The Popsicle Tree

by Dorien Grey

  “I got a message from your mommy and daddy while you were at school,” he began, his voice astoundingly steady and calm. “They were on their way here when Jesus asked them to come see him. They didn’t want to go, but you know they teach you in Sunday school that when Jesus asks you to do something, you really should do it.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Jonathan’s face, and I had never loved him more than I did at that terrible moment.

  “Jesus chose your mommy and daddy to come help him in Heaven because he knows what a very strong and brave boy you are.”

  “So when are they coming home? Tomorrow?”

  Jonathan’s chin trembled, just for an instant, as he shook his head.

  “No,” he said, “they’ll have to stay with Jesus as long as he needs them.”

  Joshua started to cry, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep from joining him. I could not comprehend what Jonathan must have been feeling. But he took Joshua’s chin in one hand and turned his face so that they were looking directly at one another.

  “But they wanted me to tell you something, and I want you to listen very carefully and…”—his voice faltered for a nanosecond—“…never, ever forget it, no matter what. They want you to always remember that they love you more than anything else in the whole world, and though you won’t be able to see them except when you’re asleep, they’ll always be with you and watching over you.”

  Oh, God, please let him make it.

  Joshua threw himself against Jonathan and buried his head in his side, sobbing loudly as only a heartbroken little boy can sob. I was fighting like hell not to lose it myself, and Jonathan hugged Joshua to him, his lips clamped together to hold in any sound as his body rocked slowly forward and back and he clenched his eyes shut, the tears running down his face.

  I moved closer to them both and pulled Jonathan’s head against my shoulder as he shook in silent sobs.

  *

  Enough.

  *

  Joshua stayed home from day care on Friday. Jonathan and I slept on top of the covers of Joshua’s bed in shifts on Thursday and Friday night so he wouldn’t wake up alone—Jonathan had wanted to spend the entire night with him, but I made him go into our room around midnight so he would have some time for himself. I wanted to be with Jonathan, of course, but knew he had to have some time to be alone.

  Both days were something of a bad-hangover blur—Jonathan quiet and withdrawn when Joshua wasn’t needing his attention; Joshua sleepy and cross and petulant and defiant, throwing his toys around. Thursday afternoon I took Joshua to a nearby city park, hoping—with only partial success—that the swings and slides and teeter-totters would distract him.

  Friday we went to pick up Jonathan’s tickets and stopped at the bank for some cash. We had some travelers’ checks left over from our trip to New York and I insisted Jonathan take them along, just in case. We’d explained to Joshua that Uncle Jonathan had to go away for just a few days to take care of some things, but that he would be home when Joshua got home from “school” on Tuesday, which set off a major outburst.

  “No!” Joshua said, hitting Jonathan on the legs with both fists.

  “It’ll only be a few days,” Jonathan said.

  “No!” Joshua repeated frantically. “That’s what mommy and daddy said, and Jesus won’t let them come back!”

  Jonathan knelt down beside him. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Jesus wants me to take care of you. He won’t ask me to go to Heaven, too.”

  *

  We had discussed it, so while Jonathan was packing, I called our local florist and asked them to deliver a large circle of white and red roses with a gold silk banner across the middle saying “Mommy and Daddy” to the funeral home for the service. I also ordered a small circle of brown and white chrysanthemums with a card from me.

  Going to the airport—we got there in plenty of time for Joshua to explore the terminal and stare out the windows at the planes coming and going—provided a welcome if temporary distraction, though he wanted to know if one of the planes could take him to heaven to be with his mom and dad.

  Jonathan was quiet and probably a bit nervous about flying alone, though the purpose of the trip far overshadowed any such mild concern.

  Joshua was relatively fine up until the time they called Jonathan’s flight and we had to leave him at the gate. As Jonathan hugged us both, Joshua refused to let go of his neck and began crying uncontrollably. Jonathan gently pried Joshua’s arms loose, and passed him to me, leading to a major tantrum, which included a lot of squirming and kicking. But I held him tightly, one arm across his back, the other keeping his legs from kicking, as Jonathan gave me a sad little smile and a wave, and disappeared into the passageway.

