A bird suddenly flies into the closed window and falls to the ground below. I stand on my toes to see if it’s moving or maybe just stunned, but judging by the angle of its neck, it’ll never get off the ground again. Now I’m faced with the problem of what the hell to do with it. Bury it? Throw it in the trash can? Just leave it there and hope that some animal will carry it off?
The phone rings. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Dave.”
“Hey, man. Sorry to hear about Uncle Robert. You hanging in there?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Got your message.”
“Yeah? Is it okay if Conrad and I come down for the funeral?”
“Of course. It’s Wednesday.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I, uh, I may have called your mom when I didn’t hear back from you. I thought you might be avoiding me.”
“No, man, I couldn’t do that. Just been busy taking care of things. So…does this mean we’re cool?”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “We’re approximately halfway between okay and cool. It’s going to take a little more time, but I have to warn you, Juli plans to come to the wake and funeral. Will you be able to behave yourself?”
“You have my word.”
“Good. I’ll call you when our plane gets in.”
“Oh, hey, we’re short on pallbearers. Would you guys mind helping out?”
“I’d be honored. I’m sure Conrad will do it, too.”
“Great. You need a place to stay?”
“Um…”
If I could reel the words back in, I would. No doubt he has an open invitation to the Casquettes’ house. “Never mind. I forgot. Just know that my door’s open.”
“Thanks. Later.”
“Later.”
Progress. Awkward, but progress nonetheless. I wish I could call Uncle Robert and tell him Dave and I are speaking again, that some good has come out of our loss. Not sure if I still believe in God and His saving Grace, but I’m hopeful that someone’s looking out for me, that there’s a plan or reason for these events. Uncle Robert would smile, knowing he was the instrument to bring me and Dave back to being friends.
The next day passes in a blur of phone calls, awkward back pats, and travel arrangements for out-of-town relatives and friends. I shouldn’t be shocked, but the sheer number of colleagues and acquaintances of Uncle Robert’s who reach out to our family is astounding.
The morning of the visitation, my mama’s house looks like a florist’s shop, despite our wishes that money be given to Mobile’s music association. Now that the initial shock is over, she’s returned to her efficient, stalwart self.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” she says, and pats my cheek. Déjà vu strikes as my nieces and nephews run through the house chasing each other, squealing and occasionally bouncing their heads off furniture. My two brothers-in-law sit side by side on the couch in front of the TV, while my sisters try to convince their kids that they each need to use the bathroom before we all leave for the funeral home.
Little Jayne saunters up, takes my hand and leans against my side.
“How you holding up, kiddo?”
“I miss him.” She sniffs. Her little watery eyes spill over but she scrubs away the evidence before anyone else notices.
“It’s okay, me too. Hey, you wanna ride over with me? We can open the sun roof.”
“Really?” Her frown instantly disappears. “I’ll ask my mama if I can.”
She dashes off just as my text alert chimes: See you there. Chin up. xoxo Ah, yes. It’s time for Heather and me to make our…whatever-it-is known to the whole family. Injecting some crazy into this situation is a sure-fire way to dry the tears of the Laroche women. Surely they can’t make too big of a scene in a funeral home packed with all our friends and family. I shake my head, aware that I’ve just jinxed myself for even thinking it.
I type back: See in you a few. Hold onto your hat.
Jayne comes bounding back. “Mama said I can ride with you! Do I get to sit up front, too?”
“As long as you wear your seatbelt, I don’t see why not. Anyone else want to come with us? I’ve got to get over there a little early to talk to Mr. Dotson.” The chaos in the house doesn’t even pause. I take that as a no. “Looks like it’s you and me, Jayne.”
She dashes out the door and I follow behind at my older-uncle pace. A grin breaks free when I see her lightly run a finger along the line of the hood. I thought I might one day have nephews to share my motor-head tendencies with, but Jayne’s the one who’s always admired my Charger.
