Hope in the Shadows of War

by Tom Reilly

  On the drive home, he thought about his conversation with Scoot. He knew he sounded like an adolescent wanting to run from his responsibilities. War stole the innocence of youth. It robbed the warrior of the adolescent silliness others got to enjoy. Sometimes warriors got lost in arrested development—the official psychological term. In Timothy’s case, his reaction to everything was a blend of guilt, fear, and insecurity. He opened up to Scoot about his feelings for Cheryl. He recalled their talk about Penny’s offer. Timothy would have felt guilty having this conversation with anyone other than Scoot.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TIMOTHY AWOKE WITH a hole in his heart from Mom’s death. While she was in the hospital, Timothy still felt her presence at home. Not this morning. Today, it was more like Mom’s house than Mom’s home. In spite of the heap o’ living they did here, a vital part was missing. He experienced this aloneness one other time—when Bobby got shot down and went missing.

  He decided to get up and make some decent coffee and a hearty breakfast. He wanted to be at the top of his game today for the reading of the will and Frank’s inevitable and inappropriate comments. If Frank started up, Timothy would shut him down quickly. Clean-shaven and showered, Timothy sat at the kitchen table and sipped coffee while reading through yesterday’s mail. There were a couple of utility bills and donation requests. He made a mental note to write each a small check in Mom’s memory and ask them to remove her name from their mailing list.

  The doorbell rang about eleven. Leslie and Ike stood there with Frank in tow. They’d picked him up on the way.

  “You look better this morning than yesterday,” Leslie said as she pushed her way through the door.

  “Better living last night,” Timothy said.

  Ike grinned and Frank walked through the door like he was eyeballing a house to buy.

  “Just like I remember it,” Frank said. “Hasn’t changed much.”

  “That applies to people, too,” Timothy said.

  Frank grinned. Timothy raised his eyebrows and returned the grin.

  “Do I smell coffee?” Ike said.

  “Yep, just made some. In the kitchen. Pour yourselves a cup.”

  Timothy followed Leslie into Mom’s bedroom and stood at the door as Leslie went through Mom’s closet for the burial dress.

  “This one,” she said. She held up the dark-blue dress Mom wore to Dad’s funeral. “It was the only time she ever wore it. Seems appropriate to me,” Leslie said.

  “Me too, I guess,” Timothy said.

  Timothy walked to the kitchen and topped off his mug. Leslie followed him to the kitchen and placed Mom’s dress on a chair. She also selected some simple jewelry for Mom at the wake.

  “I’ll make another pot. We may be here a while,” Timothy said. He dumped the coffee in the basket without measuring and filled the percolator with water, the creamer with milk and put more sugar in the bowl.

  “I see you’re still using that old relic,” Frank said.

  “Pardon?” Timothy looked up from the sugar bowl.

  “The coffee pot,” Frank said.

  “Oh, yeah. We never got around to getting a new one,” Timothy said. “Are you guys ready for this?” Timothy pointed to an envelope on the table.

  “As ready as I’m ever going to be,” Leslie said.

  “Let’s do this,” Frank said, as if he were encouraging teammates in an athletic competition.

  Timothy sliced open the large manila envelope labeled with a return address for the Law Offices of Hart and Associates. They handled all of Mom’s legal matters, as minor as they were. The envelope looked official, and Timothy didn’t open it before they arrived because he wanted no criticism or suspicion. Its contents were unknown to him as well as to the others.

  “How about I read this out loud?” Ike offered.

  “That’s a good idea, Ike,” Timothy said.

  Frank agreed. “Yes, that makes sense.”

  For the next few minutes, Ike read the customary legalese lawyers got paid to write—a boilerplate will. “Being of sound mind and body . . . I direct my executors to pay my enforceable unsecured debts and funeral expenses, the expenses of my last illness, and the expenses of administering my estate . . .”

