Her sobs grew harder and Frank understood. They were coming from a place Amy did not visit often. And so it continued.
Hours after the others had forgotten about Amy’s hurt feelings, Frank held his wife close while she cried for the man who, long ago on a carefree yesterday, had taught her to laugh.
Fourteen
Tuesday morning a thick layer of gray clouds came off the bay and covered Petoskey making it unseasonably cool for July—and appropriately dismal. Just before eight o’clock Aunt Mary arrived in typical timely fashion, chattering about how good it was that everyone could be together to make plans for the funeral and what a wonderful support system they were for each other.
“I just know your mother will be so pleased, what with everyone back together under one roof. I’m sure you’ll all work well together, planning the service and making decisions for your mother. You know, this is one of those things where everyone really needs to make their suggestions and see them carried through because, well, after all he was …”
Ellen stopped listening and returned to the bathroom to finish her makeup. Aunt Mary meant well. It was just that the woman was hopelessly out of touch with the way they were feeling. Until Aunt Mary arrived, the three sisters had been lost in their private thoughts, savoring the heavy solitude and the relative lack of tension it afforded them.
Running a brush through her hair, Ellen stared at herself in the mirror. For an instant she wondered how much she had changed since she was in high school …back when Jake thought she was the prettiest girl in Petoskey. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.
She had long since perfected the art of disregarding thoughts about Jake. In the early days after she embraced Christianity, Ellen learned from Scripture that the best way to steer clear of a weakness was to never entertain thoughts about it. Jake was her strongest weakness back then, so when thoughts of him came she refused to entertain them, recalling instead specific memory verses from the Bible.
Memory verses. Ellen met her reflected gaze thoughtfully. It’s been years since I’ve even tried to commit a Bible verse to memory. For an instant she was pierced with guilt, but she shrugged that off as well. Later. When I’m back home and things are settled. Then I’ll get back into the Word.
She ran a dab of clear gloss over her lips and when she was satisfied with her appearance, she gathered her purse and a pad of paper. They had a long day ahead of them. It was one thing to make suggestions, and quite another to plan a funeral service. Ellen intended to take notes and help them stay on track so they could finish by the end of the day.
Her sisters were ready to go when she walked back into the main room. Jane was rattling off instructions for the children, advising Aunt Mary to call if there were any problems.
“We’ll probably come back for lunch, at least I will if I can get a ride.” Jane glanced at Megan. “Is that okay?”
“Sure, we can all come back for lunch. We’ll probably need a break by then, anyway.”
Ellen nodded. “Sounds good.”
She was not about to disagree over lunch plans. Not when they had so much to work through that day. The three sisters bid their aunt good-bye and left.
“She’s a talker,” Megan said as they walked to her parking space outside the building.
“Yes, that must be where Ellen gets it,” Jane added.
Normally Ellen would have laughed. There was no secret in the fact that she was a talker or that she had received a fair amount of teasing for it over the years. But in light of Jane’s attitude the last few days, Ellen felt attacked. Still, she said nothing. There was more satisfaction in keeping peace.
Ellen looked at her sisters. “Is Amy coming? Did anyone call Mom and find out?”
Megan shook her head, but Jane snorted sarcastically. “She’ll be there. That whole little demonstration last night was just a big play for attention. When Amy wants attention, Amy gets it.”
Her comments were met with silence. There was no point defending Amy when to do so would just bring further conflict. The ride to the Barrett home was quiet, and Ellen wondered if that was the secret to peace with her sisters. Simply stop talking.
They arrived at quarter past eight, just as Aaron appeared from his bedroom, shaved and showered. For the first time in two days he was not wearing his dark glasses. Five minutes later, Amy and Frank pulled up.
“Oh, thank God,” Mom muttered quietly. She settled into one of the dining-room chairs and watched the couple make their way up the walk and into the house.
Ellen studied the room. Mom had arranged a circle of seating for the occasion. Aaron claimed the oversized stuffed chair, the one their father had always used, while Amy and Frank shared the sofa with Megan. Jane sat on a chair in the corner of the room and Ellen completed the circle by taking the chair between Aaron and their mother.
It felt good to gather for a reason, Ellen realized. It almost seemed to give them some sense of purpose. Since Sunday night she and the others had been helpless to do anything but talk about John Barrett’s terrible health and how his death could have been prevented and how relatively wonderful it was that he hadn’t suffered. Now …she studied the faces around her. Now they were ready to take action.
“Well.” Her mother’s voice was shaky but she managed a weak smile. “I’m glad you’re all here. We have a lot to plan and I want us to do it together. Your father would have wanted it that way.”
Ellen prepared to write as her mother flipped through several pages of notes and turned to the first page of a small booklet.
“The priest told me we can plan whatever kind of funeral service we want. I had no idea where to start so that’s one of the reasons I wanted you all here.”
Silence.
“Father Joe gave me this little book.” She held it high. “It gives us a guideline we can follow as we make decisions.”
“Father Joe?” Ellen asked.
“Yes. He’s new at St. Francis.”
“He’s not officiating at the funeral, is he?”
“I don’t know, Ellen. Do you have a problem with Father Joe?”
