Homeward

by Melody Carlson

  It was the sunlight that woke her, filtering in through the dusty curtains, shining stark and bright without feeling, and right into her face. She tried to brush it away, but it was no use. Finally she got up and stared out the window, despising the sunshine and blue sky. It was profane.

  “How could you do this, God?” she demanded. “How could you take her like that, when you know that—” Tears filled her eyes again. “You know that I never got to make things right with her. I never got to say—” She couldn’t make herself say it. Not even now. “It’s so unfair, God. It’s just so unfair. Just when I was beginning to trust you. How could you allow this to happen?”

  She tugged on jeans and a sweater and slipped down the stairway and out the door, breaking into a run toward the beach steps. She felt guilt pangs of a different kind now, heaped upon the mountain that was already crushing her. Perhaps she should comfort Grandmother and call Erin. But how could she comfort anyone? What comfort was there? She remembered how Grandmother used to say there was “no comfort for the wicked.” Now she knew exactly what that meant.

  On the beach, she ran and ran, as if to escape. Finally, she felt as if her chest were caving in, and her legs refused to go any farther. She fell to her knees in the wet strip of sand at the water’s edge, where the surf was flowing back and forth, and looked up to the sky with tightly clenched fists pressed against her sides.

  “Why?” she screamed into the air. A lone gull answered her with a haunting cry, and the ice-cold seawater washed across her knees and over her feet, soaking her jeans and shoes, but still she didn’t move. She didn’t care. She continued to whisper the hideous word again and again. “Why? Why? Why?”

  Finally her legs grew numb from the stinging surf, and she stood up stiffly in the now ankle-deep tide and started to walk straight out into the ocean. She couldn’t feel the coldness anymore. She couldn’t feel anything. She kept walking until the waves rose above her chest and she felt her feet gently swept off the ocean floor. And even that did not alarm her. She felt as if something were calling her. Something lonely and cold and unfeeling. It felt kindred. Like her own heart.

  It wasn’t until a wave slapped her in the face, forcing salt water into her mouth and nose, that she came to her senses and turned around. Afterward, she didn’t recall swimming to shore, but she figured the tide had done its job, carrying her back like a useless piece of debris that even the ocean didn’t want.

  It wasn’t until she collapsed on the beach, gasping for breath, that she began to see something. She had heard of people who witnessed their lives flashing before their eyes after a close brush with death, but she didn’t think that’s what this was. She didn’t see any sweet scenes from her childhood or even a bright light at the end of a tunnel. No, what she saw was a woman consumed by bitterness, resentment, and unforgiveness. And the woman was her.

  It was then that she prayed a different kind of prayer. No questions this time, no demands. Just three words—again and again. Help me, God. Help me, God. It was all she knew to say. And oddly enough, it comforted her some. It felt like a beginning.

  As she walked slowly back to the house, a strange sense of peace enveloped her. It was as if she could feel God’s hand upon her, giving her comfort. It made no sense, but it felt stunningly real. She wanted it to be real—but was her faith strong enough to hold on to it?

  “God, I need you,” she prayed, out loud this time. “I need you to show me how to believe in you again.”

  Back at the house, she changed into dry clothes and went down to Grandmother’s room, knocking lightly on the door. She grew concerned when there was no answer. Perhaps the news had been too much for Grandmother’s weakened heart. Or perhaps she was asleep. Meg quietly opened the door and peeked inside. Grandmother held up her hand and motioned Meg in. The old woman looked tired and gray. Her eyes were dull and rimmed in red. Her hair, which was usually kept neatly in a hairnet, now hung in wisps, giving her an even more haggard appearance.

  “Come sit with me, Meggie.” She said the words slowly as if speaking were painful, and Meg scooted a chair close to the bed and sat down. Grandmother stretched out a hand, and Meg reached over and held tightly to it.

  “I know how it feels to lose a mother, Meggie.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed hankie. “It’s almost as hard as losing a child.”

