Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  Vivian’s left hand reached up to touch her husband’s draped over the back of the chair and showed her antique engagement ring, a three-carat center diamond with four small sapphires placed in platinum filigree on either side of the reigning gem. Chyna had always loved the ring and her mother had told her how Great-grandfather Greer had bought it at Carder’s, the first of the great jewelry houses to use platinum in jewelry. “Someday this will be yours, Chyna,” Vivian would say as the child held it in place on the ring finger of her own left hand. “I’m sure your husband will pick out something for you, but you must tell him kindly but firmly that this will be your engagement ring. If he balks at your wearing a ring he didn’t pick out, just remind him that he doesn’t have to pay for one. That should settle the matter,” she’d laughed.

  Even at eight, Chyna was certain her mother knew everything and she began preparing herself for her future beloved to balk—maybe even have a temper fit and shout like Uncle Rex did sometimes—but she knew she would hold firm on the issue of the ring because that was what her mother had told her to do. Besides, she knew she could never like another ring better than this one.

  In the portrait, her father stood tall and handsome with his prematurely silver hair, his strong jaw, slightly aquiline nose, dark blue eyes, and kind smile. Chyna had loved her father’s smile, although there had been a trace of seriousness in it, even when he laughed. He was soft-spoken, dignified,

  and beautifully mannered—the perfect bank president. He never looked mischievous like Vivian or his younger brother, Rex. But then, Edward rarely looked angry or even annoyed, either, while Vivian and Rex were quick-tempered and moody. Chyna had always thought of her mother and Rex as the ocean churning up for a storm, and her father as a cool, gentle wave rolling gently onto a beach at night.

  Edward Greer had died only three years after this portrait was painted. Chyna had been crushed, unable to stop dwelling on how handsome yet solemn her father had looked at Ned’s wedding just two weeks before his death. He’d smiled at the reception, said all the right things, acted happy for his son, but Chyna had known something was troubling him. Her “second sight” hadn’t helped her at all, though. She knew her father loved her, but she’d always felt that he held her at a distance, so when finally she’d asked him what was wrong she wasn’t surprised when he’d kindly but firmly brushed aside her questions.

  After he died, though, when she’d tried to talk to people who might tell her what was bothering him, they would answer abruptly, “Chyna, don’t make your father’s death more upsetting than it already is for your mother.” Yet her mother, as usual, had been rock, and she and Edward’s brother, Rex, had gotten everyone through the tragedy with as little interruption to Chyna’s young life and Ned’s new marriage as possible. Although to Chyna’s knowledge her mother had never had so much as one date after Edward’s death, she had expected Vivian to outlive her husband by a long time, even to see Ned’s children grown and married.

  Chyna stepped away from the painting, gazing at it as if she’d never seen it before. Had her father’s blue eyes always held that trace of sadness? Or was it longing? He’d been a quiet man, calm, even-tempered, and self-contained although somehow assuring both his children of his love for them without being outwardly affectionate. He seemed the exact opposite of his younger brother, Rex, who was upbeat, expansive, funny, charming, and still a handsome ladies’ man at fifty-four. Rex had been married four times, but Chyna

  had never met the wives. He always seemed to be divorced at Christmas when they were both in Black Willow. Chyna suddenly felt as if she knew Rex, but she’d never really known her father. Because Edward was so taciturn, so private, her only chance of really knowing him had died with her mother, a mother who’d kept secrets about something as serious as her own impending death. And now both were gone and at twenty-eight Chyna suddenly felt as bereft and alone as a little orphan who’d never known her parents at all.

  2

  Fifteen minutes later, after Chyna had dragged herself away from the portrait and put on music to give the empty house some life, her stomach growled loudly and she realized how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten anything except the tasteless candy bar since yesterday morning. She walked into the huge kitchen with oak countertops and walls painted a bright coral. In the spring and summer, windows all around offered a beautiful vista of a giant terrace with a modest fountain and a plethora of flowers in every color. Right now, the terrace looked bleak with dying leaves lying everywhere, including in the fountain, which clearly needed a good cleaning. Chyna knew her mother always had the place sparkling by holiday time, but apparently her handymen hadn’t yet begun their autumn duties.

