Things That Fall

by Mere Joyce

  I can’t get my head around the choice of venue. My uncle doesn’t fit in a place like this — he never liked being cooped up inside. I have faded visions of him swimming at the bay in summer, pushing our sleds down snow-packed hills in winter, and even guiding us through an endless corn maze at Halloween. But I can’t remember him ever in a suit or in a dreary building like this surrounded by such an unhappy group of people.

  I lean into Hailey, and she doesn’t hesitate to lean right back in against me.

  “Where do you think Aunt Shirley is?” she asks after a minute, her voice low. “And Forrester? Damn, I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that for days,” I mumble, scanning the room even though I know our cousin isn’t here. When Dad got the call from the hospital, he asked where his brother’s wife was, but he’s been tight-lipped about whatever answer he received. Simon must have had a reason for listing his oldest brother as next of kin over his wife. As it is, I haven’t seen Shirley or her son.

  Forrester is a year older than Hailey and I, and for him, this isn’t just some melancholy function. He’s lost his dad. At the age of eighteen.

  My stomach lurches with the thought.

  “Come on, there’s Thomas and Nolan.”

  Hailey’s words break through the sickness, and I twist my head to try to locate the new arrivals. Before I can set my sights on our other cousins — two more members of our old playmate group — Hailey is pulling me across the room to greet them. When I do spot them, however, there’s no half-second of incomprehension. The recognition is immediate. The older brother of nineteen and the younger sixteen-year-old are both tall and skinny, attributes carried over from the days of our childhood. They each share a strong resemblance to their dad as well — they are definitely Hacher family boys.

  The sides of Thomas’s head are shaved, his brown hair gelled into a flat strip on the top. He wears small gauges in each ear and a hooped ring in his left helix, and on the inside of his wrists the edges of tattoos peek out from the cuffs of his suit jacket. Nolan’s got the same brown hair, though his is loose, bordering on unruly. He’s also gone for a simpler fashion statement. No piercings or tattoos that I can see, and nothing on his outfit to suggest his mom didn’t buy it for him at a generic department store.

  He’s got a few years to catch up with his brother, though I wonder if he’ll ever copy the same style. As kids, Thomas was always robust in his attitude, while Nolan was the quietest of us all. To judge them in the shallowest form now, I’d say their appearances suggest those qualities may have lingered.

  Of course, judging them at all is ludicrous. Having to guess at the personality of two boys I used to know better than even my own brother is pathetic. But at least we’re not standing in silence, avoiding each other like our parents.

  The arrival of Thomas and Nolan brings our reunited circle up to four. Only three of us are left before the Group of Seven is complete. When I got up this morning, I didn’t give any thought to my relatives, beyond Uncle Simon and Forrester. Now, desperation sparks in my nerves, hot and unexpected. I want the others to make their appearance so I can see how they’ve grown and guess at how they’ve changed. The last time the entire family was together, such a long time ago, the seven of us would have been side by side. I’d like to experience that again, even if only to cement this day as a day of separation as we say the goodbyes we never got as kids.

  Nolan

  MY PHONE BUZZES WITHIN ten seconds of walking inside the drab building. Which is a relief. I had the notion I’d be stepping into a parallel universe when we got here. Knowing a text is awaiting my reply is so damn normal it keeps me settled in reality.

  B: How is it?

  I just have time to read the message before Thomas nudges a warning for me to put my phone away. Fair enough. Places like this must have their own set of unwritten rules. No texting when a cadaver’s nearby probably ranks high on the list.

  Our uncle has the terrible honor of being the first dead body I’ve ever seen. All things considered, I’m pretty lucky for that. I remember the week two years ago when Thomas disappeared, and I kept dreaming I’d have to identify his body at the morgue. But those were only dreams, ones that ended seven days later when my brother stepped into our front hall — alive and well after an impromptu camping trip with his buddies.

  I haven’t had nightmares like that in two years. And this is different, anyway. As vivid as my dreams were, they don’t compare to the physical reality of the body now across the room. A body I should know, but one that carries only a vague resemblance to the uncle I hardly remember.

  I peel my gaze from the corpse and instead focus on the two girls headed our way. I’m already preparing to cringe at the oncoming onslaught of Thomas’s well-practiced flirtation strategy before I realize they’re my cousins. Which is even weirder than seeing Uncle Simon in a coffin. Less because I figured my brother would hit on them and more because these girls are old enough — strange enough — to be potential targets of his flirting obsession.

  “What is this all about?” Hailey smirks, stepping toward us and giving Thomas’s confused style of formal attire and punkish adornments a dubious once-over.

  “Wanted to look spiffy for you, darling cousin,” he replies with joyful sarcasm.

  She walks up to him, and he pulls her into a hug, the two of them moving like actors used to blocking a scene. Thomas, of course, would say the motion was not rehearsed but rather automatic, a natural reaction to having her close. He presses her tightly to his chest and then gives her long hair a tug as he plants a kiss on her forehead. The mere suggestion of flirtation seems inexcusable now. Their behavior in this moment radiates family tenderness.

  I’m jealous of how easy they are together. I’m anything but at ease here, and I don’t know these girls. If I saw them on the street, I would walk by without a second glance.

