by M. M. Silva
The plump woman caught up with us and put her hand on Herman’s shoulder. “Herman, we need to let this nice lady leave. The service will be starting in less than an hour.”
“But she just got here!” Herman wailed like a toddler and tightened his hooked arm on my bicep. “She hasn’t seen all the pictures, and she hasn’t had a chance to go up and see Betty. You ruin everything!”
The woman gave me a weary, sad look and shook her head slowly. “Betty was our older sister. There’s three of us. I’m the youngest, and Herman is in the middle. He was always so protective of Betty and her circle of friends, and he always had a little crush on Cecile, although they never got together.”
Herman’s face darkened. “Marguerite! Cecile was always a perfect young lady, and I only wanted to take her out for ice cream, but we never got the chance.” His lids dropped and his voice softened. “That darn Roger Mooney stole her away from me. But even after she was Roger’s girl, Cecile told me she’d always regretted the fact we didn’t get that ice cream.”
He looked at me for confirmation, and I gave him a tight smile. Sure, I was always up for ice cream, but I really didn’t feel right speaking for Cecile. However, when in Rome…
Herman suddenly jerked out of his reverie and jutted out his chin. With confidence, he turned toward me. “Cecile, let’s go up and see Betty—”
Marguerite interrupted him as she leaned close to me in confidence. “As you’ve probably surmised, Herman has Alzheimer’s, and sometimes it can be very trying. He’s been living with it for nearly two years. One day he was Herman, and the next…well, my older brother was no longer my older brother.” She shrugged with the fatigue of someone burying one sibling while simultaneously trying to care for the other.
Herman leaned across my body and said in a singsong voice, “Quit your whispering, Marguerite, or I’m going to tell Mom! She said it’s not nice to whisper, and Cecile doesn’t want to listen to your bull poopy anyway.”
Marguerite grabbed Herman’s arm and gently tried to pull us apart. Herman started screaming, and Marguerite scolded him to act like a grownup and let me go. I shut my eyes, hoping I was in the midst of a bad dream and would wake up momentarily.
Any minute. ..
Any second now…
I opened my eyes.
No such luck. I was still between two geriatric siblings who were now slapping and yelling and spitting like children. Mother of God.
“We have to meet with Mr. Rosenthal, Herman! Let Cecile go, and we’ll see her later.” My eyes bulged at Marguerite as she said this, but she shook her head and mouthed, “He won’t remember you were here.”
For some odd reason, that made me feel guilty. The old Catholic-guilt thing rearing its ugly head.
Herman stamped a foot, continuing his childlike fit. “I hate Mr. Rosenthal. Cecile and I want to go outside for some fresh air. This place smells like a funeral home!”
Ummm.
Still caught between brother and sister, I saw my opportunity. “Marguerite, if you want to meet with Mr. Rosenthal by yourself, that might be best for everyone involved. I can go outside with Herman for a little while, and you can come collect him when your meeting is over.” And I can get the hell out of here.
Marguerite threw me a grateful look. “Are you sure?”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”
A sheen came to her eyes. “That’s very kind of you…uh…”
I held out my free hand. “Meagan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She shook my hand and leaned into me again. “Herman seems fascinated by that huge fountain out front. If you can keep him somewhere near that, I’ll come out after my meeting and distract him, and you can be on your way, Meagan. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you out there in a little bit.”
As she left the room, images of my parents and Uncle Larry flashed through my mind, and I thanked my lucky stars all of them were of sound mind and body. Well, they were actually all nuts in their own unique way, but they weren’t at the point where they were a danger to themselves or anyone else.
Still linked to Herman, I turned and faced the confused old man. “Herman, Marguerite said we should avoid the fountain outside, but I was thinking—”
“Let’s go!” Herman shouted.
I was proud that my reverse psychology had worked. He nearly ripped my arm out of its socket as he dragged me toward the doorway.