  Chyna opened the big chrome refrigerator and studied the contents. Yes, Vivian had definitely gone to the store within the last two days. Every shelf was packed and Chyna knew local people would be taking the usual food offerings after a death in the family to Ned’s house because they hadn’t known when she would arrive home. Chyna wondered if her mother had planned a small gathering. She even spotted chocolate and coconut for her mother’s specialty—German chocolate cake.

  Chyna’s gaze kept returning to the two T-bone steaks on the second shelf. She pulled out one for herself, then looked

  down at Michelle—Michelle her loyal dog who she told herself loved her beyond measure and would fight to the death for her. At least that’s what Michelle’s expression seemed to be saying. Chyna pulled out a second T-bone. “Phooey on Gravy Train,” she said to the dog, who immediately stood up, tail flying. “My girl deserves the best!”

  Chyna rummaged through the refrigerator until she found a container of macaroni salad from the deli her mother loved—an untouched container—and in the freezer a package of baby peas and a loaf of French bread from the bakery. The date tab told Chyna the bread was very fresh, which meant Vivian had bought it the same day she bought the steaks. All this food meant that she had planned on having a guest to dinner. Only one person, though, or there would have been more steaks. But whom had Vivian invited?

  Soon Michelle was wolfing down her broiled T-bone and Chyna was almost keeping pace with her. Chyna then fixed the coffeemaker and turned it on. In minutes, the fragrance of a gourmet blend floated through the kitchen. She knew she’d be making another pot before Ned and Beverly arrived. Sipping the first steaming cup, Chyna looked over at the messy kitchen and thought, I haven’t enjoyed a meal this much for weeks. What’s wrong with me? How can I be so sad and so hungry, too?

  Soon after Chyna cleaned up the kitchen and put on a second pot of coffee, the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Beverly and Ned stood on the front porch holding a twenty-pound bag of Gravy Train. “Since when do you ring the bell instead of walking right on in?” Chyna asked Ned.

  “We didn’t want to startle you,” Beverly said.

  “She didn’t want to startle you,” Ned retorted, seeming annoyed with his wife. “I knew you wouldn’t faint if we walked in and called your name.”

  Chyna smiled at Beverly. “The house does seem empty and strange tonight without Mom here. I think ringing the bell was considerate of you.”

  “Thank you,” Beverly said. “Did you hear that, Ned?”

  “Yes, dear,” he called sweetly. “I’m not deaf.”

  Chyna helped Bev out of her navy blue trench coat. Beneath it, she wore neatly tailored jeans and a delicate lavender sweater set. Her short, pale blond hair fell in flattering layers and her makeup blended perfectly with her outfit. Chyna was always amazed at how Beverly could put in a mind-rattling, body-draining day with two youngsters and always manage to look like she’d just showered, dressed, and completely redone her face and hair.

  “I’ll take this to the kitchen,” Ned said, indicating the bag of dog food. “I’ll bet Michelle is starved.”

  “Uh, not really,” Chyna said. “I fixed her a steak.”

  “A steak!” Ned burst out. “And I got some awful tuna casserole a friend of Mom’s made and br
ought to the house?”

  Chyna smiled. “You’ll live. Besides, Michelle deserves it. You didn’t spend hours in a cage in the baggage compartments of two planes.”

  “No, I didn’t, but a steak!”

  Beverly shook her head. “You’d think he’d never had a steak in his life.” She paused and studied Chyna closely with her big, brown eyes. “You look exhausted, honey.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You always say that.”

  “All right, I know I look awful! I’m tired and, most of all, shocked.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Mom was only fifty-two, Bev. She had so much energy and just plain joie de vivre, I was certain she’d live to be at least ninety.”

  “She told me once she was aiming for one hundred,” Beverly said, “and then she wanted to have, in her words, ’one hell of a party.’”