  Or, maybe that’s not entirely true. Hailey’s got soft hair and mature features, but her smile is familiar, even if her body is not. Like the text message buzzing against my leg, it makes all of this feel more real.

  Of course, I’m not sure “real” is good today. But that’s beside the point.

  Hailey moves out of my brother’s embrace and offers me a gentler squeeze.

  “And how are you?” she asks.

  I shrug, giving her the small smile Thomas assures me would be better utilized by him. He may have the stronger social skills, but Thomas likes to tell me the landscape of my face is so charming it’s ridiculous. I’m not sure my smile is as swoon-worthy as he seems to think, but I’ll give it to him that he’s far better suited to the birthmark on my neck. My brother used to tell me it was a scar from being slashed at knifepoint when I was a baby. If the mark graced his neck instead of mine, Thomas would undoubtedly use a similar story now at every party he attended.

  “I’m fine,” I mumble, glancing down to where another message announces its arrival inside my pocket. Before the temptation to check my phone grows, I focus on our other cousin. “Hey, Kayla.”

  “Hey, Nolan,” she replies, stepping close but not going so far as to throw her arms around me. “Hey, Thomas.”

  “Sucks about Simon, doesn’t it?” Thomas says, looping an arm around Kayla’s shoulder and bringing her in to his side. Even from here I get a whiff of the coconut she must use in her shampoo. The scent is strong, but nice.

  “No kidding,” Hailey scoffs. “All of this … it’s so bizarre.”

  “What, being at our uncle’s funeral, or being at our uncle’s funeral when we haven’t even seen him since we were kids?” Thomas asks.

  Hailey and Kayla exchange a glance that suggests it’s been just as long for them, too. I’m not surprised by the information, even if it is unexpected. My father’s not the type to single-handedly piss off his entire family. Makes more sense it was a joint effort. From what I r
emember and the stories Thomas has shared, Dad used to do everything with his brothers. Seems appropriate even their falling-out was a family affair.

  Across the room, Dad now stands against the back wall talking to someone I’ve never met, his eyes snaking over to his brothers every few seconds. None of them are talking to one another. Five brothers make up the Hacher family. Four of them are now in the same room — three of them unwilling to communicate, and one unable to.

  Seven days was too long to go without talking to Thomas. I don’t want to imagine ten years without my brother in my life.

  “Do you think the twins will be here?” Kayla asks.

  Uncle Joey is the last Hacher brother missing. Allison and Eli, the twins, are his kids.

  “They’ll be here,” Thomas replies.

  “Have you talked to them?” Hailey asks.

  He shakes his head, while I make an unsuccessful attempt to remember the last time I talked to the twins or their parents.

  “Nope. But Joey wouldn’t miss his brother’s funeral,” Thomas says. “No way would he do that.”

  My gaze shifts to the door, where a new quartet is entering the macabre scene.

  “Looks like you’re right,” I say, nodding toward the entrance.

  The timing of their arrival is impeccable, and the on-cue moment would be perfect if the family didn’t look so awkward as they slink into the room. Allison, Eli, and their parents join the solemn crowd, their expressions hardened and their steps unsure.

  When Allison sees us, her wary look softens into something like relieved annoyance — as if she’s glad we’re here, but pissed off she and Eli are the last ones to arrive. She grabs her brother by the sleeve and drags him along to join our little club.

  “What a way to see each other,” she says in greeting.

  Her skin is red with blemishes, and her blond hair is scraped back into a scalp-tight bun. I’m used to people saying Thomas and I look the same. We’re equal in height and build, and our features are similar enough it’s obvious we’re brothers. But I’d be quick to call Allison and Eli identical, if that weren’t impossible.

  My memory is unquestionably fuzzy, but according to the collected photographs adorning the side cupboard in our family room, Allison once had a penchant for frilly dresses. And I do remember being impressed by Eli’s wide array of superhero shirts. Now they’ve both veered into less specific styles. Not only do they share the same shapeless frame, they also have the same spotted skin, thick lips, and blue eyes.

  Even their outfits are alike. Black shoes, black pants, black shirts. They’re like a matching pair of waiters. If it weren’t for Allison’s bun differing from her brother’s shorter, shaggy haircut, it’d be easy to assume they were both one gender or the other.

  “Yeah, but there’s still one of us missing,” Thomas sighs in answer to Allison’s remark.

  “Forrester.” Kayla nods.

  The six of us fall into silence as we each search for a glimpse of our other cousin, but he’s not here. Neither is his mom. Maybe they’re off somewhere together, mourning in private.

  With none of us speaking, it’s easy to listen to the murmurs surrounding us as everyone shares their stories of our uncle’s life. Near the coffin, someone cries. Away from the coffin, my parents now stand together, both of them staring at the floor.

  Reality is slipping away again. I wish my phone would vibrate with another text.

  “They’re not talking. None of them are talking,” Hailey comments after a while, snatching the thought right out of my brain. “It’s sick.”

  “They’re grieving,” Allison says.

  “Yep,” Thomas says, unable to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice. “They’re grieving. And they should be doing it together.”