As we exited the building, we stepped onto the massive, circular driveway filled with cars, a hearse at the front of the line. I was a little concerned to see that the procession from the previous service hadn’t yet left. The possibility of Herman tackling a mourner before they made their way to the gravesite of their loved one was simply unacceptable. How I’d ended up babysitting someone my parents’ age was beyond me, and I really didn’t want to be responsible for any additional mayhem on his part. My worry was based on my certainty he wouldn’t come across another person today quite as reasonable and understanding as I’d been.
It’s tough being such a swell gal sometimes.
Fortunately, other than the driver of the hearse, who stood beside the vehicle having a smoke—completely tacky under the circumstances—we were the only ones roaming around outside. Evidently the people who’d attended the service were, thankfully, tucked away in their cars.
So really, what could go wrong?
CHAPTER 12
AS I SCANNED THE CURVED DRIVEWAY FOR any potential tackling dummies, Herman unhooked his arm from mine and weaved his way between the cars toward the fountain. A vision of him discarding his shoes and socks, rolling up his pants, and frolicking in the middle of the water flashed through my mind. And it made me smile. I wondered how Marguerite would react if she came out and saw us splashing around before Betty’s service.
It would be best not to find out.
After one last check for wandering mourners, I also zigzagged my way toward the fountain, determined to keep Herman clothed and dry.
And I would do that just as soon as I found him.
Good grief. I’d looked away for maybe fifteen seconds and had lost a senior citizen with Alzheimer’s. How would I ever become a decent parent if I couldn’t even keep track of a walking, talking adult?
I circled the fountain, making sure Herman hadn’t stumbled in and drowned. Marguerite didn’t need a second dead sibling on her plate today.
Satisfied he wasn’t in the fountain, I scanned the large parking lot and didn’t see him. There wasn’t movement by any of the cars. I started jogging around the parking lot, calling to him while trying not to draw attention to myself.
As if.
The main problem was Herman wasn’t rationale. He could be in the backseat of a mourner’s car, wreaking havoc. He could be hanging out underneath a vehicle, pretending to be a mechanic. He could somehow be off the premises altogether and hitchhiking to God-knew-where.
Heaven help me.
I was spinning around like a top and beginning to panic as the seconds ticked by. As much as I didn’t want to, I decided to ask Smokey the Driver if he’d seen Herman, in hopes he was a better babysitter than I was.
I scampered from the parking lot toward the large circular driveway and spotted movement at the front of the long procession of cars. I watched as Smokey the Driver rushed toward the double doors at the entrance and disappeared through one of them, tossing his cigarette aside just before the door shut behind him.
What the hell? Had Herman gone racing into the funeral home, bringing devastation to all who dared get in his way? How had I lost sight of him in such a quick amount of time?
As I scurried by the passenger’s side of the hearse, I was startled to hear, “Cecile!” come from inside the vehicle. The passenger side window whirred down, and Herman leaned over from the driver’s side of the hearse.
“Herman!” I exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of there right now!” Glancing at t
he passenger seat and toward the back of the vehicle, I hoped I’d see someone else accompanying the driver, but nope. Didn’t they work in pairs? The driver couldn’t be expected to lead an entire procession solo, could he? Wasn’t it like an airline pilot who needed a co-pilot in case of emergency?
In the back of the hearse was a shiny casket. And I could bet it wasn’t the co-pilot.
Ignoring my tone, Herman made frantic hand gestures. “Cecile, I’m getting ice cream whether you’re coming with me or not. So get in, or tell me what kind you want, and I’ll bring some back for you.”
Mother of God. This couldn’t be happening.
I put my hands on the passenger’s side window ledge and turned halfway back toward the funeral home doors, willing them to open. They did not.
Focusing on the Alzheimer’s-chauffeur, I did my best to sound calm. “Herman, this isn’t your car, so you should really give it back to the nice funeral home people.”
“They’re really not all that nice,” Herman retorted. “They’ve got Betty looking all chalky white, and her hair is all wrong. Those people don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Herman…” I pleaded and kept turning back to the funeral home doors. Couldn’t someone behind me see what was going on?