  It all sounded official and legal. It directed the disbursement of family heirlooms. Everyone agreed Mom put some thought into this. She already had written names on slips of paper and attached them to items around the house. It had been a source of humor over the years over who got what. She named Timothy the executor, and Frank winced at this, being the oldest. He let it pass. The three-way split of everything met everyone’s expectations until they got to the house. Ike read the passage silently at first, paused, and read it again aloud.

  “At the time of the writing of this will, Timothy is neither married nor has a home of his own and therefore lives with me. If my death precedes his marriage or moving out, Timothy may remain in this home until he determines when, how, and why to sell it.” Ike stopped reading and put the will on the table.

  Leslie nodded her approval. Timothy sat expressionless, not knowing if this would be a burden or a blessing. He needed time to process what he heard. Frank wasted little time expressing his opinion.

  “This goes to show she wasn’t of sound mind. How could she bequeath an asset like that to only one of her children, leaving the other two out of it? That’s not right. I knew you were her favorite, Timothy, but this is insulting.”

  “Frank,” Leslie said.

  “Yeah, Frank, calm down,” said Ike, who never commented on O’Rourke family matters.

  “No, I’m not going to calm down. This isn’t fair. I grew up in this house, too. It’s like we’re distant cousins or something. Tim, how can you sit there and say nothing? You can’t think this is fair, do you?”

  Timothy sat for a while and thought before he spoke.

  “Frank, did you bring your checkbook with you?”

  “What? Of course I did. What are you getting at?”

  “You want a third of this place, right?” Timothy said.

  “Absolutely, it’s only fair.”

  “Good, I agree with you,” Timothy said. Leslie sat up and Frank smiled. “Take out your checkbook and write a check for one-third of the cost of this home. I need your share of the mortgage and your piece of the taxes and insurance and, while you’re at it, add in there your third of the furnace I paid for last week. By my count, you can write me a check for four thousand dollars as your share of the bills. Does that work for you, Leslie?”

  Leslie smiled and grabbed Ike’s hand. “Of course it does. It’s only fair.” Ike gave her hand a squeeze. Timothy smiled at them.

  “Come on, Frank. Let’s see your check. Now, damn it. Write the fucking check. And then, when Mom’s hospital bill comes in, I’ll send you a bill for one-third of that, too. Come on, big brother, let’s see your goddam checkbook.”

  Frank sat speechless as Timothy stared him down. No more baby brother here as big brother stammered a response.

  “Look, I don’t have that kind of money. I told you that when you called a couple of weeks ago. I want what is mine—what I’m due.”

  “Oh, I think you’re getting what you’re due, Frank,” Ike said.

  “Hey, there’s no need to gang up on me and get hostile. I’m sure we can put our heads together and come up with a solution.” Frank returned to his business mode.

  “Here’s the solution, Frank. If you want your third of the house, you have to write a check to help us dispose of the house. And besides, I’m the executor. You know what that means, right?”

  “There’s no need to get nasty and make this personal. You agree, don’t you, Leslie?” Frank said.

  “Yes, I do, Frank. Write him a check for your third, and we’ll do the same. We’ll take out a second on our home to get the money. You could do the same. That will give him some room to do what he has to do with the house,” Leslie said.

  “I can’t do that. I don’t have any e
quity in my home. I don’t have the money. Can’t you see that?” Frank sounded panicky. “I’m broke, damn it!”

  “Do you think I can afford it, Frank?” Timothy said, staring through Frank, who struggled to make eye contact with his younger brother.

  “What do you want to do, Tim?” Leslie said.

  “I don’t know for sure at this moment, but I think we should sell it. I need to look into this,” Timothy said.

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. Sell it, pay the bills, and divvy up whatever’s left over,” Frank said.

  “What about Tim?” Ike said. “Mom wanted him to have a place to live until he can get out on his own. You had that chance, Frank, and so did Leslie. It’s only fair Tim gets the same chance—if you’re all about fairness, that is.” Leslie smiled at her husband and Timothy winked at him.

  “I . . . I . . . I don’t know. Let’s think about this. We don’t need to make that decision today. Bill’s coming in town. Maybe he’ll have some ideas. We can decide tomorrow. I like to sleep on big decisions,” Frank said.

