I tipped my head to the side and said, “Yeah.”
“They’re talkin’ and sayin’ what they think they should say. When my wife died, I got all sorts of greeting card shit, ‘She’s in a better place’, ‘She’s gone home now’, ‘She’s smiling down on you.’ I hated that shit. The only person who said something that meant anything was your gran.”
I slowly put my fork down.
“She was there, knew my wife.”
I wondered how I’d never meant the Oskins before.
He answered my question. “They both volunteered for some hospital thing up in Santa Rosa. She said, ‘There is not one thing I can say that’ll ease your pain, Mr. Oskin. Your wife was a genuinely nice woman, and I’m glad to have met her. I wish you and I could have met under different circumstances. I hope this day goes quickly for you.’ Now, your gran? She gave a shit. Just remember that, nine times outta ten, people are just talkin’ to hear themselves, or talkin’ because they think they should.”
He reached over and put his hand on mine.
“And Gen, if something happens, and it scares the fuck outta you, and you feel like you gotta shut down…that’s your heart protecting itself. The thing you need to realize is, it’s not your job anymore. That’s your fella’s job, and from what I can tell, he’s pretty happy to have it.”
I looked down at my half-eaten cake and replied, “I can’t eat cake and cry at the same time.”
“Seems like chicks always do that shit in movies.”
“Lorelai never did that.”
“Who’s Lorelai?”
I smiled at him, picked up my fork and started to eat my cake.
And after that, I stopped worrying.
*****
Ahren
It was Friday afternoon, and Ahren had just finished repairing the irrigation system in Delilah Von Kesteren’s garden. Of all the gardens his father had designed, hers was his favorite. There was no labor in the love he had maintaining it. He knew that each and every plant, tree, shrub, flower, and bush had been put there by his father’s hands. It kept him connected to his dad in a way that kept more than just his memory alive, like the perennials that came back year after year. It was one of the main reasons he tended Delilah’s garden, and though she always wanted to pay, he did it for free.
“Mister Finnegan?” Mrs. Smith called out from the distant deck.
He moved the small polished stones over the tiny black hose and made his way toward her voice.
When she was in his line of vision, he called up to her, “How are you, Mrs. Smith?”
She smiled brightly at Ahren. He had always known that Mrs. Smith was a woman who wanted something out of her life that she never did get and probably never would. She was settled. She loved her husband, but something was missing. She’d never mentioned children to him, and he thought that might be the source of whatever kept her from true happiness. Then again, some people were never satisfied, and he didn’t know her well enough to pry. Instead, he always flirted with her a little, paying her a compliment on how she wore her hair or if she’d done something different with it. He asked what perfume she was wearing, knowing that a woman liked when a man noticed things. His dad had taught him that.
“I just need to run down and fill this prescription for Delilah. I thought I’d done it already, but I just cannot seem to find it anywhere. I hate to ask, but do you mind keeping her company for about twenty minutes?”
“Take your time. In fact…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Maybe bring back something from Brewster’s?”
She smiled again and said, “I am not taking your money, Mr. Finnegan. But I’ll bring something that’ll make us girls gain weight, and you…well, I don’t know how your body converts high-calorie sugar into lean muscle mass, but your dad was exactly the same way.” She shook her head with a small giggle, and, under her breath, said, “And he looked good without a shirt, too.”
Ahren caught her comment and smiled to himself. He knew he looked just like his dad, and he had no problem finding a woman willing to sleep with him without saying a single word to her. Evidence pointed toward him not being unattractive, and being outdoors all the time helped him keep color on his skin year round. Since his dad’s heart attack, he was careful about his indulgences. He’d smoked when he was stressed, but since Gen was back in his life, he found he’d lost the taste for it. He also hiked along the river or up Mt. Tam when he went to see his parents. But in the last five months with Gen, he’d increased his baked goods intake by a thousand percent, which made him laugh out loud as he reached Delilah, looking out onto the deck wistfully.
“Mind if I keep you company?” he asked as he stood next to her wheelchair.
She lifted her head, but only slightly, and turned to look up at him. “Think you can pick me up?”
She sounded tired, and Ahren assumed she wanted to be taken to bed.
“I think I can manage.” he smiled .
“Help me with that wrap over there.”
