by Leigh Kramer
Fine by me.
“Do you know if you'll be around tomorrow?” Justin asked, looking at both of us.
Tomorrow. I had no idea what the day held. Would I go to work? Should someone stay with Gram? Decisions needed to be made about Elaine's arrangements, perhaps were being made downstairs that very moment. I looked at Gram, not knowing how to respond, before we both shrugged our shoulders.
“That's fine,” he reassured. “I'll plan on calling you tomorrow morning, Ella May. If there's a lot of activity here and you're doing better, then I'll drop by Wednesday instead. Otherwise you can let me know what time to visit tomorrow.”
“That would be great, Justin. Thank you for understanding,” I replied, standing up to see him out. Justin leaned over the bed to hug Gram goodbye. She expressed her appreciation for his time, then closed her eyes to rest.
Justin spoke as we headed back downstairs.
“Is someone planning on staying with her tonight?”
I massaged my temples. “I think. Yes? I don't know. We haven't figured out the next few days. Would that be best for her?”
“Given her current pain level and how stubborn she is, I'd feel better knowing someone is nearby if she needs something in the middle of the night. I don't know if she'd agree to having someone stay with her but that would be my recommendation.”
“Then that's all I need to hear. We'll figure it out,” I told him. We had reached the door. I slid my hands into my back jeans pockets, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. “Justin, thank you for coming. I didn't know what to do.”
He waved off my appreciation. “Thank you for calling and letting me be there for you. For all of you.” He pressed a slip of paper toward me. “This is my direct cell number. I should have given it to you before but we're not really supposed to.” He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Promise me you'll call if you need me.”
I reassured him I would and then he turned to go. I shut the door behind him, then collapsed against it. I closed my eyes, sapped of energy.
“Is it that bad?” I heard Reagan ask. He stood at the edge of the foyer.
“No, he said Gram's fine. She needs to stay on top of her pain meds, but her numbers were all in the normal range. I don't think I could handle anything else going wrong. I'm exhausted.”
I pushed myself off the door and walked over to him, sagging against him instead.
“You don't need to worry about the gallery at least.” I lifted questioning eyes to him. “I called Suzy to tell her what was going on. She sends her love. You're under strict orders not to come near work for the next few days. She says she has it under control and to let her know what else she can do to help.”
A small smile turned up my mouth as Reagan delivered Suzy's instructions. I could practically hear her staccato reply.
“Work might be a good distraction,” I replied innocently. We both knew I didn't want to think about work.
“Whatever you say, Olivia,” Reagan responded, mock patting me on the head before swooping down for a kiss.
“Thank you for taking care of that for me. I’m not used to having someone look out for me.” Reagan hugged me tighter and I relaxed into him. I didn’t know what I’d do without him. I wanted to stay in the hallway with him forever. At the same time, it felt wrong to stand there and feel happy in his embrace. I untangled myself, a pattern I was growing to resent.
“I need to find Mom and let her know that Justin left.” Reagan could hold his own against my family. They were all on good behavior, too shocked by Elaine's death to resort to their usual tactics. I headed toward the kitchen.
Mom sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window. A prepared tray of soup and crackers sat next to her, ready for delivery. I didn't want to interrupt her reverie.
“Hey, Mom,” I said softly. She turned toward me with a half-smile and held out her arms to me. I half slid on to her lap, not wanting to crush her, but grateful for a return to my childhood. We sat for a few moments, as I tenuously balanced between her lap and my feet.
“Justin left. He thinks she'll be fine but he's going to check on her tomorrow. She's under strict orders to keep eating and to keep on top of her pain medication.”
Mom nodded in understanding against my head.
“We'll be sure she does then.” Mom cleared her throat. “It sounds like the wake will be Wednesday and the funeral Thursday. Your uncles finalized a lot of details in the last few hours.”
I absorbed the information. Eight hours irrevocably changed our lives. Elaine collapsed at work at 10:37 am. Marcus attempted CPR while they waited for the ambulance. The EMTs still attempted to revive her but she was pronounced dead upon arriving at the emergency room. Stewart got to the hospital, then waited for their three children to arrive. By one o'clock, the news began to spread to the siblings. Mom called me two hours later, moments before Gram learned that her only daughter had died.
Here we were now. Gram tucked in bed. Arrangements made. Figuring out that Elaine would not join us as details came together.
“I'm going to stay here tonight, if that's all right with you, Olivia.”
I was surprised, then relieved. The idea of staying here while so many family members came and went made me twitchy.
“That's great, Mom. You don't need my permission to do that. I'm sure Gram would appreciate it. That will help me out.”
I sighed. “How are we going to get through this?” There wasn't an answer, but I asked the question just the same.
Mom shifted in her chair but she didn’t say anything. It was the question she'd asked herself for the past twenty years. I stood up to release her. She gathered the tray. “I should get this up to your grandmother before her pain medicine really kicks in.” I nodded.
She began heading out of the room. “Oh, Olivia,” she called back. “Uncle Stewart was looking for you before. I'm not sure why.”
