This One and Magic Life

by Anne C. George

  “So am I.” He looks over Naomi’s head straight into Mariel’s eyes. I mean it.

  “I’m going to go look in your closet again.” Mariel says.

  “Won’t do any good, but thanks.”

  “I think you’re right. Artie would love the flip-flops,” Donnie is saying as Mariel goes through the door.

  “They are rather arty, aren’t they?” Naomi grins. “My Lord, that was an awful pun, wasn’t it?”

  “Awful,” Donnie agrees. He is thinking how much he loves Naomi Cates.

  “Well, let’s sit down here on the steps for a minute. She’s not going to find them, but you know Mariel.”

  “She says I patronize her,” Donnie says, sitting beside his mother-in-law.

  “You do. I’m glad to hear she’s recognizing it.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Of course. Mariel tries too hard. It makes her a perfect target.”

  “But I don’t mean to hurt her.”

  “Neither do I.” Naomi wiggles red painted toenails and sighs. “Days you have to worry are when you can’t feel your feet.”

  “You don’t have any feeling in your feet sometimes?”

  “Not often. I’m okay. That’s what happens when you’re eighty.”

  “Who says?”

  “Me. I’m the expert.”

  They sit silently for a moment. “Tell her you love her more,” Naomi says.

  “Yes,” Donnie agrees.

  “Is Dolly going to get to come to the rosary?”

  “She’s still got fever. I think she’ll make it tomorrow, though.”

  “How did she take Artie’s wanting to be cremated?”

  “Well, it was a shock to all of us. I think she’s okay with it, though.”

  “And you?”

  Tears flood Donnie’s eyes. “I’m not okay with anything right now, Nomie.”

  The back door slams. “Here they are,” Mariel says triumphantly. “They were under the sofa on the porch.”

  “Lord, I wonder how they got there?”

  “Here are some stockings, too. Can you put them on in the car, Mama?”

  “Panty hose in the car? No way. It takes a whole room and several pieces of furniture for me to accomplish that.”

  “Well, hurry. We need to be there soon.”

  Naomi groans and gets up. “We’ll be there soon enough,” she says.

  “Do you think she’s okay?” Mariel watches her mother shuffle into the house.

  “She’s fine. Here.” Donnie pats the step. “Sit down.”

  Mariel brushes off the step. “I don’t want to mess up my dress.”

  They sit quietly for a few minutes looking over the bay. Then Donnie says, “Tell you what. Let’s buy the house from Dolly. Move out here. Just shack up together on the beach. How about that?”

  “Don’t make me think about another thing right now, Donnie.”

  “We could, you know.”

  Mariel puts her face down into her hands. “Don’t tell me this now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s bullshit.”

  “Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Naomi stands in the doorway, shoes and stockings on.

  “I’m afraid so,” Donnie says. “You should have taught her better.”

  “She learned it at home.” Naomi takes Donnie’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  The group on the community pier is applauding the sunset as Hektor, May, and Father Audubon drive by.

  “It’s a town custom,” Hektor explains. “Everyone in Harlow thinks they have to clap for the sun’s performance.”

  “Encourage it to come back tomorrow,” Father Audubon says.

  “Something like that. Truthfully, more of an excuse for a shot of bourbon or whatever.”

  “It’s fun,” May says. “I like to go to the pier for sunset.”

  “Sunrise, sunset,” Hektor sings. “Sunrise, sunset.”

  “Swiftly fly the years,” Father Audubon joins in. Neither can remember the next words so they end up humming the tune. They come to the stop sign and turn right toward the funeral home.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Hektor says. “Having a rosary over an empty coffin.”

  “Think of it this way. All funerals are over empty coffins.”

  “Spoken like a true priest, Del.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “I know.” Hektor waves at a boy on a motorcycle. Sunrise. Sunset.

  “I believe in God,” May says. “I believe Aunt Artie is in heaven sitting at the right hand of God Almighty. From thence she shall come to judge the quick and the dead.”

  “That’s good, honey. I hope she’s the one gets to judge us.”