He looked behind him and saw a thick, woolen throw or “wrap” as she called it.
Delilah arranged it over her shoulders and said, “I would really like to enjoy this sunshine sitting by the river in my garden. Think you can help me with that? The chair won’t fit, so you’ll have to carry me.”
“Of course. Just hang on tight. Mrs. Smith will kill me if I drop you.”
“Not likely,” she said, using all her strength to lift her arm to clutch her wrap. “She wouldn’t want to miss you taking your shirt off while working on these sunny days.”
He carried her with ease, moving carefully down the steps, and thinking the bag of mulch he carried from the truck was heavier than Delilah.
He lifted her onto the swing, where, months ago, he’d made love to Gen. They stole quiet moments there together when they had dinner with Delilah and Mrs. Smith. They now enjoyed a Sunday roast made by Mrs. Smith every few weeks, and while he and Gen loved their time with her, they both knew the dinners wouldn’t be forever.
“Thanks, Ahren,” she said quietly. She made herself comfortable, close to Ahren’s body and he didn’t mind at all. “When I came here from Arizona, I never thought I’d live this long. I just wanted to have a quiet life and surround myself with beauty. I was a teacher, you know. They were my kids. I once loved a man. He died in Vietnam. Or I assume he died. They never found his body. I could have found someone else to share my life with, but I always thought he would always be my second choice, and that didn’t seem fair. Then, I met a man, a local. We spent time together. He was happy to be my second choice, because he understood. He was a widower and I loved him… then I ended it. It was stupid of me. The thing was, he wasn’t my second choice. I was young enough then. I could have had that life…but I didn’t because I was afraid of losing someone I loved more all over again.” She turned to him and added, “I made the wrong choice. Genevieve is going to need you to be strong now, Ahren. Never let her go. Don’t give her the option.”
Her soft words sunk right into his heart and stayed there as he vowed, “I will never, ever let her go, Delilah. I promise.”
“Good. Just going to close my eyes for a bit,” she said, her words a whisper. “Your father created so much beauty, Ahren, and it’s sitting right here in this garden next to me on this swing.”
Only minutes later, as Ahren looked out onto the light dancing with the rippling current, the scent of blooms around him, he knew she was gone. He kissed the top of her head and held her close.
“Travel safe, Delilah.”
I arranged my hat and poked in one of my two hat pins to secure it in place. Ahren walked in and casually set down a glass in front of me. I could smell the whiskey when he came through the door and knew the potential burn it was going to cause when it hit my throat. I watched him in the mirror, the way his body moved under his jacket, and when he leaned to the side, I could see the clear outline of him. God bless boxers. I smiled to myself, embarrassed at where my m
ind went on a day like today.
He moved to stand between my legs, looking down at me.
“Ahren?” I warned. “Really? I mean, you know, funeral and all. No real time for jiggy-jiggy.” I went about sliding a pearl stud into one ear.
“Jiggy-jiggy?” he smirked, as he lifted a glass in tandem with an eyebrow and waited for me to take it.
“I don’t usually drink before work,” I said with a pause.
Work.
His voice was tender when he said, “Yeah, you’ve been putting on a brave face, but you know this is different. I thought this might take the edge off, and you and I could toast Delilah in private. You know, before you have to…work.”
“So you weren’t trying to have jiggy jiggy with me?” I set the glass down so I could put on my other earring.
“No, but if you think that’ll help take the edge off better than whiskey, I’m happy to oblige.” He grinned.
I once again picked up the glass and held it to await the inevitable clink. “To Delilah, one of our last touchstones.”
Ahren didn’t say a word. Mine were apparently enough.
He’d sat with Delilah long after the sun had set and only carried her into the house when a frantic Mrs. Smith came out into the garden looking for them. He said it was a beautiful experience and an honor.
“She knew, Gen. Somehow, she knew it was coming.” He told me.
We finished our drinks, I finished beautifying myself, and off we went to Everly and Scott Funeral Home.
Mrs. Smith had made the call informing Taylor of Delilah’s passing. He ran the obituary in The Marin Chronicle and The Phoenix Sun Times, as well as online. Though she did not want a lot of hoopla, she did want a small service, just in case someone showed.
