The Obituary Society

by Jessica L. Randall

  “That ain't what I had in mind. She said we were going to work this out civil and fair. Then she comes into this office and suddenly she wants to take me for all I got.”

  Asher glanced at Lila and nodded, as if reassuring her that everything was fine before ushering the man down the hall. She heard a door click.

  Lila hesitated. With as angry as that man was, she wasn't comfortable leaving Asher here alone. She hovered near the front door until the muffled shouting subsided, then walked back to the truck.

  Chapter 3

  High Fructose Corn Syrup

  Lila fumbled with her keys before finally getting the right one lodged in the ignition. She hoped her head was clear enough to get her and the truck to Owen's Grocery unscathed. The tense situation in the office had shaken her, but it wasn't just that. She didn’t know the first thing about fixing up a house. She had never even lived in a house, let alone owned one; just a succession of apartments with a landlord to shovel the snow and fix the furnace if it broke.

  Of course, there was something romantic about an old country home. An image of her watering her garden, like Aunt Ada, in front of the house her great grandfather had built flashed across her mind, but she shook her head to erase it. Just because she didn't have her life mapped out yet didn't mean it was time to settle down in rural Nebraska and join the gardening club, even if she couldn't quite clear the piercing blue eyes of a handsome local lawyer from her mind. She shook her head harder.

  Owen's Grocery was just down the street. She squeezed the large truck into a parking spot and grabbed a shopping cart from the sidewalk on her way in. This was the smallest grocery store she had ever been in. The aisles closed in on her on either side. As she walked, she got the idea that people were staring at her, and not just because of the squeaking wheels of her shopping cart. It was as if a stranger had never walked Owen's tan speckled tiles before.

  As she turned a corner she nearly ran into a stooped, white-haired man.

  “Sorry.” Lila veered to let him pass. But the man just stood there, his head cocked to one side and his brows lowered. Then, as if the answer to a puzzle had finally come to him, his face brightened.

  “I've got it. You belong to the Moore's. Your grandma Phoebe's hair was just that color. Like sunshine. I can see a little of Nick in you too.”

  Lila smiled at the mention of her grandparents and father and nodded, suddenly shy. There was a warm feeling in her chest, something like belonging. She had never been to Auburn before. Even so, her whole life she had felt disconnected, like she had been uprooted and transplanted to incompatible soil. Now someone knew where she came from just from seeing her. What kind of place was this?

  “Yes, I'm Lila.”

  “Andy Peterson, nice to meet you. And I was sorry to hear about Issac. I'll always remember him toting Nick to church all those years ago. Your dad was a rascal back then. He'd crawl under the pews and pull the ladies' shoes off, set bugs loose, that kind of thing. Pastor Lucas was young then, but I think that's about when he started losing his hair.” The old man chuckled. “Phoebe was so embarrassed they stopped going for almost a year.”

  “I've never heard that story,” Lila said, laughing. “Dad never was big on church.”

  Andy nodded at her and smiled. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “You too.”

  Lila hadn't gone two feet when a wrinkled hand grabbed her arm. Gladys Ellison stood staring into her through her large bi-focals. “Hello, dear, it's nice to see you again.”

  “Hi, Gladys.”

  Gladys squeezed her arm. “You need to eat more. I hope Ada's taking good care of you,” she continued in a conspiratorial tone. “She's a wonderful baker, but when you want a good pot roast, you know I'm right next door.”

  “I'll remember that.”

  “Now, my grandson is here. I just spoke to him a moment ago. I’d like you to meet him.” She stretched her neck and opened her eyes wide, which gave them an unnatural effect behind the magnifying bifocals, and searched for him. By some stroke of luck he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He's divorced,” the old woman continued, her voice low. “It would be wonderful if he could meet a nice girl.” She sighed, then smiled a little too broadly at Lila. “I'll find him.”

  Lila put a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. “I’d love to meet him, but I’m in a hurry today. Another day?”