  *

  Okay. Three days alone with a four-year-old boy who knows his life has changed dramatically but doesn’t fully understand why or how, being taken care of by a gay adult who, with the exception of the past few weeks, had had no experience and very little contact with kids of any age since he was a kid himself. But I did the best I could. He did seem to need quite a bit of physical reassurance in the form of sitting close to me in the car or on the couch watching TV, roughhousing during our before-dinner playtime and the like. After story time, I would lie down beside him until he went to sleep.

  Luckily, children seem to be remarkably resilient. There is so much going on in their world, so much to do and see and learn, they don’t—well, at least Joshua didn’t—tend to remain in any one state for extraordinarily long. So while he had alternate periods of being surly, crying, combative, or needy, none of them lasted for an inordinate amount of time. Mostly I just tried to be there when I sensed he needed me—which, at the beginning, was a surprising amount of the time—and let him be himself when he didn’t. Reading the cues as to which direction to take wasn’t easy.

  We—mostly I—had, of course, called all our friends to let them know what had happened and they all immediately expressed their concern and offered any help they could give. When Phil and Tim first heard that Joshua would not be going back for the funeral, they offered to take care of him so that I could go back with Jonathan. It was very kind of them, but of course we couldn’t even consider it. They all asked if they could or should come over, but we explained that partly because of our concerns for Joshua, and Jonathan’s Saturday return to Wisconsin, it would probably be better to wait until he got back.

  Just as Joshua and I walked in the door upon returning from the airport, Tim and Phil called, asking if we would like to join them for a picnic in Riverside Park, which was about equidistant from their apartment and ours and just coincidentally had a large children’s play area. I recognized Tim’s fine handiwork immediately, that the whole thing was for our—mostly Joshua’s—benefit.

  I asked Joshua if he’d like to go to a picnic with Uncle Tim and Uncle Phil, and he immediately brightened. “Sure!”

  Thank God for friends!

  *

  Thanks to the distraction of the picnic, the rest of the day and evening passed with only minor temper tantrums, fits of crying—Joshua, not me—and demands that his mother and father and Uncle Jonathan come home. I didn’t take it personally, of course, and when his bedtime finally came, he had deigned to let me read him a story. However, when I sensed he was asleep and moved to get up from the bed, he woke up, not wanting me to leave him alone, so I kicked off my shoes and slept on top of the covers again, fully clothed.

  Jonathan had called earlier to say that he had arrived safely (we had not told Joshua where he was going—just “away”). He sounded drained and exhausted, but said everything was going as well as could be expected. His entire family—what was left of it—was getting together for dinner on Sunday before visitation at the church. Apparently he and at least one of his sisters had gotten into a heated argument over whether to have open caskets or not, and he never did say who had won. Then he talked for a moment privately with Joshua, assuring him that he was fine, and th
at he would bring him back a present.

  *

  Sunday morning Bob and Mario called just after breakfast and fish-feeding time (Joshua had wanted to give them some of his cereal but was talked out of it without a major outburst) to see how we were doing, and shortly thereafter Jared called from Carrington, asking if we’d like to come up for a visit as I’d originally intended before the bottom dropped out. He had a friend with a horse ranch just outside of town, and thought Joshua might like to go and see them.

  “Hey, Joshua,” I called toward his bedroom, where he’d been playing with some of his toys, “how would you like to go see some horses!”

  He came running out of the bedroom carrying G.I. Joe. “Yeah! I like horses!”

  So I confirmed with Jared, asking what time we should be there, and for specific directions to his house, since this would be my first visit.

  Carrington is about an hour’s drive, and we left in plenty of time. Joshua was pretty much his old self, probably in anticipation of seeing the horses. He insisted on bringing his cowboy doll and G.I. Joe, as well as the ever-present Bunny, and I told him he would have to ride in the back seat to keep them all company.