She wriggles into the front seat, snaps her seatbelt, and shoots me a goofy grin that lights up the whole interior. “Shoot, sweet pea, your feet don’t even touch the floor! When are you gonna grow? I need someone who can help me wax this thing, but not if you can’t reach the top.”
“I just went to the doctor and I grew two inches this year. Think I’ll be tall like you and Grandma?”
“Never can tell. Say, you ever been to a funeral?”
“No, sir,” she says while shaking her head. “Wait, we had one when we buried Pinkie in the backyard.”
“Oh, I see. Did your mama tell you what to expect?”
“Kind of. She said Uncle Robert would be there all dressed up, but won’t know we’re there. And she said we can touch him, but he’ll be cold, and maybe slimy like a snake. I don’t think I want to touch him.”
“No one said you had to. You do whatever makes you comfortable. It’s a chance for us to say goodbye to him in whatever way we want. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And if you get scared or have a question, you can come to me.”
“I’m not scared,” she says, and I can see the dander on her little back bristling. Yep, she’s a Laroche.
“No, course not. Tough girl like you? Nah. Here, press this button.”
She wiggles up in her seat and stretches to press the button to open the sun roof. Despite her black dress, the sunlight that angles in through the opening dances off the freckles on her nose and leaves her in a radiant splash of color. Jayne grins and my heart squeezes. I resist the urge to chuck her under the chin, but I can’t squash the growing feeling that if anyone ever messes with her, I’ll personally pound them into the ground.
I remember the day she was born, the first grandchild. I had been in Boston, but Uncle Robert kept calling me with updates. Mama was too excited to talk. When they emailed me that first picture, I was a goner. She was tiny and pink, but had a full head of dark hair the same color as mine and Mama’s. I remember showing everyone within a five-mile radius, and dragged my girlfriend at the time to a baby store to help me pick out a gift. Nothing jumped out at me. Couldn’t figure out why until I went home to Mobile for the holidays and walked into a jewelry store to get something for Mama. There in a small display case in the back was a tiny pearl bracelet, just the right size for a baby.
I had waved down the clerk and bought it without even looking at the price. Don’t think I ever did find something for Mama.
“Hey, you still got the bracelet I got you when you were a baby?” Jayne presses her lips together and scrunches up her nose. “Never mind, you probably don’t remember.”
“You mean this one?” She holds up her wrist, and there it is. It’s pretty tight, but still fits.
The backs of my eyes sting for a second. “We’ll have to see about getting you a bigger one that fits, kiddo.” A grin splits her face and there in the corners of her mouth and the tilt of her head are reminders of Uncle Robert that I never noticed. It makes me wonder… “You see if your mama will let you stop by some time and we’ll start piano lessons, too. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds like someone wants to be the favorite uncle,” she says.
I burst out laughing. “Maybe so. Tell me, what’s your favorite piece?”
“Hmm.” She taps her chin with her finger. “Me and Uncle Robert were working on Pachelbel’s ‘Canon i
n D’ when he got sick. I really like it, but it makes me sad.”
“That’s okay. Songs can make you sad.”
“Yeah,” she says, looking out the window. “It scared me when he got sick.”
“Ah, I see.”
We’re quiet the rest of the drive. There are only a handful of cars at the funeral home, so we park up close, shut the sun roof, and mount the steps to the front door. Jayne has gone pale.
“C’mon, Baby Jayne, I’ll be right next to you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Mr. Dotson is there to greet us, and ushers us into his office. The blue air is smothering. Jayne takes a seat and stares at the collection of relics while I look over a few papers and sign on the line.
“If there’s anything you need, just let me know,” he says, while giving Jayne the evil eye for touching one of his prized cigars.
I whisk her out as quickly as possible.
“I don’t like him,” she says.
“No one does,” I whisper, and lead her over to one of the overstuffed couches covered in that special floral print reserved for nursing homes and funeral parlors. “Are you ready to see him?” She nods. I watch her lower lip tremble, but she takes a deep breath and squares her tiny shoulders. “Good girl.”