  “She will be.” May straightens the skirt of her blue dress.

  “Jesus used to live at the North Pole,” Hektor tells Father Audubon.

  “When did he move?” Father Audubon asks.

  “Y’all are teasing me,” May says.

  Hektor hugs her. “Not really.”

  They turn into the parking lot of Bay Chapel East. Several other cars are already there. Hektor recognizes Dorothy Jenkins going in the door. “That’s Artie’s sister-in-law,” he says.

  “I forgot she was married.”

  “She wasn’t for long. Carl was killed in Korea. She was a widow at twenty-two.”

  “And never remarried.”

  “I don’t think she even came close. There were men, of course, lots of them. But there was only one Carl. I lived with them when they were first married. Good fellow.”

  “Is he buried here?”

  “No. He was reported missing and finally they declared him dead. I’m not sure Artie ever gave him up.” Hektor pulls into a parking space. “Our parents are here, though. They drowned in the bay in a sailing accident when we were teenagers.”

  “I lost my parents when I was a child,” Father Audubon says. “My aunt brought me up.”

  “I don’t have a mama,” May says. Both men laugh at her tone of voice. “Well, I don’t! I’m going to talk to Kelly Stuart though.”

  “She’s too young for me,” Hektor says.

  “We’ll let her decide that.” May slides out of the truck into Father Audubon’s arms.

  “Yes ma’am, Miss May,” Hektor says. They walk to the heavy front doors. Just as they get there, Donnie, Mariel, and Naomi Cates pull into the drive.

  “I’ll wait and come in with them,” May says.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Just remember, Mr. Ricketts is a friend of Aunt Artie’s from San Francisco.”

  “Isn’t he?”

  “Of course he is.” The two men watch the child run across the parking lot. Her white socks flash in the late light.

  “You are a lucky man, Hektor Sullivan,” Father Audubon says.

  “I think ‘blessed’ may be the adjective.”

  They step into the coolness and artificial light of the funeral parlor. Mr. Griffin is standing just inside the door talking to Dorothy Jenkins.

  “Mr. Sullivan,” he says.

  Hektor introduces Delmore Ricketts to both Mr. Griffin and Dorothy Jenkins.

  “We’re having the rosary in the chapel,” Mr. Griffin says. “I know it’s supposed to be a private service, but you know Harlow.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Father Carroll is already in there.” Mr. Griffin points vaguely toward the chapel.

  “The rest of the family is coming in. We’ll wait on them.”

  Dorothy excuses herself and goes into the chapel. She looks old, Hektor thinks. It seems to him that women either balloon or shrink as they age. Dorothy is shrinking. He remembers her leading cheers in high school, plump, golden. Damn. Damn. Sunrise. Sunset.

  THIRTY-THREE

  A Fine Rosary

  FATHER CARROLL COMES OUT OF THE CHAPEL. HANDSHAKES, hugs. The introduction of Delmore Ricketts. The door opens, closes. Neighbors, friends. They finally go into the chapel where the closed gray casket is in an alcov
e at the front. Each person, even Donnie, sees Artie in it in her yellow dress.

  “My friends,” Father Carroll says. “Our sympathy is extended to the family of Artemis Sullivan Jenkins. She was a very special presence on this earth and she will be missed. We welcome you to this service in her memory. May we pray:

  “Lord Jesus,

  our Redeemer,

  you willingly gave yourself up to death

  so that all people might be saved

  and pass from death into a new life.”

  She’s gone, Donnie thinks. She’s gone, thinks Mariel, and Hektor, May and Mrs. Cates, Delmore Ricketts.

  “Listen to our prayers,

  look with love on your people

  who mourn and pray for their dead sister.

  Lord Jesus, you alone are holy and compassionate:

  Forgive our sister her sins.”

  She really wasn’t all that bad, Mariel thinks. She had her problems, too. I was too judgmental.

  “I hate God,” Hektor hears Artie say, opening the telegram from the War Department. She didn’t mean it, God. You know she didn’t. Forgive her. Forgive her for everything else, too. Please. And Donnie and me, too.