Suddenly the hearse started moving, and I trotted to keep up with it, my arms still firmly on the window ledge. Because that would certainly slow down the several-ton vehicle with a dead body in the back.
“Herman! Stop this car right now. This is stealing, and you’re going to get in a lot of trouble,” I hissed.
Herman giggled like a schoolgirl, and I had to pick up my pace to a jog as he gained speed. “Cecile, you can get in or you can get out of my way, but I’m blowing this Popsicle stand. I’m off to find some ice cream!”
I took a final glance at the funeral home entrance, and no one was coming to the rescue. Life comes down to choices, good or bad. Faced with this mess, I could let the deranged old man drive off with the dead body, or I could jump in the moving vehicle and go down with the ship.
As I yanked on the car door, I realized it wasn’t going to open, since it was in motion. Given no other option, I dove through the open passenger window, my legs sticking out as Herman gunned it down the funeral home driveway.
CHAPTER 13
AS I REMOVED MY FACE FROM THE PASSENGER’S SEAT, I twisted my lower half into the car and buckled up immediately. God only knew how this joyride would end. Herman looked so happy and free that I cracked a small smile.
Until that practical voice in my head piped up. I hate that voice sometimes. It told me I was a massive dipshit and predicted Herman and I would be arrested within the hour. It further told me I was jeopardizing my career and my safety by face-planting myself in this hearse.
I told the voice to shove it up its ass. Would that be my own ass? Whatever.
Keeping my tone as steady as possible, I leaned over toward my chauffeur. “Herman, I see you’re having a ton of fun, and I think that’s great. But I have a really nice truck back in the parking lot. Don’t you agree it might be a good idea to return this car, as well as the dearly departed, to the funeral home as soon as possible?”
To his credit, Herman kept his focus firmly on the road but seemed to be thinking about my question. Since we hadn’t topped the ten-miles-per-hour barrier, I did my best not to rush his answer and get him all upset.
He nodded. “That may be a good idea, Cecile, because this car is really big. But I’d hate to ruin the parade now that it’s started.”
Hunh?
Then it hit me. I snapped my head toward the rearview passenger window and looked behind us. Sure as shit, the procession of cars was following us on our impromptu adventure to the ice cream shop.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Herman, I agree parades are wonderful, but we probably shouldn’t be leading this particular one. Mr. Rosenthal had a nice man picked out to lead the parade route, and we should let him do his job. Maybe we should turn around, nice and easy, and escort these fine people back to the funeral home. I can even drive if you’d like. Then we’ll ride in Betty’s parade later on today.” I simply couldn’t be having this conversation.
Herman’s knuckles tightened on the wheel, and his face flushed. “But Cecile, we have to get our ice cream. We are less than ten minutes away, and I’m getting my Rocky Road!” He was back in child-mode, wailing like a toddler, and I was starting to panic. Really panic. Shortness-of-breath-I-could-die-in-a-hearse panic. I hate that type of irony. I had to calm down. I decided the best thing to do would be to play along.
“What’s the name of the ice cream shop again? I keep forgetting.”
“Buster’s,” he said and beamed. He seemed happier now that I appeared to be on board.
“That’s right, what a nice place.”
As is my nature when I’m faced with utter hysteria, as well as impending doom, I reached out to my rock—Doob. The fact Doob is my rock will probably one day land me in some type of therapy, but for now, he was the man for the job.
Hoping to avoid anymore outbursts from Herman, texting seemed like the best option in order to keep him in the dark as to what I was planning. As if I even knew what I was planning. Whipping out my cell phone, I texted Doob as fast as my fingers would move. I was momentarily impressed with how succinct I’d been in explaining my circumstances. I quickly got a response from Doob:
D: WTF Meg??? You stole a hearse?! This 1 takes the cake, even for u. Ur mom is going to stroke out. Ur dad…well, God help u. U R SCREWED.
M: Shut up! I know! But I couldn’t let the poor guy drive off. U call the cops & have Kayla call the funeral home. But don’t let them hurt/arrest Herm. He just wants ice cream.
D: What’s the license plate on the car?