We stand, silently pad across the thick carpet, and turn the corner into the main receiving room. I close my eyes, swallow, and open them. Before me is a dark mahogany casket lined with pale blue silk. Inside, dressed in his best gray suit and bowtie, is the finest gentleman to ever grace the city of Mobile.
Jayne’s hand grows slick in mine. We move closer. It’s him, and yet not him. The clothes are his—it’s hard to miss the lingering scent of eucalyptus—but the hair is goofy and his skin is waxy. I can see where half his face really drooped with this final stroke. With one finger I work free the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead.
“Much better,” Jayne says.
“Agreed.”
I spend a few minutes with Uncle Robert, while Jayne surveys the funeral home. She gravitates toward a beige chair, picks up a Bible sitting on the table next to it and begins flipping pages. Her mouth moves as she sounds out the words. While she reads aloud the Psalm, I say my goodbye to Uncle Robert. I place my hand on his, feel his cold, leathery skin and his plain gold wedding band. We decided to bury him with it, just as Aunt Angela had been buried with hers. Even in death, they were united by that gesture. Now, I pray, they are united for eternity.
For the longest time, I didn’t believe in that kind of love. Most days I still don’t, but if anyone could convince me of its existence, it would be Uncle Robert. Just like there are no guarantees in life, there are no guarantees in love. I can only hope to find a fraction of the happiness he and my aunt shared. I think he hoped for the same thing.
Voices filter through the maze of rooms. Jayne stops reading, sets aside the Bible, and stands next to me in front of the casket. Without looking at me she says, “He’s fine, you know.”
“I know. You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” She answers by wrapping her skinny arms around my waist. I kiss the top of her head just as Mama and my sisters quietly approach.
Mama presses a handkerchief to her nose. “They did a good job, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
“Why, they even got his hair right,” she says, and laugh-cries as she touches the lock of hair over his forehead. Jayne elbows me. I wink in reply.
My sisters each take a turn at the casket, their husbands standing by. It’s strange to see them without all the little ones running around, but they’re at home with babysitters. Only Jayne and Brent have been deemed old enough to attend. He’s as pale as Jayne was when we first walked in. I watch with pride as she holds out her hand to Brent, silently lending her support. Such an old soul she has. I can only hope one day to have a daughter as extraordinary as she.
A clock somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms chimes six times. Right on cue, people begin to file in. Some I recognize, some I don’t. A number pretend to not notice me, though I know they’re aware of my presence. It’s fine. I’ve come to accept it.
At twenty minutes after, she walks into the room and I swear, the already sedate gathering hushes further. I don’t care. I leave my place near the casket and close the distance between us in four giant steps. Without even saying hello, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her long blond hair.
“I’m happy to see you, too,” she says.
Just for a second—one tiny, meaningless second—I lose my grip on the strong front I’ve been presenting. I know she senses it. I can tell by the way she spreads out her fingers on my back and fits her face into the crook of my neck. Then it’s over. I draw back and give her a reasonably believable smile.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I tell her. Ignoring the pointed looks from some of my relatives, I lead Heather over to where Jayne is playing tic-tac-toe with Brent. “Heather, I’d like you to meet Jayne, my niece. Don’t tell my other nieces, but Jayne is by far the coolest. Jayne, this is Heather.”
Jayne blinks a few times before stretching out her hand. “Hi. Are you Uncle Isaac’s girlfriend?” Heather’s hand freezes in midair, but Jayne leans forward to shake it. “You are, aren’t you? Your face is getting red, so it must be true.”
I lean closer to Jayne and whisper behind my hand, “She is. Isn’t she pretty?”
“Yes, very,” Jayne says.
Brent nods in agreement.
Still holding her hand, I move toward the casket where Mama, Christie, and Tiffany are still greeting a steady stream of Uncle Robert’s acquaintances. Their eyes bulge like cartoon characters when we draw close.
Have to clear my throat before addressing them. “Believe y’all know each other, but I wanted to let you know that Heather and I have reconnected lately. Been hanging out a lot and she’s been a rock over the last few weeks. Our families have had differences, but…let’s just say we see eye-to-eye on most of that.”
