The Scarecrow Snuff Out
Page 7
She shuddered. “Oh, Madone, that was creepy.”
I concentrated on the wall and searched for the imaginary spider in an effort to ignore her.
Through the doorway I saw my mother’s body lying on a gurney. My eyes shot back and forth between the horizontal Ma and the floating Ma. This was all a little confusing. First I had one Ma, and then she died. Then I had a dead Ma and a ghost Ma. If they both started talking to me, I’d get right up and drive myself straight to the loony bin. I stood up and shook off the crazy. “Ah, Paul, you can go first.” He did.
The fact that I took control of the meeting was not lost on me. As the youngest of the siblings, my brothers always considered me the baby, never quite aging me past a toddler in their mind, so for them to acquiesce authority in this situation was surprising. I wrote it off to their shock and grief at losing Ma and expected the newfound respect to burn out quicker than a birthday candle. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to enjoying it just a little. Okay a lot.
We all said our goodbyes to my mother. I couldn’t hear their private whispered words, but I could hear Ma responding. Not the Ma lying on the gurney, the ghost one. As I said, it was confusing. Like the loud Italian woman she was in life, her raspy, I’ve had one thousand too many cigarettes, voice enveloped the room, for me at least, since apparently I was the only one who could hear her. “Oh Pauly, it’s okay. I’m not mad that you weren’t here. Don’t be upset. It’s okay.”
I always knew he was her favorite.
Paul and I haven’t always had the smoothest of relationships. In fact, as a child he wanted me dead. No, really. He tried so hard to make it happen he actually pushed me in front of slow moving cars three times. I was lucky to suffer only emotional, not physical, damage. Attempted murders aside, my heart ached for him now. The guilt of not being there when Ma passed would haunt him forever, though I couldn’t help but wonder if that was easier than being haunted by her ghost.
***
An hour later, the four of us sat with coffee in hand, at Starbucks. Coffee made everything seem better, if only a little. Before we left the funeral home, Paul asked Comb-over to let us know when Ma’s body was cremated. I preferred not to know, but everyone handles death differently and Paul needed what he needed so I didn’t argue. Admittedly, backing away from an argument with Paul was a new thing for me. Ma’s death had really messed with my brain.
We were discussing the arrangements of her burial when I got the call. Comb-over told me they’d started, and as I caught everyone’s eyes, a heavy sadness filled the air.
I disconnected from the call and stayed on task. “Okay. When should we go to Chicago?”
“That’s a good question,” John, the over thinker of us siblings, said. “I’ll call the cemetery later today and find out if we can bury Mom with Grandma and Grandpa. If they won’t let us, we’ll have to figure out what else to do. I was thinking maybe we could each take a portion of her remains and do something with our kids to honor her.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. That was not going to happen. I promised Ma I’d do this for her and I’ll be damned if I didn’t do it right. Especially since she was haunting me. There was no way I would to spend the rest of my waking days with the ghost of my mother pissed off because we didn’t honor her final wish. No way.
“It’s okay,” I blurted out before Paul agreed with John. “Ma was worried about the same thing, so we called the cemetery a few weeks ago and found out that it’s fine.” I took a quick breath and hoped God wouldn’t strike me dead for lying.
“They told me that as long as we’re not getting a stone, the plots are ours to do with as we please. Except for digging up our grandparents, that is.” I checked the sky, but still no lightning. Phew.
My brothers agreed, “Okay.”
Dodged that bullet. What’s wrong with a few little lies? This was what Ma wanted and eventually I’d tell them the truth, once she was buried and we were on our way home. Or maybe next year. What’s the saying? Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That’s what I’d do, eventually.
I offered to make the memorial arrangements even though we all knew they’d have asked me to do it anyway.
I filled them in on my call to our cousin. “I already called Roxanne, who said she’d make the rounds of calls, and since the funeral home here said they would put the obituary in the Chicago papers, that’s covered. Does the weekend after next work? That gives us all time to plan accordingly.”
“I don’t see a problem with that, but I’ll have to check with Elizabeth and see what her schedule is,” John said.
Jake mumbled an acknowledgment, but his eyes were still glued to the screen of his iPhone.
Paul acknowledged me, too. “Let’s go through all of our pictures of Mom. I can make a video with music, and we can show it at her memorial.”
We all agreed that was a great idea and made plans to confirm the date over email by tonight. My brothers left Jake and me there to share our addiction to the warm, smooth taste of coffee. We got refills before we headed home, too.
The rest of the day I was on autopilot and truth be told I couldn’t remember much of it. One minute Jake and I were getting coffee and the next it was after ten p.m. I kissed Jake goodnight and went upstairs and checked on the kids, who were already blissfully sound asleep.
“It’s done,” I texted Mel after I settled under the covers.
“I’m sorry,” she texted back. “Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Going to bed. I’m tired.”
“K. I’m here if you need me. (HUGS).”
Purchase Unfinished Business here
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wonderful editor, Jen, my favorite proofreader, JC Wing, my favorite beta reader, Lynn Shaw, and my friends and family who’ve supported me as I’ve traveled along this writing journey.
A big shout out to Teri Fish! She gets credit for picking the name Bo for the Boxer mix puppy in this series! Thank you, Teri!
About The Author
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson currently calls the Atlanta suburbs home, but can't rule out her other two homes, Indianapolis and somewhere in the Chicago suburbs.
She is old enough to share her empty nest with her husband, two dogs and two cats, all of which she strongly obsesses over repeatedly noted on her Facebook and Instagram accounts, and is working on forgiving her kids for growing up and leaving the nest. When she is not writing, editing, playing with her animals or contemplating forgiving her kids, she is sitting at Starbucks listening in on people's conversations and taking notes, because that stuff is great for book ideas.
On a more professional note, she is the bestselling author of the Angela Panther cozy mystery series featuring several full-length novels and novellas as well as a collection of romantic novellas.
Other Books By
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Mystery
Unbreakable Bonds An Angela Panther Mystery
Uncharted Territory An Angela Panther Mystery
Unexpected Outcomes An Angela Panther Mystery
Unbinding Love An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
The Christmas Elf An Angela Panther Holiday Short
The Ghosts An Angela Panther Holiday Short
The Event An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
Undetermined Events An Angela Panther Mystery Novella
The Inn at Laurel Creek
Zoe & Daniel’s Story: The Inn at Laurel Creek
Santa’s Gift A Cumming Christmas Novella
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