  “Do not let our sister be parted from you,

  but by your glorious power

  give her light, joy, and peace in heaven.

  Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Father Carroll clears his throat. Purses open; beads click. Crucifixes are held. “I believe in God, the Father Almighty…”

  Donnie’s fingers touch the beads, so familiar from his childhood. He is surprised that he remembers them perfectly, at how easily the words come. He feels the tenseness relax in his shoulders. “Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. Amen.”

  Ghosts sit by everyone in the chapel. They walk the aisles, young, vibrant. Carl Jenkins, dressed in his wedding suit, a rose in his buttonhole, smiles at his sister. He stands at the altar, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. He is chewing gum. Oh, Carl, for God’s sake. Dorothy Jenkins chews mightily; he gets the message and swallows, guiltily. The music changes. Artie on Donnie’s arm. A child. All of them children. Be happy, children.

  The ghosts push their way between people. Mariel moves over to make room for her father who insists on sitting between her and her mother. Thomas and Sarah Sullivan’s beads click.

  “Hail! Holy Queen, Mother of mercy,

  our life, our sweetness, and our hope.

  To you do we cry,

  poor banished children of Eve.”

  Ana touches May’s black hair. Hektor puts his arm around May and pulls her toward him. But May has felt the touch on her head; she looks up and sees her father scowling. She pats his hand. It’s all right.

  “Turn then, most gracious advocate,

  your eyes of mercy towards us;

  show unto us the blessed fruit of your womb,

  Jesus, O sweet virgin Mary!”

  Artie throws Dorothy Jenkins her bouquet of gardenias. She kneels beside Donnie, embracing him. Her hair spills, golden and smelling of Halo shampoo, across his arm. She touches Father Audubon on the shoulder and ignores Zeke Pardue who sits in the back row, grinning.

  “Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord

  and may your perpetual light

  shine on them forever.”

  “Grant it O Lord.”

  “And may all the souls of the faithfully departed

  through the mercy of God rest in peace.

  Amen.”

  Father Carroll casually pushes his way through the ghosts to shake hands with the family. He’s an old hand at this.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  The crowd moves into the parlor. Outside it is night.

  “I remember her wedding dress,” Dorothy Jenkins tells Mariel. “It had seed pearls all over the bodice. I always meant to ask her if it was her mother’s.”

  “It wasn’t mine,” Sarah Sullivan says. “Actually I got married in a pink dress. Shocked everyone in Montgomery. They thought I was admitting I wasn’t a virgin.”

  “No,” Mariel tells Dorothy. “It wasn’t her mother’s.”

  “I wonder what happened to it.”

  “I’m sure it’s stored somewhere at the house. Why? Do you think Cindy could use it?”

  “Heavens no. All my girls make two of Artie. I was just thinking about it. You know how things pop into your head. What did you bury her in?”

  “A yellow dress. Linen.”

  “I know she looked nice.”

  Mariel sees the package on the mantel. “Yes. She didn’t want the casket open, though.”

  “I don’t either when my time comes. People standing around looking and you not able to say a thing. Where’s Dolly?”

  “She’s got a sinus infection and fever. I took her to Dave Horton this afternoon. I think she’ll be able to be at the funeral tomorrow.”

  “You give her my love.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “Mariel.” Father Carroll comes up. “That friend of Artie’s from San Francisco seems very nice. He must have thought a lot of her to come all this way.”

  “Yes. Hektor tracked him down.”

  “I have to be going,” Dorothy says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Fine, Dorothy. Thanks.”

  Carl is waiting for Dorothy in the car. “Sister,” he says. They drive home, the smell of gardenias strong as a wall between them.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Something in Particular

  AT THE HOUSE, DOLLY IS WANDERING FROM ROOM TO ROOM. She opens closet doors, cabinets. Uncle Hektor must take some things for May. Their grandmother’s china or silver. Something in particular of Artie’s that says Family. The cameo that had belonged to their great-grandmother. The vase with the embossed roses. How strange to think that these things cherished by generations are now hers, hers to take care of and cherish.