  Gladys had noticed a display of bananas, and from her furrowed brow it appeared they didn't look exactly as they should. She nodded at Lila as she picked through the green-tinged heap of unsatisfactory produce. “All right, then.”

  Lila quickly finished her shopping and pushed her cart to the checkout, grabbing a Milky Way bar that stared at her at eye level. As she glanced with mild amusement at the gossip magazines, she became aware of a voice somewhere near the vicinity of her feet. She looked down to see the top of a head. A little girl, Lila judged her to be around six, sat crunched up in the lower shelf of the shopping cart ahead of her.

  “Malic acid, niacin—cin—cinamide, thiamin mono-nitrate.” She sat reading the words from the back of a cereal box. The pronunciation was imperfect, but still impressive for such a small girl. Tiny fingers wrapped around the box, which completely obscured her face.

  The girl lowered the box and looked up with narrow brown eyes. She craned her neck around the shopping cart. “Dad, these are not natural ingredients. How do you know I’m not allergic to them?”

  A voice tight with irritation answered. “Juniper, that’s enough. Stop reading the packages. You’re making me crazy.”

  For the first time, Lila noticed the girl’s father. He had disheveled brown hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and two day's worth of stubble. His dark, expressive eyebrows would have been attractive were they not lowered in a frustrated scowl. He shoved the contents of the shopping cart onto the conveyer belt with impatience. There was something familiar about him.

  “There is high-fructose corn syrup in this ketchup. Do you know your body can’t process high-fructose corn syrup? It tricks you into thinking you're not full.”

  His voice rose. “Juniper, I said enough. Quiet now, or you’re never watching educational television again.”

  “She’s right,” Lila couldn’t resist saying, nonchalantly sliding the candy bar

  beneath a loaf of bread. She had seen part of a documentary about that.

  He stopped, one hand suspended over the belt, the other clutching a box of Captain Crunch. His lips twisted into an arrogant smile.

  “Maybe you should forget about my kid’s nutrition and focus on your driving.”

  Crap. That’s where she had seen him. She had cut him off at the intersection this morning.

  Indignation rose in Lila’s chest. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t seem to keep her mouth closed. “Hey, what you feed your kid is between you and your wife.” She cocked her head and feigned interest in the magazines.

  The little girl looked up at Lila. “My mom lives in Iowa now.” She chewed one side of her lip. “But it’s just as well.” She went on reading the ingredients on the box, more quietly now.

  As they left the store, Lila kept her head down, as if she were concentrating very hard on placing her groceries on the belt. She glanced up briefly as she paid, and quickly thanked the boy at the register as he handed her the bags. Hunching over the cart, she pushed it through the tiny parking lot and threw the groceries into the back of the truck.

  She clambered in and slammed the creaky door, then threw her head against the steering wheel, harder than she intended. She jumped back at the loud honk that resulted and looked around for witnesses. Just her luck, glasses-man was just bringing his cart back to the store and looked in her direction. Shouldn’t he be gone by now? She had forgotten to return her cart. He had probably noticed. Now she was not only mean to little girls, but she was also one of those jerks who leaves their shopping cart blocking the adjacent parking space.

  She grabbed the Milky Way bar
and ripped the wrapper off, replaying the scene from the check-out line in her mind as she bit a hunk off. Her mother used to tell her she lacked the filter that was natural to most people. Of course, there was no way she could have known. Still, the thought that she had carelessly brought up something so painful for that little girl wrenched at her stomach.

  Lila pushed her sweaty hair back from her face and neck, then rolled down the window and breathed deeply. “Come on, Lila,” she said out loud, “do you think you can make it back to Ada’s without drawing further attention to yourself?”

  “What did you say, dear?” It was Gladys, who happened to be walking past the truck at that moment on the way to unlock her car.

  “Nothing,” Lila answered and sighed, a forced smile on her face. “You have a nice day.”

  Lila let out the clutch, then pushed the gas a little too hard, jolting the truck backward and clipping her abandoned shopping cart, which skittered across the parking lot as she fled the scene. Through the rear view mirror she saw glasses-man join Gladys and begin helping her unload her groceries. The two of them stared after Lila as she drove away, mouths agape. Gladys may as well forget about setting Lila up with her grandson. She'd would rather go out with one of the old woman's senior citizen friends.