  “Have any of them talked to each other lately? At all?” Kayla looks between us, and we all share the same lost expression.

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “It’s sick,” Hailey mumbles again, leaning her head against Kayla’s shoulder.

  “What do you say we go outside for a while?” Thomas suggests, his fingers straying up to twist one of the gauges in his right ear. “I don’t think I can stay in here much longer.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Hailey agrees. She grabs Kayla’s arm and leads the way toward the exit.

  We leave the room together, the six of us uninterrupted as we walk past our four sets of parents. I feel a bit bad I didn’t go to the coffin to pay my respects, but I don’t really need to stand over my uncle’s body to say a final goodbye. Not while all around him his brothers stand in silence.

  The sun outside is bright, the air warm and fresh after the staleness of the funeral home. Summer returned to Ontario last week, and its refusal to surrender to fall would be glorious if the circumstances weren’t so grim. We set our sights on the park across the street, waiting for a few cars to pass on the road — the drivers craning their necks at the sight of six teens dressed in mourning attire — before we cross.

  I stand at the back of the group, letting the others check for traffic as I peek at my phone. Two new messages have appeared in the time I’ve been inside, joining the first on my phone’s preview screen.

  B: How is it?

  B: Call me when you’re done.

  B: I probably shouldn’t be texting you right now, should I? Sorry for being a disrespectful ass.

  I smile, sliding the phone back into my pocket as we cross the street.

  The pavement gives way to hard-packed dirt and grass as we walk to the picnic area where tables are spread across a flat field beside a playground. Someone sits on top of the closest table, his broad shoulders clad in a navy collared shirt. The sight of the slumped figure is, like everything else today, surreal, a mixture of odd recognition and absurd unfamiliarity.

  “Hey, Forrester,” Thomas says when we’re close enough.

  Forrester glances up, first at my brother, then at us all. His blank expression changes to one of amusement. Amusement, tucked away under mounds of pain.

  Allison is right. After all these years, this is one hell of a way for us to reunite.

  Hailey

  FORRESTER LOOKS LIKE SHIT.

  I haven’t seen the boy in forever, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize the almost black bags under his bloodshot brown eyes aren’t part of his usual getup. Of course, it also doesn’t take a genius to guess losing your dad can have that kind of effect.

  What a crazy-ass way for us to meet up again. Kayla said it’s been ten years. Sounds about right. But damn, ten years is way too long.

  I used to think about my cousins a lot when I was a kid. Years after I’d last seen them, I remember asking my parents if I could call Kayla or go to Thomas and Nolan’s house. My mother said we were too busy, or Dad claimed they were unavailable. I knew they were lying, but back then I was so dim-witted it never occurred to me I could look up their numbers — hell, even look them up online — and contact them myself.

  I guess I stopped thinking about them when I started high school, when my life was first commandeered by homework, parties, and hot boys. But while I was forgetting, my cousins were growing up. Long after I mostly forgot, one of them lost his dad.

  Forrester looks like shit, and it’s a good representation of how I’m feeling right now, too.

  “Glad someone finally found me,” Forrester says, as the rest of us assemble around the picnic table. “I was starting to think no one remembered I exist.”

  There’s no need to question why he stayed outside. We’re idiots if we can’t figure it out, and no one here is going to make him explain the all-too-fucking-obvious.

  “Where’s your mom?” Kayla asks instead.

  Forrester licks his lips. They’re cracked, probably like everything else in his life right now.

  “Not coming,” he mumbl
es, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. I start to say something but clamp my jaw shut before the choice words bouncing on my thick tongue tumble out. I’m good at running my mouth, but right now it might be better if someone less inclined to spout expletives voices their opinion first.

  My eyes shift to Thomas, and without even seeing my gaze he fulfills my silent request.

  “What do you mean, not coming?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Thank the stars for Thomas. When we were younger, he always played leader to our gang. He was the oldest, and he knew how to reach out, whether to a kid with a scraped knee or to a fence with a NO TRESPASSERS sign.

  Or to a boy suggesting the impossible.

  Forrester looks around at us, his eyes searching. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t find it. When his face sinks with understanding, my stomach drops in time with the fall of his already frowning mouth.

  “I guess you don’t know,” he says. He lowers his head until his sun-streaked hair obscures his eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  He chews on his thumbnail and stares at the scratched bench beneath his feet.

  “Tell us now,” I say, trying for a combination of gentle interest and commanding force. I’m a bitch, but I still care — as my charming mother would say. I rub his wide shoulders, the movement my go-to, the way I always comfort my brother and sister.

  “My parents got divorced, about four years ago,” Forrester replies with a shrug. He might be trying to shrug me away, but I don’t let myself be shaken off.

  “Seriously?” I ask, glancing behind me. We never established if the twins were as detached from Simon as the rest of us, but Allison and Eli share the same gobsmacked expression as everyone else around this picnic table. At least we’re all on the same confused page of this crappy book.

  Lots of people get divorced. But Forrester’s news is still weird. His parents used to be happy, or at least it seemed like it to me. Sure, Aunt Shirley wasn’t quite the lover of the outdoors her husband was. But, shit, my parents spend half their time doing things one of them hates, and it’s never strained their relationship.