  Meg nodded. She didn’t know what it was like to have a child, let alone lose one. But she knew this wasn’t easy. A dull ache had rooted itself in her chest. Although she tried to think of words that might comfort Grandmother, none would come.

  “Meggie, I know you and Sunny had your differences, but I also know that she loved you.”

  Meg turned and looked into Grandmother’s face. “Really?” she said in honest surprise. “How do you know that? I don’t even know that.”

  Grandmother sighed. “I just know, child.”

  Silent tears streaked down Meg’s face again, and she tried to speak. “But I don’t think Sunny knew that I loved her.” It was the first time Meg had said it, but she knew it was true. She did love Sunny. Sure, there were many times when she couldn’t stand her. But wasn’t that sometimes a part of love? Why had she never told Sunny? That was the part that ached.

  “She knew, Meggie.”

  “How do you know these things, Grandmother? How do you know for sure? Or are you just saying all this to make me feel better?”

  “If I didn’t believe them, then I would have died long ago. I don’t know exactly how I know, Meggie. I just hope I’m not wrong.” Fresh tears poured down Grandmother’s cheeks, and Meg was sorry she had questioned the old woman. What right did she have to disturb what might be the only peace that Grandmother could find at a time like this?

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother. It’s just that I’m still in shock.”

  “So am I, Meggie.”

  “Do you know? What happened, I mean? How she died?” Meg was almost afraid to find out the answer. Already suffocating in guilt, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

  “Erin called about an hour ago and filled me in on the details. She only just learned them from Sigfried herself. It seems that Sunny had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer some time ago. Apparently the cancer had already spread by the time she went to the doctor. You know how she is—I mean—was… She never liked going to doctors. I’m sure she always thought I was a hypochondriac.” Grandmother leaned her head back. “If only it could have been me instead of her. That would make more sense.”

  “No, Grandmother. Don’t say that.”

  “I know, I know. These things are not for us to decide.”

  “Was Sunny getting treatment? She was pretty thin, but she didn’t look sick. I had no idea—” Meg choked on the words. Every single memory that came to her about Sunny was tainted with recollections of Meg’s own selfish bitterness and hostility. If only she had known that Sunny was dying. Why couldn’t Sunny have told her?

  “No. Erin said that the chances of treatment curing a cancer as advanced as Sunny’s were not very good, and Sunny decided not to bother. You know how she was. Such a free spirit. She was such a happy child. Do you know where the name Sunny came from? Daddy used to call her Sunbeam. Before long, that got shortened to Sunny. I can still remember her as a little girl. When she was three or four, I made her a little yellow dress from a Shirley Temple pattern. I can still see her skipping around; she did look just like a little sunbeam. Pretty and bright and gay...”

  Grandmother closed her eyes, continuing to talk as if she were going back in time. “Oh, Sunny, such a happy-go-lucky girl. Never afraid of anything. Always ready to try something new. Daddy’s little sunshine. I’m so sorry I was so busy, Sunny. Too busy to appreciate my little sunbeam. Too busy to notice. I’m sorry...” Grandmother quit talking, but her lips kept moving as if she were trying to communicate something. Meg felt this was a moment she shouldn’t be witnessing. She rose and quietly slipped out of the room.

  Rosa was sitting in the kitchen,
but got up quickly when she saw Meg start for the stairs.

  “Meggie?” called Rosa. “You should have something to eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

  Meg looked at the kind woman who had so gently helped her off the floor and put her to bed earlier. Rosa’s eyes and nose were red. Of course, she too had known Sunny. Perhaps even better than Meg had.

  “I’m not hungry, Rosa. I just want to rest for a bit. I’m fine, really.”

  “Well, I am going to bring you up some tea and toast anyway,” said Rosa firmly.

  “Okay. Thanks, Rosa.”