  Chapter 4

  Aunt Ada's Fridge

  Lila knelt on the wood floor, pushing upward with all her might until the swollen, paint-sealed, window gave way. She'd hoped to let a fresh breeze into the room, but damp, warm air seeped into her lungs as she inhaled. The heaviness triggered a panicky feeling in her chest. Lila took a big breath, and reminded herself she wasn't drowning.

  It would take time to adjust to the humidity that laid heavy over her like a wet blanket as she slept. She'd only left the dry, barren wasteland of Rock Springs, Wyoming, last week. She'd never loved it there, but at least she got a rest from the heat from sundown to sunup, and the air wasn't like hot tea.

  Aunt Ada's house rested on a hill, the only hill around as far as Lila could tell, and her gaze passed over thick clusters of green tree-tops. Lila had always had mountains surrounding her like a nest. She felt vulnerable here, where the horizon stretched off, green and unobstructed, until it dissolved into a hazy blur. However, the idea of life-giving air that caused the trees and every growing thing to thrive was comforting. Perhaps this was a nurturing place.

  Back in Wyoming, Lila was in the center of a tornado, calm as everything flew apart around her. She was the party responsible for having Grandpa transported to Nebraska, and making phone calls with a lawyer and the landlord; then came the packing and travel arrangements. If she ever wondered if there would be a moment when she felt like a legitimate adult, that was the time.

  But now, here she was, a twenty-four year old woman sleeping on a creaky, twin-sized bed in her aunt's attic bedroom, which looked like it came straight from the set of “Anne of Green Gables”, while the buttery scent of a home-cooked breakfast drifted upstairs. The feeling of maturity was fleeting.

  Lila pulled off her pajamas and put them neatly into the dresser drawer, then slipped into a light summer dress. She sat down at the chippy blue vanity. The bedroom used to be her cousin Laurel's, whom she'd met once, a long time ago. She was some kind of executive in Kansas City now, and Lila smiled to think of Laurel sitting at the sweet little vanity.

  Lila cringed as she glanced in the oval mirror. The moisture had left her long, sun-streaked hair hanging lank and lifeless. She dragged a brush through it, then gave up and pulled it back with an elastic before applying her mascara and lip gloss.

  When she'd finished with her short morning routine, she wandered into the narrow hallway, flip-flops in hand. She moved slowly, examining the photographs clustered along the wall. They caught her eye every time she passed. In an oval frame, a young Ada with a bouffant hairstyle smiled beside a man in a suit. His eyes were pale, his dark hair short, glossy waves. She knew he ought to be handsome, but there was something missing in the expression. It took a full minute for the name to come to her. Ada's husband was named David.

  She remembered the joy in Grandpa Isaac's face when he'd told her a story about himself and Ada and a mean old goose. Lila had wanted to hear more, and asked what had become of Aunt Ada, and whom she'd married. Grandpa Isaac was quiet a moment. She'd wondered if he and Ada had had a falling out, but his eyes conveyed more sadness than anger.

  “David was in the military,” he finally told her. “After the Vietnam War, he wasn't the same man Ada married, not that I was too fond of him to begin with. He got a job in sales. Left for weeks at a time. We all put up with him the best we could when he was around. Tried to help him. But after he started drinking our patience ran out.” She could tell from the way Grandpa pressed his lips together and set his jaw that their conversation was at an end.

  Continuing down the hall, Lila stared at an even younger Ada in a sharp collar and pearl necklace. This Ada looked to be about eighteen, and the black-and-white photo appeared to have been lightly painted over, giving her velvety red lips and azure eyes.

  Lila ran her hands along the aged yellow wallpaper as she walked down the creaky narrow stairs.