  “I know. And I so wish she could have.” As Ned carried the dog food into the kitchen, Chyna whispered to Beverly, “How’s he doing? And why is he favoring his right leg?”

  Beverly closed her eyes briefly. “Last week he tripped over a water hose at the dealership, fell down, and pulled a muscle in his thigh. It didn’t seem too bad at first, but we’ve been gone for three days to my sister’s wedding in Pennsylvania

  and I could tell it was just killing him. He refused to see a doctor, of course.”

  “He should. He might have pulled a tendon or ligament.”

  Beverly nodded. “I know, but he’s as stubborn as your mother. As for his mood, all I can say is that he seems okay today, but yesterday was awful for him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He dropped by to see your mother after we got back from Pennsylvania. The next morning he said he had a funny feeling about her and he was going to come by again and check on her. He absolutely wouldn’t just call. He said he had to see her. Isn’t that strange? It’s the kind of thing the family has told me you used to do. Get weird feelings.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Chyna said sharply, then, seeing the startled look on Bev’s face, softened her tone. “It was a phase I went through as a child. An embarrassing phase.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Kids go through a hundred phases,” Beverly said dismissively.

  “Yeah. So go on about Mom.”

  “Well, Ned wasn’t supposed to stay long,” Beverly continued in a quick, low voice, obviously trying to tell her story before Ned returned. “He’d arranged to take an extra day off to help me unpack and maybe go on a picnic together—you know he hardly ever takes a vacation. Anyway, when he didn’t come home after almost two hours, I called. Ned answered and told me he’d found Vivian dead at the foot of the stairs. I said I’d be right over, but he said no, he was handling everything. The Emergency Service was here and so was the coroner.” Beverly closed her eyes and almost shuddered. “Chyna, his voice was so weird. It was flat and almost robotic. I was shocked about your mother, but at that moment I was more scared for him, for what kind of emotional state he was experiencing.

  “Kate was in kindergarten and I took Ian to a neighbor’s,” Beverly went on. “Ned finally came home and moved around like an automaton all day. He livened up when the kids came home, but it was an act. Tonight he’s grumpy. He doesn’t talk about your mother at all. He only says he’s irritable because

  his leg hurts.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do for him.”

  Ned entered the room, favoring his right leg. He gave his sister a tight smile. “I can tell Michelle had a steak for dinner. She literally turned up her nose at the Gravy Train.”.

  “It’ll look better to her tomorrow when she’s hungry again,” Chyna said. “But a dog can’t live on Gravy Train alone. An occasional bite of people food won’t kill her.”

  “A whole steak is a bite?”

  “Oh, quit griping,” Chyna said lightly. Beverly was right. Ned looked thin-lipped and pale, his posture stiffer than usual. Chyna’s instinct was to make him relax. “Well, we’re all standing around like we’re in someone else’s house. Sit down. I made fresh coffee.”

  Ten minutes later, they sat in the familiar living room, coffee cooling in china cups. Ned’s blond hair was cut slightly shorter than usual, probably because of the wedding he’d recently attended, but his blue eyes were as bright as ever, although they lacked their usual twinkle.

  “Ned, Beverly said you came over here the morning you found Mom because you had a bad feeling about her,” Chyna burst out, surprising herself. “You knew she was sick and you didn’t tell me!”

  “I did not know she was sick.” Ned looked at his hands. “I mean, I didn’t know she had heart trouble. When I saw her the day before, she just didn’t look or act quite like herself. Frankly, I thought something was bothering her mentally, emotionally, not physically. I thought there was something wrong in your life she wasn’t telling me and I couldn’t get hold of you, so I came back the next day and …” Tears rose in his bright blue eyes.

  “Oh.” Chyna felt ashamed of herself for attacking her brother. “No, I’ve been fine.”

  “Well, I know now the problem wasn’t you and I’m relieved. I worry about my little sister being so far away,” Ned said with surprising kindness as he blinked back the tears.