Both my sisters adopt an “oh, that’s nice” expression that means they’re confused, surprised, and concerned.
Tiffany opens her mouth. “Well, bless your heart. This is really something. You look great, Heather.”
“Thank you, good to see you,” she says. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything so fake as a group of women greeting each other. I can see my sisters sizing her up, looking for reasons to dislike her and pick her apart as soon as she’s out of earshot. It’s disappointing. “Mrs. Laroche, I know we spoke earlier, but let me say how very sorry I am for your loss. I have fond memories of Mr. Cline and I know he’ll be missed very much. Such a kind man.”
“Thank you, Heather. That’s sweet.” Mama coughs into her hand and smiles. “Did you come here with your mother?”
The air grows thick. “No, I haven’t spoken to her in a while. That would certainly be awkward.”
“Yes, quite. Excuse me, dear.” Mama turns back to the line and shakes the next person’s hand.
Once we’re out of earshot, Heather unloads. “Holy crap, could that have been any more awkward? Thanks for shoving me under the bus like that.”
“How did I shove you under the bus? I just wanted everyone to say hello and get it over with.”
“Get it over with? Like I’m a Band-Aid that needs to be ripped off? Thanks, Isaac.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you being so testy? Thought that was my role.”
Heather slumps her shoulders and leans into me. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I just had a tough day at work and I’ve been worried about you.”
“Aw, sweet pea, no worries. I’m good. I’ve had Baby Jayne to keep me in line.”
“She’s a cute kid. Looks a lot like you. So, about what you said to her…”
“Yes?” I smirk, knowing it’ll drive her crazy if she has to ask out loud.
“Is that what we’re going to tell people?”
“Wh–” Dammit, she got me. I take her face in my hands. “Yes, th
at’s what we’re going to tell people, because it’s the truth. You said you didn’t want to label this, but I do. You want to reject that label, you tell me now.”
Warm blood pools in her cheeks, making her even more beautiful than ever. “Isaac, I need to take a break for a moment. Excuse me.” She removes my hands and quickly weaves through the crowd toward the ladies’ room.
A deep breath does nothing to alleviate the floating butterflies that have turned my stomach into their punching bag. Behind me, a nasal drawl carries above the rest. It can’t be. It just can’t. Surely my paranoia and self-doubt are peaking from Heather’s odd reaction, because there’s no way in hell Marcie Swann is behind me, handing out platitudes like she’s Mother fucking Theresa.
Chapter Twelve
I don’t even have to turn my head to feel the crowd part like the Red Sea. All the hair on my arms and neck stands straight up as I catch the faintest hint of her signature perfume. If she’s close enough for me to smell her venom, she’s within striking distance. I do not plan to get bitten tonight. Call me a coward, but I make a beeline for the same restrooms Heather retreated to. Not even Marcie Swann would be crazy enough to follow me into the men’s room at a funeral home. I hope.
I duck in, and decide I might as well take a piss while I’m here. It’s nice and quiet away from the constant hushed murmur of the receiving area. At least, it seems that way until I hear a muffled sound coming from the next room. That would be the ladies’ room. At first I think it’s one of my sisters or another mourner caught in a moment of grief, but then whoever it is blows her nose and my sisters don’t sound that dainty. They sound like old alcoholic men blowing a nasal load.
I should probably be weirded out that I can so clearly hear whoever is over there, because it means they just heard me piss the Mississippi River. But I’m more concerned by the sneaking suspicion that Heather is bawling her eyes out over there and I may be the cause. Another thought shrivels my balls even further—her mother is out there and has no idea we’re together. I’ve got to warn Heather.
I zip up, make a reasonable effort to wash my hands, and crack open the door. People mill about, but none are near the restrooms. I dart out the door and quickly open the one to the ladies’ room. I’m either going to find the woman I’m falling in love with or an old lady with her pantaloons around her ankles. I pray for the former.
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