I trailed behind Uncle Stewart on the path leading to their home. He'd said little on the drive, his face strewn with sadness. Ever the strong and silent type, Stewart was not one to talk about his feelings. He and Elaine made quite the team. She, full of laughter and excitement; he, providing a steady anchor.
I liked Stewart but I didn't know him that well. Funny how Elaine's absence forced me to realize this. Would he continue to be a part of the family the way Mom had? I didn't know. His gentle giant presence might have avoided the limelight at our gatherings but I couldn't fathom losing one more person.
Why did we lose the ones we loved instead of the ones we tolerated? I silently offered up Marcus if God needed a new target, but I took the thought back just as quickly. No need to tempt fate.
The rattle of keys in the doorway centered me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd visited Elaine in her home. Further still, it had been years since I'd visited without Elaine there at all. As children, my cousins and I played together occasionally as we waited for our parents to return home from the bank. Those days were long gone.
A trickle of fear ran through me as I crossed the threshold. The house had always been warm and inviting. What would it be without Elaine? The setting sun greeted us through the windows, the newspaper sections graced the table of a well-worn home. It did not feel her absence yet.
Uncle Stewart cleared his throat. “It's in her study.” He gestured for me to follow him.
He hadn't explained what he wanted to show me or why it needed to be now. I didn't ask too many questions. I welcomed the chance to get out of Gram's house for a little while. My car remained stranded in Wrigleyville. Reagan had offered to drive me over but I sensed this, whatever it was, should stay private. The drive over lent few clues as to what Stewart needed to show, instead of tell, me.
Stewart opened the study door and took a few steps inside. Though Elaine ordinarily took pride in her organization skills, the study remained free of structure. Piled high with books and papers, the office testified to her travel souvenirs and photos, as well as her secret taste for the color red. This room made
me question Elaine's decision to stay in the family business and her motivation for encouraging me to do the same.
My eyes traveled the walls until they stopped in one spot and my breath stole away.
I looked at Stewart and willed myself not to cry. My lips trembled. “She kept that?”
The canvas hung unframed between two windows. My piece from junior year of college, for the spring Art Fair. It took first place and paved the way for my European misadventure. Elaine insisted on buying it from me but I never knew what she'd done with it.
I hadn't wanted to know.
I'd used an old picture of Bethie, Ben, and Laura as inspiration. They'd smiled directly at the camera, a brief break from playing in the raked leaves. My first attempt painting children, I'd wanted a challenge. I'd manipulated a candid moment in paint until I captured their personalities at play. Instead of looking out at us per the picture, Ben held up a leaf for inspection, while Bethie looked in wonder as she threw leaves up in the air and Laura tried not to get dirty. The result looked more like a black and white photo than a painting. I hadn’t used much color in those days.
Back then, everyone believed art was the little hobby I'd soon outgrow. The unspoken rule mandated all Frasiers work at the bank or, if not there, in finance or business. Definitely not anything art-related. I'd told them finance classes were going well, when really I'd dropped them before the first semester of college began. I'd decided to live my life instead of fight their battles.
But Elaine had wanted the painting. I'd chalked it up to nostalgia at the time. I proudly took her money. The idea of the starving artist was such a romantic notion then, even though my college tuition and board costs were covered.
“She loved that painting. I don't know how many times I'd stop by here and catch her staring at it and smiling.”
She'd never mentioned that to me. Or had I simply been unwilling to hear it?
“She loves your kids,” I offered. I didn't know how to take this in.
“Yes,” Stewart concurred. “She loved you, too. Do you know why she bought this?” I shook my head no, baffled by the contents of this room. “She told me someday you'd be a famous artist and she wanted to be able to say she'd bought your first piece before anyone else believed in you.”
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. Elaine thought I would be a famous artist. She believed in me and I had failed her.
Stewart awkwardly patted me on the shoulder before pulling me in for a hug.
“She never told you that?” I shook my head no against his chest. “She was so proud of you, Olivia. She didn't always understand your choices but she admired how you forged your own path. She said that's how you lived out your Frasier blood, by doing a new thing.”
A new thing. The gallery. She didn't know about the paintings in the closet or the reason I sometimes lost sleep from anxiety.
Now she'd never know. I gasped as the tears came faster. She believed in me but I hadn't believed in her enough to be honest. Nausea swirled.
Stewart continued to talk, pointing out various items in the room and what Elaine said about them. We settled into two stuffed red chairs and allowed ourselves to be. He talked more in that room than I'd heard him speak in the previous year. It could have been the comfort of his home or perhaps the Frasier way forced us all to play the same diminutive roles. I soaked up these Elaine anecdotes just the same.
“I'd like you to have it,” Stewart finally said. He unhooked the canvas from its resting spot and handed it to me.
I looked at the work I'd created. I didn't know if I wanted it but I couldn't imagine leaving it here either.
“Are you sure? It sounds like this is a good memory for you, too.”
Stewart shook his head. “Elaine would want you to have it. In fact, I'm surprised she didn't give it to you herself.”
Elaine in the present tense. We didn't mention the past tense coming our way. At some point, no one would want to mention her at all for fear of others' reactions.
“Thank you, Uncle Stewart,” I managed.