M: Like I f-ing know! Didn’t exactly check before jumping in & landing on my face. Tell the cops we’re on our way to Buster’s. Pronto! If I die in this hearse, it’s on u.
D: Okay, I’ll call the cops & tell them how to do their job & I’m sure K will be very convincing when the funeral director gets upset & K unleashes her tirade of expletives. Stay tuned Meg, ttyl.
M: Doob, don’t go!
But I was out of luck. He was gone, and I was still in the hearse with the Alzheimer’s patient and the dead body. On the upside, Herman was a pretty good driver and seemed to know exactly where he was going. I definitely considered jumping out every time he hit a red light, but really, where would I go? And now that I’d committed, it didn’t seem right to bail on him midway through our ordeal.
As we drove down Thames Street in Newport, Herman started playing tour guide. He pointed out restaurants and artsy boutiques and even showed me the dock where he’d had his first kiss. For the briefest moment, I forgot the disastrous part of this little joyride and smiled at the old man, reliving memories fresh in his fragile mind.
As we turned onto a side street and started down another winding road, Herman’s eyes lit up. Down the road a ways, a little ice cream shack appeared on the horizon. And God help me, it was closed.
CHAPTER 14
THIS WAS BEYOND BAD. Herman would lose his composure when he realized there was no ice cream. Not to mention the fact that a funeral procession would be pulling in behind us.
On the bright side, the vehicle would, at least, stop and I’d live to see another day. So I had that going for me. I just needed to get through the next hour or so.
Herman actually used his turn signal before pulling into the parking lot, and as he parked the monstrous vehicle, I glanced in the passenger-side rearview mirror. The line of cars followed suit. The lot was a pretty good size, and everyone pulled in behind us. A vision of wildly screaming mourners flashed through my head. How in the world would I defend Herman while simultaneously not offending a crowd lamenting the loss of a loved one?
Good grief.
As if the scene had jumped out of my head, a huge woman in dark clothing with short, blazing red hair rushed toward
the driver’s side of the hearse. Before I could tell Herman to stay put, he opened his door, apparently oblivious to the closed shop or the charging redhead.
Double good grief.
I leapt out of the hearse, prepared to defend Herman’s honor. After all, I’d known him for less than an hour, so I was the perfect spokesperson, right? Ugh.
While I watched in utter fascination, the large redhead wrapped her arms around Herman, sobbing and laughing at the same time. Herman looked thrilled and hugged her back, as if they were old friends.
“This was a perfect idea!” the woman exclaimed. “Rufus loved this shop. How in the world did you know this was his favorite place?” She enveloped Herman in another bear hug, and he started turning an interesting shade of reddish-purple. I worried she might just squeeze him to death, but he was quickly rescued when she released him to let him shake the hands of a few elderly men who’d approached.
Within two minutes, all of the cars emptied, and a group of well dressed funeral goers were treating Herman like a hero. He glowed like a child on Christmas and had, evidently, forgotten our ice cream run.
There have been a few times in my life when I’ve physically felt the presence of God, a higher power, whatever the heck is out there. I’m not a religious nutcase or anything, but sometimes you witness a moment that makes you say, “Yep…someone up there got this one right.” And I looked to the heavens and winked, hoping the responsible party saw my gratitude.
My eyes welled up, and I was glad I’d ignored my inner voice. This was something to experience. Somehow a crazy old man had made a bunch of sad people happy, and they’d done the same for him.
My bliss disintegrated on a whoop-whoop siren blip, as a police car turned into the parking lot. I hoped the Big Guy upstairs would somehow get me out of this one as well.
CHAPTER 15
OTHER THAN ME, NO ONE SEEMED TO GIVE A RAT’S PATOOT that a couple of law enforcement types had just shown up for the party. A few funeral-goers glanced their way and then continued on with their conversations, as if none of this was the slightest bit odd. The whole thing was kind of surreal. It wouldn’t have surprised me if someone actually pulled in with gallons of ice cream and started serving the impromptu get-together. As long as it wasn’t Doob.
