels rest forever in peace,” the priest said quickly. “Now please, everyone, get safely to your cars.”
When Peter squeezed Sheila’s elbow, she nodded and took a few steps toward the casket, and Peter extended the umbrella while Matthew held her elbow on the other side. Sheila reached out her hand and caressed the top of the casket, laying her rose neatly on top.
As she let go, she let out a loud, unexpected cry. “Oh, my Richard! My darling Richard, until I see you again!” Her legs failed as Peter and Matthew tried to pull her away from the casket, and she barely missed the ground. She squirmed childishly, and her cries echoed across the cemetery.
Peter handed Matthew the umbrella and scooped Sheila up in his arms, wincing at the sharp jolting pain in his knees, and Amy held the limousine door open as he ran with Sheila through the downpour to set her carefully in the back seat. Madeline hurried to the other side of the car with her arm around Victoria, their hair plastered to their heads, and Amy and Matthew slid into the limousine behind Sheila just as another bolt of lightning appeared, thunder a moment later shaking them all.
Peter paused in the rain outside the limousine with his hand on the open door and looked back, water pounding his head and dripping down his face. His stare was steady. He could hear the sound of the tarp below Richard’s casket flapping in the wind.
Then Peter sighed, and he, too, ducked inside. After a moment, the long black car pulled slowly away from the curb and moved down the gravel path under the line of dark trees.