  “Tomorrow’s Mom’s wake,” Timothy said. “How about we bury her before we start haggling?”

  “Fine, we can wait until she’s buried, but you’re going to be responsible for the bills. You’re the executor, remember?” Frank said.

  “That’s right, Frank. I’m the executor, and I’ll do what’s fair,” Timothy said.

  Nothing else in the will needed discussion. It allowed for a straightforward dissolution of the estate. They made plans to meet on Sunday before the viewing for the public. It would be their private time with Mom.

  Frank walked ahead of the others to the car. Leslie gave Timothy a hug and whispered in his ear, “I think little brother just taught big brother a lesson in life.” Timothy smiled.

  Ike leaned over and said, “Well done.”

  “Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE FAMILY MET at the funeral home on Sunday before the wake. It was customary for the family to have their private time for viewing and grieving. The obituary made it into the paper, but that didn’t mean everyone saw it. People who read obits read them every day so they didn’t miss someone. They read Mom’s name at Mass on Sunday morning so her fellow parishioners would know of her passing. Timothy visited a few of Mom’s neighbors and told them firsthand. Leslie called Mom’s friends by phone. Uncle Bill arrived in town on Saturday and stayed at the same hotel as Frank. They rode together to the wake.

  Timothy and Cheryl arrived first. He picked her up on the way. He needed her strength and support today. The funeral home staff escorted them to Mom’s parlor. They had a few minutes before anyone else showed up. He thought he was cried out until he saw Mom in the casket. The tears streamed down his cheeks. He discovered that preparing yourself to see someone in a casket and seeing them were two different things. He felt relieved to have Cheryl at his side.

  “She looks so small in there, doesn’t she?” Timothy said.

  “Yes, she does,” Cheryl said.

  “I thought I was ready for this, but I’m not. How do you prepare for this kind of thing?”

  “You don’t,” Cheryl said. “You have to go through it. It is sad, though. You had a good relationship with your mom. You’re lucky. A lot of people cannot say that with loved ones. You’ll grieve for the life you had with her. Others have to grieve for the life they didn’t have with a loved one.”

  Timothy looked at his girlfriend, the therapist. God, that sounds rational. She’s better equipped than I am for dealing with this stuff.

  “I know, but I think that makes this loss hurt more. I miss her already,” Timothy said.

  “That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Cheryl sounded confident and stable despite the tears in her eyes.

  “Hey, guys,” Leslie said as she and Ike came into the parlor.

  Timothy and Leslie hugged and hung onto each like two orphans.

  “She looks small, doesn’t she?” Timothy said.

  “I think all people look smaller when the life leaves them,” Leslie said.

  “You know what’s going to happen here today. It’s going to be typical funeral parlor chitchat. ‘Tragic, too soon, unexpected. It’s such a shame.’ People are going to come in and say how great she looks, how natural she looks, how peaceful she looks. It’s all bullshit. She’s dead, and she looks dead,” Timothy said.

  “They say that because they don’t know what else to say. It’s their way of trying to comfort us,” Leslie said.

  “They mean those things in a good way, Tim,” Cheryl said.

  “I know, they’re paying their respects. They’re here to say goodbye to Mom, also. It’s awkward for me.”

  “All you have to do is thank them,” Cheryl said.

  Timothy knew Leslie and Cheryl were right. What they said made sense, but he suffered this loss with his heart, not his head. He processed everything through pain and loss.

  “Do you want to hear something weird?” Timothy said. “Last night, as I lay in bed, I kept thinking about Mom and hoped she didn’t feel lonely or abandoned in the funeral home by herself.”

  “It’s grief, Tim,” Cheryl said. “It’s okay.”

  “Yes, you’re grieving. Tim, you never need to worry about Mom feeling alone or abandoned. You made sure she wasn’t when she was here,” said Leslie, the reassuring older sister.