“Dad didn’t even know him,” Megan cut in.
“Yeah,” Ellen agreed. “Father Jim is the one Dad knew. He’s the one we brought cookies to when we went caroling, right?” She looked at Megan for support.
“Right, Father Jim. Mom, the funeral should be led by someone who knew him.”
Jane clucked her tongue. “Like it matters. The people at St. Francis don’t know each other, anyway.”
“It does matter,” Ellen said softly. “We don’t want some guy up there saying how sad it is that John Barrett died, and, gee, it would have been nice if he’d known him. The minister in charge of a funeral should at least know something about the deceased.”
“He’s not a minister, he’s a priest,” Mom corrected.
“That’s not true, Jane.” Amy met her sister’s gaze. “I happen to know many of the people at St. Francis quite well.”
“Oh, sure you do.” Aaron shifted positions restlessly.
“Who cares who knows each other at St. Francis?” Jane’s eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead and she glared at Amy. “I was just saying that it doesn’t matter who says the funeral.”
“I think it does.” Ellen was quiet but firm.
“Well, excuse me, Ellen.” Jane crossed her arms angrily and sat back hard. “Forget I said anything.”
“Come on, Jane.” Control my tongue, Lord, Ellen prayed. She waited a moment, calming herself. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just that we should do our best to have Father Jim officiate the funeral because Dad knew him. I think it’s only right.”
Their mother wrote something on the pad of paper. “What about you Aaron, Amy? Do you think it matters who says the funeral?”
“Dad’s dead,” Aaron said simply. “He won’t know whether it’s Father Jim or Father Joe or Sam the Barber.”
Amy was silent.
Ellen looked at her br
other curiously and was struck again by the emotions that must be warring inside of him.
“At least I’m not the only one,” Jane muttered. “I agree with Aaron. Who cares which priest says the funeral?”
Ellen looked around the circle at the faces of her family. “Whatever. If that makes everyone happy.” She stared at her blank notepad and tapped her pen nervously. Well, Lord, I’m obviously not prepared for this … She had expected resistance from Jane, of course, but she had not planned on Aaron siding against her, too. “I just thought it would be nice to have someone who knew Dad say a few words at his funeral.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having someone who knew your father speak about him at the funeral,” Mom said. “In fact, that’s something else I want to talk about. I think it would be wonderful if each of you could write something and read it at the funeral. We don’t have to discuss it yet but be thinking about the idea.”
“I’m not getting up in front of a bunch of people and reading something,” Amy announced. “No way”
“Me, neither,” Aaron said. “What’s the point?”
Their mother sighed. “It’s a chance to tell the world about your dad, who he was in your life. Maybe by doing so it’ll be easier to let him go.”
“I could write a book about him and it wouldn’t be easy to let him go,” Ellen said lightly. “But if you want us to do something like that I’m in. I love putting my feelings into words.”
Jane sneered. “I think we know that, Ellen.” She took on a high-pitched voice. “‘Ellen Barrett, the great writer’ I’m sure you’d love to write something about Dad and I’m sure you’d enjoy making the rest of us look bad while you were at it.”
“Jane! Stop that!” Mom ordered.
Ellen stared at Jane, astonished. Only a blind person could miss the hatred in her younger sister’s eyes. Jesus, help us! This is such a disaster. She drew a deep breath, then put a hand on her mother’s arm. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m under no delusions here. I know how Jane feels about me.”
Jane glared at Ellen but remained silent.
Their mother looked at each of them as they sat there. “What I’m saying is that, rather than having a priest do all the talking, I’d like you five children to help us remember who your father was and why we loved him. Don’t make any decisions about my idea one way or the other. Just think about it.”
Thankfully, the disagreements seemed to ease after that. They spent two hours discussing which Bible verses best reflected their father, when they should be read during the service, and who should read them. They decided to stay with the twenty-third Psalm, a favorite of their father’s since he’d recited it aloud as valedictorian of his graduating class in college. Megan would read that passage.
“What about the Serenity Prayer?” Ellen asked. “Dad always liked that.”
“That’s not a Bible verse, Ellen. The priest wanted two Bible verses.” Jane’s tone was condescending, and Ellen had to fight the urge to slap her.
“Mom, did the priest want us to plan the service or not?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah,” Amy interjected. “He said we could plan it ourselves, right?”
Ellen realized that Amy was probably taking her side to annoy Jane, and the thought only raised Ellen’s anxiety level. Amy didn’t hold a grudge so much as she nursed it, breathing life into it as long as possible. After the fiasco the night before, Amy would be upset with Jane for months.
“Yes, Ellen, that’s right.” Mom’s tone was even as she answered. She seemed determined to remain unaffected by the tension in the room. “We can read whatever prayer or poem or Bible verse we’d like. Ellen, why don’t you read that prayer to us. Do you have it handy?”
“Yes, I jotted it down over the weekend in case we could use it.” She flipped through her notepad. “Here it is. ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”
There was a moment of silence.
“That sounds like Dad,” Aaron said finally, and Ellen raised an eyebrow in surprise. She had heard her brother talk more that morning than in the past four years combined.