  It had occurred to me to bring Jan Houston’s address and, even though I wouldn’t have the time to try to contact her, at least I’d know where she lived if I decided to come up when Jonathan got back.

  *

  Carrington’s a typical small college town, its skyline dominated by church spires and the imposingly fortress-like sandstone tower of Marymount’s administration building. We pulled in to a gas station so Joshua could make a quick pit stop and I could ask for directions to Jan Houston’s street, which turned out to be the next cross street we came to.

  It obviously wasn’t one of the more fashionable streets in town (if indeed there were any), but it wasn’t exactly Cannery Row, either. Small houses, small lots, most beginning to show their age.

  I recognized the car before I saw the address. The same red convertible that had been at the cottage at the lake—the one I assumed belonged to the woman who owned the cabin. The garage door was open, and I could see it was empty. So where, I wondered, was Jan’s car? And were she and the cabin owner an item now?

  As we were approaching the house with the red convertible—the address checked out as being Jan Houston’s—the front door of the house opened and Jan came out…alone. I slowed down a bit—just enough to take a look at the license number—but kept driving, looking in my rearview mirror as we passed. Jan walked directly to the car and got in the driver’s seat.

  It’s her car? my mind asked. What happened to the junker from the cemetery? And from the way Carlene had talked about Jan’s total lack of frugality, I wondered how she managed to come up with the money for a new car. Had she suddenly come into money?

  Insurance money, maybe?

  And I was right back on the case. Part of me felt just a bit guilty, but it was a positive sign, I guess.

  Jan had pulled out of the driveway and was coming up behind us. I flicked on my left turn signal and made a turn onto the next street. Jan kept straight (no pun) ahead. I’m sure she didn’t recognize me.

  We found our way to Jared’s, a comfortable-looking 1930s style bungalow on a street bordering the college campus. I recognized his car parked in the double driveway, and beside it was a new pickup truck with Sundgaard Construction painted on the side, which told me Jake was up for what was apparently becoming a more or less regular weekend visit.

  There was room behind Jared’s car to park, and I got out and opened the back door for Joshua, who was trying to pick up Bunny, G.I. Joe, and Cowboy at the same time, apparently planning to bring them all with him into the house.

  “Why don’t we just bring one for now?” I suggested. “We can come get the others in a little while.”

  Too excited at the prospect of seeing the horses to put up too much resistance, he opted for Cowboy, and we went to the front door of the house and knocked. It was Jake who answered, in his full Nordic-god splendor. He pushed open the screen door to let us in.

  “Hi, Dick,” he said as we shook hands. Then he looked down at Joshua, who was standing slightly behind me, clutching Cowboy in his folded arms. Jake smiled and said, “And I’ll bet you’re Joshua, right?”

  Joshua looked down at Cowboy and nodded.

  “Jared’s out in the yard,” Jake said, gesturing for us to follow him as he led us through the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and out onto the back porch. Jared was on a large bricked patio that covered about a quarter of the totally fenced-in yard. He’d apparently just finished putting charcoal in the large, wheeled grill.

  “I figured maybe we could have hamburgers when we got back from the farm,” he said, coming over to greet us. We exchanged a hug, and Jared smiled down at Joshua.

  “Hi, Josh.”

  The boy looked up at him solemnly and said, very firmly, “I’m not Josh. I’m Joshua.”

  Jared’s grin broadened and he extended his hand. “Well, then, I’m glad to meet you, Joshua.”

  Joshua looked quickly to me and, when I nodded, he took Jared’s hand and shook it.

  Jake asked Joshua if he’d like a glass of lemonade—he would—and the adults sat on the patio talking while Joshua wandered around the yard.

  *

  The trip to the “farm”—actually a riding stable run by the husband of an instructor at Marymount—definitely brought Joshua back to his usual effervescent self, and when the owner offered to take him on a ride on one of the horses, Joshua was almost beside himself with excitement.