  The sun shone through the windows into the charming country kitchen. At home, anyone who had granite and stainless steel was the envy of the neighborhood. But to Lila, the worn countertops and white farmhouse sink were perfection. She loved the green cabinets, and the open shelf containing mismatched containers neatly labeled flour, sugar, salt, cornstarch, rosemary, and various other things. A milk-glass vase on the table held a perfect little bouquet of pink peonies.

  Lila peered into a large skillet of fried potatoes and scrambled eggs, breathing in deeply, and her stomach growled. As she wandered the kitchen, wondering where Ada might be, she perused the mass of newspaper clippings attached to the refrigerator with magnets of countless shapes and colors. She'd passed by them several times, and noticed the small black-and-white photos included in each article. But with everything that had been going on in the short time she'd been here, it hadn't occurred to her to wonder why Aunt Ada had a fridge full of obituaries.

  The first one she read had a picture of an older man wearing a hardhat. In addition to the date of birth and death, surviving family members, and funeral details, it said: “Paul worked as an accountant, but was famous for his experimental cooking and the yellow hardhat he was often seen wearing. No one knows if Paul participated in an activity that required the use of a hardhat, or if he was simply fond of it, since when asked, Paul gave a different answer every time.”

  The second pictured an old woman in large, dark-framed glasses. “Ilene Rendlesbocker Peterson had a serious disposition and valued order and cleanliness. She got her first taste for leadership when she became hall monitor in the first grade and never looked back. She has held leadership positions from class president, to the Garden Club, to the Women's Circle in the Protestant Church, and was Principal of the Auburn High School for thirty years.” After the funeral information, it stated, “Her vast collection of whimsical feather art will be displayed.”

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  Lila started at Aunt Ada's unexpected voice behind her, and turned quickly. “The clippings?” she asked.

  Ada nodded, a sparkle in her eye. She gestured to the curling papers that clung to the lower part of the fridge. “These are some of my favorites, here. These up top are the more recent ones. We’ll be discussing them next week at the meeting.”

  “The meeting?” Lila asked.

  “Yes. Officially it’s called the Auburn Ladies' Society. But Laurel calls us the Obituary Society, and I’m afraid the name stuck. She thinks it’s morbid that we discuss such things. I tried to explain to her that at her age, it’s all wedding announcements and baby showers, but at our age, funerals are the main events. This is what our friends are doing now.”

  She paused a moment, her smile faint as her bright blue eyes perused the black and white pictures.

  “Well, t
hey are . . . interesting,” Lila said, for lack of an appropriate adjective.

  But Ada seemed pleased with the response. “That’s exactly what I think,” she said pertly. “Their whole lives condensed into this little article. You get the important information, and sometimes a little more, but your imagination has to fill in the rest. The ones like these here are fun, though. They give you something more interesting to work with.” She gestured toward Mr. Erikson of the yellow hardhat and company.

  Ada turned briskly, the scent of a flowery perfume wafting behind her as she bustled across the room. She stood on her toes to pull two dainty teacups out of the cupboard. “Would you like some spearmint tea with your breakfast, dear?”

  “Sure.”

  “Could you pop in some toast and get the raspberry jam out of the fridge?”

  Lila unwrapped the bread and dropped it into the toaster.

  “Do you have any big plans today?” Ada asked.

  “I talked to Mr. Whiting yesterday, and got my own key to the house. I think I'll go inside today and take a look at the place.”

  “I know it needs a lot of work,” Ada said. “But you're going to love it.” Ada put the tea in to steep, then piled eggs and golden fried potatoes on two plates. “I still can't believe you're here. I’m sorry about the circumstances, of course. I just wish Isaac would have brought you out himself, and we could have seen him again. By then he was too ill, I guess. The last time I saw him was . . . ,” she bustled into the adjoining dining room, Lila following behind her, and clunked the plates down on the table, her face troubled. “Well, it’s been too long.” Something in her expression brought Lila back to the memory of her conversation with Grandpa Issac.

  “He never spoke about why he left,” Lila said. “I could tell he loved this place. He loved that house. Then one day he just up and moved to dry, barren Wyoming?” She smeared jam on two slices of toast and sat down on a metal-framed chair at the small table.