  “I’m sorry, Ned. I…”

  With a quick sweep of his hand, he waved off her apology.

  “We’re all on edge. This has been a terrible shock, but here we sit stiff as strangers. No one wants to, but we have to deal with this.”

  Chyna nodded. “I guess no one knows how to sensitively broach the subject of Mom’s funeral, so we might as well just be direct. Shall we hold her service at the church or the funeral home?”

  Ned looked at her in surprise. “Mom wanted to be cremated and to have no service.”

  Chyna blinked, then shook her head. “No, she didn’t. Oh, I know she mentioned cremation sometimes, but no service? She never said anything about not wanting a service.”

  Beverly, sitting next to Ned on the couch, reached over and pulled an envelope from her purse. “Actually, she did. She wrote these directions for her burial arrangements about two months ago, Chyna. She even had them notarized. We were startled when she gave them to us, but she just laughed and said, ’You never know when something might happen.’” Bev paused. “The directions are very explicit.”

  “But she didn’t say anything to me!” Chyna realized her voice had risen. She sounded like a little girl who’d been left out of a secret. She lowered her tone a bit. “I mean, it seems she would have said something”

  “I know. I assumed she had.” Beverly handed Chyna the envelope. “But you can read these papers for yourself if you have any doubts.”

  “I don’t doubt you.” Chyna took the envelope with a slightly shaky hand. “I’m just startled. And baffled.”

  Ned nodded. “I was, too, but when she told us what she wanted and gave us that document, she said, ’I really don’t want a funeral. I want to be cremated and I don’t want a service. Just a little notice in the paper, maybe, but no service. Promise me.’” Ned looked at Chyna. “And we did. But we didn’t rush to the phone to call you because you were really busy during that time and we didn’t want to bother you over something we thought she’d either change her mind about or that wouldn’t be an issue for at least twenty years.”

  Chyna stared at the envelope, but she didn’t remove its

  contents. She didn’t want to think about her mother giving instructions for her funeral, or lack of it, much less look at them written in her mother’s handwriting. “She knew then she was going to die soon and she didn’t say a word. That hurts.”

  Ned nodded. “I understand. But you weren’t the only one left out, Chyna. I didn’t know she was sick, either, and I still don’t believe she thought she was going to die any time soon, even if she had heart trouble and didn’t tell us about it.” He sighed. “I also believed even if she didn’t change her mind about cremation, she’d decide to have her urn buried next to Dad’s grave.”


  “She didn’t want the urn buried next to Dad?” Chyna asked in shock.

  “She said she wanted you to keep it.”

  “Me!” Chyna uttered shrilly. “Well, that’s just ridiculous! Maybe she didn’t want to be buried, but you live here, her home. She hated Albuquerque!”

  “I don’t believe she was thinking of the local sightseeing,” Ned said with a trace of his old humor. “Besides, you were always her favorite.”

  Chyna nearly shouted, “I wasn’t!”

  “You were and it’s all right, Sis. It never bothered me once I got past age seven.” Ned smiled at her. “Besides, things get pretty rough-and-tumble at our house. Maybe Mom was just afraid the urn would get turned over and her ashes spilled all over the carpet.”

  “Oh, Ned, that’s dreadful!” Beverly exclaimed.

  “Well, it’s a definite possibility,” he insisted, although Chyna knew he wasn’t serious.

  For the next half an hour they talked about when the family attorney had told them the will would be read, when Chyna would return to New Mexico, what they would do with this house and the property.

  By nine-thirty Ned and Beverly said they’d promised to be home by ten to release the babysitter and bade Chyna tired good-byes. Beverly hugged and kissed her, and both Ned and Beverly asked if she wanted to spend the night in

  the house alone. “You could stay with us if you think you’ll be lonely,” Bev said, although Chyna knew she had meant scared instead of lonely. Ned had once confided to Chyna that spending a night alone was one of Beverly’s greatest fears.

  “I won’t be lonely,” Chyna reassured her. “I have Michelle with me, remember? And she’s always my only roommate in New Mexico.”