  Meg nibbled a corner of toast and drank a cup of tea. She couldn’t sleep, and being alone with her thoughts was frightening. She knew that Grandmother would probably need to rest this afternoon. And after all the emotional upheaval of the morning, Meg wondered if Grandmother’s doctor should be called. Perhaps this stress was taking its toll on her heart. She would have to check with Rosa.

  And what was the family supposed to do when someone died? Weren’t there arrangements to be made? Decisions about how and who and where. Had Meg, by falling apart and then running away, left Erin to deal with these unpleasant things alone? Poor Erin.

  Meg dialed Erin’s number and waited as the phone rang again and again. Just when she was about to hang up, Erin answered breathlessly.

  “Hello, Erin. This is Meg. Did I interrupt something, or wake you? I just wanted to—” Again her voice broke and her hands began to shake.

  “No, you didn’t interrupt anything. We were all sitting outside. The girls are so upset, and we were sitting in the garden, talking. Why don’t you come over, Meg?”

  “Could I?”

  “Of course. Do you want Tom to come pick you up? You sound pretty upset.”

  “No, I can drive. Actually, I think it might do me good to drive. I’m coming right now. Is that okay?”

  “It’s better than okay—” Erin’s voice broke this time.

  “See you.”

  Meg didn’t remember the drive, but she pulled into the driveway safely, and even before she climbed out of the car, her sister was running to meet her. They hugged and cried for a long time.

  “Tom and the girls are picking flowers. I know it’s probably early, but the girls wanted to pick them for Sunny’s grave. Come on inside and have a cup of coffee. Sigfried is coming over in about an hour.”

  They sat in a corner of the living room and talked about Sunny. It was a relief to hear Erin remembering some of the good times, and Meg listened intently, trying to memorize each one and paste it into her own memory like a photo album. Meg wondered why she didn’t have memories like that of her own. Was it because Erin was older? Or because Erin was more creative and imaginative? Certainly Erin wasn’t making them up. And even if she was, and Meg was sure that she wasn’t, it didn’t matter, for when Erin spoke it was like a soothing balm on a burning, open wound.

  “Hello,” called Sigfried as he came down the hall and into the living room. His face looked tired and much older. “I saw Tom out back, and he told me to let myself in. He thought it might be better if I spoke to you two about the…the details. Without the girls listening.”

  “Come sit down, Siggie,” said Erin. “Can I get you some coffee or anything?”

  “No thanks.” He sat down on the edge of the sofa and held his hat in his lap. It was olive green with a little feather in the band; it reminded Meg of something a Swiss yodeler might wear. He cleared his throat and began to recite what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.

  “As you both now know, Sunny was well aware that she was dying. And in a Sunny-like fashion, she was determined to live life to the very end as if nothing was the matter. It was her desire that no one be aware of her struggle. Other than me, of course. However, in her final months she did take time to get her affairs in order, and she has left me a rather detailed list of instructions.”

  He went on to explain that Sunny’s wish was to be cremated and that she had already made this arrangement with the local funeral home, and it had, in fact, already taken place. Erin and Meg looked at each other with wide eyes. It was all so sudden, so shocking.

  “But what about a service?” exclaimed Erin.

  “Just wait, I’m getting to that.” Sigfried took a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, then silently read it and folded it again. “Sunny wanted to have a brief memorial service at Briar Hedge, up by the bog. She said that was where she’d had some of her happiest childhood memories. She also wanted to have a small evening showing at her gallery the following night, and she gave me specific instructions for how to set this up.”

  “Isn’t there anything for us to do?” asked Erin. “This all feels so cut and dried, so impersonal. The girls wanted to put together flowers for her funeral—” Big tears began to pour down her cheeks, and Meg put an arm around her shoulder. She felt the same way.

  “I know, I know,” said Sigfried in a soothing voice. “But believe me, Sunny thought she was doing you all a favor by taking care of everything like this. She thought that would leave you free to remember who she was, and she hoped that might help you to be able to celebrate her life.”