  By the time Bill and Frank showed up, guests began to file in. Bill and Frank approached the coffin and said a silent prayer. Leslie and Ike’s children alternately laughed and cried. They dealt with grief the way children process such things. Tim offered the children words of comfort that seemed to help for a while. Bill and Frank hung back close to each other as Timothy comforted the children.

  “Tim, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry it’s under these conditions,” Bill said, offering him a familial hug.

  “Thanks, Bill. Good to see you, too,” Timothy said as he returned the hug.

  “I know this is tough on you, being the youngest and all.”

  “Bill, I thought this would be tough on all of us. Frank, Leslie, and you, since Mom was your sister and all.” Timothy found it difficult to conceal his irritation with Bill and Frank. They could have helped when Mom was alive. Once raw emotion surfaced, it had a mind of its own. Timothy’s was on display for everyone to see.

  “Oh yeah, of course, it is tough on all of us. Say, listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help out with the furnace when you called. You know, setbacks and all,” Bill said.

  “That’s fine, Bill. I know you would have helped if you could.” Timothy didn’t believe a word he just said, but Mom’s wake was no place to call out Bill as a phony. He restrained himself out of respect for Mom.

  “Tim, Frank and I were talking on the way over here, and he told me you were thinking about selling the house. I think that’s a splendid idea. It will raise some cash to settle the estate, and who knows, there may even be some left over for the rest of you. Frank’s got a good business head on his shoulders. I think you ought to listen to him,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much what he said to me.” Timothy’s blood rose and his patience waned. Okay, Bill, if you and Frank have such great business heads, why are you both so broke that you couldn’t help us when we needed it? Timothy walked away and greeted arriving visitors. Bill and Frank looked at each other.

  For the next couple of hours, people came and went, mostly Mom’s friends and acquaintances. The church women showed up and told Timothy the Bereavement Committee planned a lunch for the family in the church basement for after the burial. He thanked them and felt relieved because he had given no thought to this at all. In an awkward attempt to make small talk, one of Mom’s neighbors asked Timothy what he planned to do with the house. Relief arrived when Timothy saw a familiar face at the entrance.

  “Tim, I’m sorry about your mom. I know how dedicated you were to her. I read about it this morning in the paper and wanted to pay
my respects,” Father Schmitt said.

  “Thanks, Father. It means a lot that you came by. I guess you’ve seen more than your fair share in life,” Timothy said.

  “My share, that’s for sure. Fair? I don’t know about that.”

  “Do you ever get used to it?”

  “No, not really. Mostly because someone is hurting. I never get used to seeing people hurt. I don’t know that I would ever want to get used to that,” Father Schmitt said.

  “Good point.”

  “Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m making it,” Timothy said.

  “That’s all you have to do today—just make it. Your grief will settle over time once it finds a space to rest in your mind. At least the semester is over, and your exams are behind you.”

  “Yeah, that’s a relief.”

  “Speaking of school, Professor Leibert came by to see me the other day, and your name came up in the conversation.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. When things settle down over the next few days and you get a chance, come by my office and see me, will you?”

  “Sure, Father. What about?”

  “Let’s not talk about it tonight, Tim. It’s not the time or the place.”

  “Sure, Father. Thanks for coming. Would you lead us in a prayer for my mom?”

  They walked to the coffin, and Father Schmitt silenced the room as he led them in prayer. After a few moments of silent reflection, Father Schmitt met the rest of the family, offered his condolences, and said his goodbyes.

  Timothy stood by himself in the middle of a crowd, alone with his thoughts. Leibert. What’s he doing, snitching on me? Big deal, I missed an exam. It’s not like I committed a crime. At least Father had the decency not to go over it here.

  “Hey, soldier boy.” This greeting startled Timothy, but he recognized the voice.

  “Hey, Kenny. Thanks for coming.” Kenny knew how to clean up for a wake. Under his wool peacoat, he wore a nearly white shirt, black pants, and a tie with a knot as big as his fist. The small end of the tie hung longer than the fat end. Timothy appreciated the effort.