He smiled briefly. “It’s the right thing to do. I can't control anything right now but I can do the things my wife would want me to do.” He slapped his hands on his legs. “Let's get you back to the house. I'm sure we're missing out on a take-out feast of some kind.”
The veil fell back over his vulnerable admissions. We'd return to the house and pretend like the stories never happened. But I'd seen through Stewart. He chose when and to whom he wanted to speak. I felt grateful I'd made the cut at least for tonight.
The canvas lay bulky in my lap as we returned to Beech Street. Worry surged. I didn't know where to hide my art from prying eyes. The odds of getting it inside the house and stowed in a random room undetected were not in my favor.
The five minute drive didn't buy me enough time to figure it out.
“I'll meet you inside,” I called to my uncle. I set the canvas on the hood of his car. “Thanks again for everything.”
My appreciation was minuscule compared to what he'd given me. It was infinitesimal compared to all we had lost today.
He waved back and trudged inside. I scanned the windows but didn't see anyone looking out. I texted Reagan and asked him to meet me outside.
A few minutes later, Reagan appeared at the door. He jogged over.
“Everything go all right?” He braced my arms in his hands as he looked first into my eyes for reassurance and then tipped his head in question at the covered canvas beside me.
“Better than that. I think.” I sighed. “I feel too much right now to explain any of it. I painted this years ago and Elaine kept it all this time. I had no idea. And then Stewart and I talked, and you've probably picked up that he's not a big talker, but he shared some special things that Elaine told him about me. All I want is for her to be here so I can tell her I love her and appreciate her.” I was babbling. Inside, I wish I could tell her the truth resounded. But I'd never have that chance.
Would the canvas remind me of the secrets locked away?
Reagan listened and didn't argue when I asked him to put the canvas in his car, sight unseen. The reprieve might not last longer than tonight but I'd take it.
I held onto Reagan. Soon I would have to speak the words out loud but not today. I wanted to trust but I didn't want anyone to view me differently. I knew they would.
You don't change your entire life for nothing, after all.
Chapter Sixteen
A vacuum enveloped and protected me. I didn't notice the gleam of the mahogany or the pattern of the grain. Pendleton Funeral Home buzzed with life. Person after person moving through and around. Shaking hands, nodding, comforting. It had been a relief to make it to the visitation but now memories and exhaustion consumed me.
I couldn't help but think of Dad as we prepared to bury Aunt Elaine. Another Frasier who died too young.
I remember pecking Dad on the cheek as I flew out the door that morning, almost late to catch the bus. Nothing unusual about that. I had been a freshman in high school, just starting to feel as though high school might work out. Looking back, I longed for the days when my biggest worry was whether I’d have a date for Homecoming.
The day Dad died split my life into before and after for the first time. I pictured Elaine sitting in the school office. My beautiful aunt with tears in her eyes, hating her role in telling me such a thing. She never said how she'd felt about being the messenger that day. Once she told me about the accident, I didn't question where Mom was or ask how Elaine felt. I was fourteen, after all. Consumed with myself and utterly unprepared to lose my father.
Twenty years have passed since that day. I stared at the coffin before me without noticing. This would not be our last funeral. Gram's future demise stretched before me.
We could not plan the when or how. Waiting for another tragedy was unreasonable in my eyes. I wanted to go back and change the trajectory for both Gram and Elaine. Did focusing on Gram mean we had lost sight of Elaine?<
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The hardness of the folding chair crept into my thighs and kept me tethered to the present. Once again, I appeared calm and collected to the loved ones gathered in Elaine's memory. Inside, I was helpless and flailing.
What came next? A desire to make things right overwhelmed me. Though I knew it wouldn't bring her back, I continued to comb my memory for anything we could have done to prevent this. There had to be something we could point to, some missed sign, someone to blame.
Tears of frustration surfaced but I blinked them back. I'd reached the point where crying no longer helped. I picked at the skirt of my dress, tempting myself into becoming lost and distracted by the print. Anything to avoid crying.
Visitors continued to pour into the funeral home. I should check on those in the receiving line or at least mingle with the people extending condolences. Instead, I lingered in my seat among the rows of chairs. Her coffin remained in my line of sight, though blurred by those paying their respects.
That awful moment looking at her still and waxy form made me shiver. It was Elaine and yet not her at all. I wanted to believe she was sleeping; we all wanted to believe it. No matter how hard the funeral home had tried to arrange her body in her image, that lifeless person was not my beloved aunt.
I didn't want to say goodbye but I was ready for them to close the coffin.
The faint hint of turpentine preceded Reagan. I looked up as he appeared by my side. His hand rested solid on my shoulder. He didn't say anything, for which I was grateful. I didn't want to reassure one more person I was fine. I didn't want to make small talk. I didn't want to suppress my true feelings as another idiot remarked, “God needed one more angel in heaven.”
I took a deep breath, then grasped his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back, the Morse code for the bereaved.
Hours passed before Elaine and Stewart's pastor summoned the remaining crowd for a brief time of prayer and remembrance. A glimpse into tomorrow's funeral service. We all filed into the rows of chairs. Immediate family stayed mostly up front, with cousins spread throughout the other rows.