  Erin sat up straight. “I’m sorry. I’m just being selfish. Go on, Siggie. I know this is hard on you, too.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Just a couple more things. Sunny has arranged for you two, along with me, to fly out over the ocean and sprinkle her ashes. And then she has some things packaged up for you in her apartment that I’m supposed to give you after the show in the gallery. And just so you’ll know, she has left the gallery and everything in her apartment to both of you, fifty-fifty. It’s all written up legally. You’ll find that she had next to nothing in the bank, but no major debts, either. Everything she had went into the gallery. Her only stipulation for the gallery was that you keep me on as manager.”

  “Of course,” said Erin. “We wouldn’t have it any other way. Right, Meg?”

  Meg nodded dumbly. This was too much for her to take in right now. It still seemed unreal that Sunny was gone, and to be talking about all these plans felt wrong. She tried to focus and listen as Erin and Siggie ironed out a few more details, but none of it made sense to her.

  As soon as Sigfried left, Meg turned to Erin and blurted, “I know it’s stupid and old-fashioned and probably, like you said, selfish, but I want her to have a regular funeral. I want her to have a grave so I can go there. I need to take her flowers. I need a place to go to where I can tell her I’m sorry.”

  “I know, Meggie. I know exactly how you feel.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Friday was set as the day they were to gather at the bog to remember Sunny. The service was at one o’clock, but Meg walked up early to look around. The sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of fog, and she was grateful for the gloom. She knew Sunny would probably have preferred clear blue skies, but the gray mist better suited Meg’s heavy heart.

  She walked around the weeded bog and, to her dismay, spotted new weeds already coming up. Maybe it was all a useless battle. She picked up a dead weed lying on the road that had probably escaped from an overloaded wheelbarrow, and walked over to toss it in one of the dump piles. She dusted her hands off, trying not to get her dark wool pants dirty. She and Erin had discussed what would be appropriate apparel for a memorial service in a cranberry bog and had finally agreed that nice pants and jackets were sufficient. Grandmother would probably think that black dresses would be more fitting for a funeral, but then, this wasn’t a funeral.

  Suddenly Meg remembered her reason for coming up here early. It was probably foolish, and it wasn’t as if she believed in ghosts, but she had truly hoped to communicate with Sunny. Somehow. She picked a bunch of daffodils and laid them next to the podium that Sigfried had set up that morning, along with several rows of white folding chairs. He decided to forgo the canopy because it didn’t look like rain.

  Meg had no idea what Sigfried’s memorial program would consist of, but he seemed to have everything under con
trol. Meg gazed toward the horizon and sighed. The firs on the far side of the bog were shrouded in mist, giving them an eerie, yet beautiful, look. Maybe Sunny’s idea to be up here was a good one after all.

  “Sunny, can you hear me?” she whispered. The question reminded Meg of the many times when as a girl she would poke her sleeping mother to see if she were still alive. Sunny had always had a penchant for parties. For Sunny, a party could consist of merely herself and someone else, it never mattered who, and a bottle of cheap booze. They would laugh and drink through the night, and more often than not, Sunny would go to sleep wherever she landed. Usually it was the couch or an easy chair. Occasionally it was the kitchen floor, and once it had been on the front porch steps.

  That was the time that had scared Meg the most. Erin had been gone by then, living in the commune, and Meg had found Sunny splayed across the front porch, face ashen and mouth gaping open. Meg almost called an ambulance, but first she poked Sunny. When Sunny finally moaned and rolled over, Meg knew it was nothing more than another hangover. By that time, Meg was almost beyond embarrassment at such displays because she had plenty of problems of her own. But it hurt her enough to make her resolve to get out. That was the night Meg decided to drop out of high school and get her GED. She thought that might be the best way to get on with her life and out of Sunny’s. And a few months later, Grandpa died, severing Meg’s last tie to her family. After his funeral, she had left, planning never to return.

  But here she was, back in the midst of her family. Somehow, this time she felt more tightly bound to them than ever before.