  She feels dizzy when she moves too quickly. Nevertheless, she can’t stay in bed. She fixes a cup of spiced tea. It smells like fall, like cloves and cinnamon and orange zest. She looks at Artie’s almost nonexistent collection of cookbooks and opens one entitled Jubilee. Published by the Mobile Junior League, it must have belonged to Sarah Sullivan. Recipes are written in bold handwriting on all the flyleaves; notes crowd the margins. Cook five minutes less. Doubled will serve twenty. Pies and cakes have the most notations. It seems to Dolly that she must have come by her sweet tooth naturally. One recipe that catches her eye is for spoon bread. When she feels better, she’ll try it. Delicious, her grandmother has written beside it.

  Dolly takes her tea and continues her wandering. She’s looking for something. “Cold,” says the living room. “Warmer, warmer,” says the hall.

  She should be at Artie’s rosary. She sits on the steps and thinks of the service. “Hail, Mary, full of grace,” she begins and then realizes how her voice is echoing in the empty house. She drinks the tea and listens to the hum of the air conditioner. Hot and cold. She gets up and continues wandering.

  She turns on the light and steps into the small bedroom that Artie had used for the last few months when the steps had gotten too hard for her to climb. It’s the first time Dolly has been in this room since she got home and, with the exception of a small antique desk Artie had had brought down from her bedroom, it looks like the familiar guest room that Dolly has known all her life. Mrs. Randolph has thrown all the medicines into a plastic garbage bag, washed the linens, Lysoled. Death was just a transient visitor.

  The bedspread is blue and white checked. Matching curtains hang at the windows. They were ordered from Penney’s. Artie had let Dolly choose them and she had pored over the catalog for days before finally deciding. It had been a good choice, she realizes now, sitting on the bed, feeling the coziness of the room. One of Artie’s paintings of Dolly, a child running down the beach with a blue bucket, hangs above the white wrought-iron bed. Beneath the bed, Dolly knows, are empty b
oxes, Christmas boxes that are taken out, dusted off, and used again and again. There’s a sack of bows under there, too.

  Dolly reaches over and opens the nightstand drawer. It yields nothing more dramatic than a telephone book and a couple of old photographs. One is of Dolly and Kelly Stuart building a sandcastle. They look to be about nine. Hardened glue on the back shows it has fallen from an album. Dolly tries to remember when it was taken, but there were so many days like that. Neither child knows the picture is being taken; they are too absorbed in their work. They have been at it a long time. There are turrets and moats, and both girls have sand in their hair and on their foreheads. Dolly puts the picture on the bed to show to Kelly.

  The other picture is wonderful. It’s her Uncle Hektor perched on the back of a buffalo. He’s tiny, and someone is holding him on the buffalo. You can see a man’s hands. But it’s the expression on Hektor’s face that makes it so perfect. He’s looking straight at the camera which has captured not just fear and anger, but the whole indignity of being a child. Dolly puts it on top of the bed, too.

  The small desk has always sat in the upstairs hall, a catchall for extra Gem clips, for pieces of stationery without envelopes. Old canceled checks. The junk desk. For some reason Artie had had it moved down here, though. Dolly goes to it and opens the top drawer.

  Here are old income tax returns on which Dolly recognizes her father’s handwriting. He would come out and do Artie’s taxes for her. Artie’s theatrics over the amount owed and what could be claimed as an expense were one of the highlights of Dolly’s year. “But the trip was necessary! And those lunches were with potential buyers, for God’s sake!” Artie would pace the floor and wring her hands. “I didn’t make a dime last year and you want me to support the government single-handed!”

  “Get real, Artie. You made a bundle.” And Donnie would show her the figures.

  “But I had so many expenses!”

  “Too many,” Donnie would agree, “and how many times have I told you clothes aren’t a legitimate expense?”

  “They are if they’re necessary. Carol Burnett and Julie Andrews get to deduct their clothes.”