“Okay then. Unless someone objects, I think maybe Ellen should read that at the service.”
“What if I want to read a Bible verse?” Jane’s eyes were hard, her tone defensive. “Why should Megan and Ellen be the only ones to read something?”
“Well then, pick something,” Mom said pleasantly. “Everyone can read a verse as far as I’m concerned.”
“No, that’s all right.” Jane looked away, the picture of persecuted martyrdom. “It’s probably better this way. Ellen and Megan are better in front of people. Dad would have wanted them to read.”
“Well,” Megan stood up and reached for her purse. She looked and sounded disgusted with Jane’s attitude. “I’ve had about enough for a while.” She turned matter-of-factly toward Jane. “You said you wanted to go back for lunch. It’s eleven-thirty. I’m ready if you are.”
“Oh.” There was obvious hurt in their mother’s voice. “I thought you could all have lunch here. We’re finally together and getting something done. Why don’t you stay and I’ll fix something for everyone?”
“We could,” Jane said as she collected her purse and headed for the front door. “But I need to get back and see the kids.”
Ellen was torn. She didn’t want to spend any more time with Jane than was absolutely necessary, but she agreed with Megan that they needed a break from the discussion. She hoped their mother would not be too disappointed.
She shrugged. “I guess I’ll go with Megan and Jane. Is that all right, Mom?”
Her mother’s crestfallen expression belied her words. “I suppose. I just thought we could spend the entire day together and continue the plans while we ate.”
“We’ll be back right after lunch. And don’t worry—” Jane crossed the room and hugged her mother—“we’re working things out, and I think it’s going very well so far. Dad would approve.”
Ellen stared in stunned confusion. How could Jane be so thoughtless one minute and so gentle the next?
“Think we’ll be done before dinner?” Jane asked as she headed for the front door.
“I hope so. This is exhausting.” Mom stood up and stretched. “Maybe I’ll take a nap while you’re gone.”
“Good idea,” Jane hugged her again.
“Be nice …” Their mother’s voice broke. “Please, Jane.”
Jane pulled back, studied Mom’s face, then nodded slowly. “I will. I’m sorry.”
Quick tears stung Ellen’s eyes. Lord, I will never understand Jane. Not for as long as I live. A sad desperation filled Ellen as she followed her sisters to the door.
After the three sisters were gone, Diane Barrett gave a small sigh. Oh, John, what’s happened to our family? She wasn’t sure how much more of this tension she could take.
Amy and Frank rose from the sofa and moved toward the front door.
“Frank and I are gonna get some hamburgers. You want one, Mom? Aaron?”
Diane smiled at her youngest daughter. “Sure, honey, thanks. Let me give you some money.”
“Aaron?” Amy looked at him expectantly.
“A double. No onions.” Aaron stood up and lumbered into the den where he flipped on the television. The others could hear what sounded like a golf competition underway. Aaron watched for a moment and then turned the channel.
“Talkative, huh?” Frank broke the silence Aaron had left in his wake. Frank managed a plastic smile from behind his thick, round glasses. There were beads of perspiration forming along his thinning hairline, and he looked especially tense.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Diane patted his shoulder as he and Amy prepared to leave. “Don’t take it personally.”
Frank shrugged and shook his head quickly. “He’s very immature. That’s not something I take personally.”
Diane bid them good-bye, thankful that Frank was
an intelligent man. He was thirty-eight and had come into Amy’s life at a time when she was trying to decide what to do with her future. She was a pretty girl with a fuller figure than her sisters. She hated the way men ogled her chest whenever she went out. Before meeting Frank she had confided in Diane that she was seriously thinking about becoming a nun.
In response her father had taught her how to use his computer to tap into electronic bulletin boards. After that, Amy spent hours chatting with people she could neither see nor hear. Until then, she had never found a social niche that suited her. But when her fingers made contact with the computer keyboard, she entered a world that seemed custom-made for her alone. It was a world in which she had thrived.
A few months later she began having nightly computerized conversations with a man whose screen name was “Franco.” She was going by the name “Aimless,” something her friends had called her in high school. After exchanging photographs in the mail, they finally agreed to meet one afternoon at a busy restaurant. Six weeks later they were engaged, and Frank quickly found his place in their family. He and John could talk for hours about computers. John had even said that, in Frank, he saw himself as a young man: intelligent, idealistic, and replete with limitless energy.
Frank ran his own business assembling computers and selling them through mail-order advertisements. He easily earned enough money to keep Amy quite comfortable. After they were married Amy continued working at the private day care, but they certainly did not need her income to make ends meet.
Frank was slightly plump and more than a little balding. He had almost white blond hair and was only an inch taller than Amy. From their first meeting, Frank doted on Amy and gave her the security she craved. Diane thought they were a perfect match.
She watched them now as they drove away, and suddenly she felt exhausted. The sadness was so tiring, so gut wrenching. She wondered if she would ever wake up feeling refreshed and free of the burden John’s death had placed on her. She closed her eyes and rubbed her neck. Then she padded slowly down the hallway, past the spot where John had died, back to the bedroom they’d shared for twenty-one years. The pillows still smelled like him.
Where Yesterday Lives Page 16