  However, any illusions I might have had about Joshua putting things behind him was shattered when, on the way back to the city, he said, “I’m going to ask my daddy to buy me a horse when we get back home!”

  Sigh.

  *

  We didn’t get back to the apartment until nearly seven, having joined Jared and Jake for an impromptu barbecue in Jared’s back yard.

  Joshua was pretty tuckered out and took his bath without complaint. I let him play in the living room for a little while in his pj’s, then took him into his bedroom for story time. He was asleep within minutes, and did not wake up when I got up and left the room, leaving his door open just a crack so I could hear if he called.

  I stayed in the living room near the phone, watching TV until around 9:45, when Jonathan called. He still sounded tired and depressed, but said everything had gone as well as could be expected under the circumstances, and the open-casket/closed-casket controversy had been resolved with a compromise—they remained closed unless someone specifically asked to see the bodies, at which point one of Jonathan’s brothers-in-law would take on the task while Jonathan turned away until the caskets were again closed. Luckily, very few people had requested it. Seeing the caskets closed, most people assumed they were supposed to remain closed.

  Dinner had been a somber affair, not surprisingly, and they’d all gone out to a local restaurant rather than have any of the sisters or other relatives have to go to the trouble of preparing one for the entire family.

  The issue of Joshua had been skirted by mutual consent, though it was decided that after the funeral Monday, everyone would gather at Jonathan’s dad’s house to discuss the situation. Apparently there was a will at the family lawyer’s office, but no one had looked at it yet. The lawyer was to bring it to the meeting after the funeral.

  *

  Monday was a pretty good day, if the word “good” can be used under the circumstances. Well, I learned a few things, and it passed fairly rapidly. I woke up around six, went quickly to the shower, got dressed, had a cup of coffee, and then went in to get Joshua up and ready for school. He was eager to tell everybody about his adventures with the horses, and only mentioned his parents three or four times—always in the present tense.

  I walked with him into Happy Day and exchanged a few casual words with Bonnie Bronson—neither of us mentioning Jonathan or Joshua’s situation.

  Joshua,
of course, had dashed off to be with one of his friends, and I managed to catch his eye and wave before leaving. He left his friend and came running back to me.

  “Where are you going?” He looked anxious.

  “I have to go to work,” I said, putting my hand on his head and tousling his hair. “I’ll be back to pick you up after school.”

  “Promise?”

  I bent over and picked him up. “I promise. Now how about a hug?”

  He gave me a quick arms-around-the-neck squeeze, and I set him down. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  He stood there looking at me for just a moment, then turned around and ran back to his friend.

  *

  On the way to the office I kept thinking about Jan Houston’s new car and the probability that she might have taken out an insurance policy on Carlene’s life—and if so, when. On the one hand, it was logical for gays and lesbians—not having the same legal rights as straights—to name their partner as beneficiary of their life insurance policy, and it’s possible that’s what Jan and Carlene had done. But I’d have imagined that any policy Carlene might have had would have Kelly as her beneficiary. Well, I’d check it out.

  *

  Though I’d only been away from the office for…what?…three days, it seemed like a lot longer. But by the time I’d gone through my message-checking/coffee/newspaper/crossword puzzle ritual, I was back on track.

  I called Beth Erickson, not really expecting her to be home, but she was. I asked her if Carlene had had any life insurance, and she said, “Unfortunately, no”—Carlene was not really old enough for the intimations of mortality, which generally prompt the taking out of life insurance, even though she had Kelly to support and care for. Beth sounded rather unhappy about it, particularly because Carlene had worked for an insurance company in both Louisville and Cincinnati for three or four years.

  I asked about Kelly—not mentioning Joshua or the death of his parents—and was told he was doing very well, and enrolled in a new day-care center that he liked.

  I also asked if she had heard from Jan, and she again said, “No.”