When we arrived at the funeral home, I was in my black suit, hat, and gloves. Ahren looking dashing in the same suit he wore to my Olympic event tryout for coffin vaulting. This time he wore his shirt buttoned to the top, a grey and black striped tie, and silver cufflinks. I hid my naughty thoughts – kinda – and determined he and I would have to make the best of a shitty day later.
Mrs. Smith met me at the front door. She’d been waiting in the lobby with her husband, Michael, who looked just as mild-mannered and sweet as his wife had described him. He was a long-haul truck driver, and he and Mrs. Smith had agreed he would retire when Delilah passed.
So when I met the man, his hand outstretched to shake mine, Mrs. Smith introduced us by saying, “This is my Michael.” She turned to look at him and explained, with obvious emotion, “He’s home.”
The four of us stood, waiting to see if anyone else would show. It was early yet. The service was supposed to start at eleven, and it was only a quarter till.
“Genevieve?” Mrs. Smith asked with an envelope in hand for me. “From Delilah. I’m supposed to give it to you now.”
I supposed I knew what that meant. I gave Ahren an okay sign and moved to the back of the small viewing area in the chapel. Delilah didn’t want a pastor; she wanted me to say a few words that she left up to me to compose.
Ahren came up beside me and asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to say?”
He was checking on me. I loved his concern, but I wasn’t actually all that sad. I would miss Delilah. Definitely. But from what I knew of her though, and what she’d shared with Ahren, my job had taught me that sometimes, people needed the peace only death could bring.
“Give me a sec, K?” I reached for his hand and looked over the letter from Delilah. Then I read it in a quiet voice to Ahren.
Dear Genevieve,
Oh, you dear, sweet girl. You have been an absolute delight. I’m sharing my story with you now, because all these years later, the memories are still raw. At first, I did not share because I thought it might hit a little too close to home for you. Later, I did not share because I was certain I had made the wrong choice. I did not want this choice to influence you.
My first husband was in the military and went to Vietnam long before the war even began. I was thirty-four when he left. The first year he was gone, I received six letters. Then, they stopped. Years later I was told he was declared missing-in-action. He had life insurance, and as soon as I was able, I left Phoenix. There were too many memories and one too many ghosts.
I moved here, for a quiet life of solitude and peace. I was sure nothing could penetrate my grief, and for a very long time, it did not. Not until I met a man, a widower by the name of Mir. He’d worked on the river his entire life. His wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with a son. From what I understand, the son has been estranged for years, and Mir was left to raise his grandson.
I would like for you to give my ashes to Mir. If he is no longer living, I would like my ashes to go into the river at the bottom of dock fifteen. It is below the holiday cabins at the big bend. He was my second chance, and I was so afraid to lose him that I walked away. Those memories and ghosts followed me from Arizona. I want him to know it was the biggest mistake and regret of my life. I should have been his wife. He should be the one to do with my remains what he wishes, and I would like you to deliver them with that message.
I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you and Ahren have found your way back to each other. Take care of him, Genevieve. There is so much beauty in that boy’s heart, and it is all for you.
Delilah
I looked up through the fat tears streaming down my cheeks to see Ahren, intensely listening to every single word. He lifted his head and motioned toward the door. An older man was being assisted by a very good-looking younger man. They were making their way toward Delilah’s wicker casket.
Mir.
Vladimir to be exact, and he was there to say goodbye.
The man with him had to be his grandson. When the time was right, I approached them before the service began and introduced myself to the younger man.
“Hi. I’m Genevieve Clare. May I borrow you for just a moment?”
The younger man put his hand on his grandfather’s shoulder and said, “Only be a sec.”
Mir nodded, and I led his grandson to the back of the room.
“You don’t know me, but I’m going to assume you’re that man’s grandson?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m Adim, Vladimir, after my father and my grandfather. Original, I know.” He lifted his eyebrows with a smile that could charm a girl right outta her panties. Or, me out of mine anyway.
My first thought was, ‘You are taken, Gen.’ Jesus.
“Well, can you please read this? It’ll only take a sec.” I handed him the letter.
His face moved through a variety of emotions. When he finished, he said, “Yeah, she broke his heart.”
“She had her reasons,” I told him softly.
“He didn’t have much time with my grandmother. I think they were married for a year when she got pregnant. She died having my dad. Then my dad liked to drink, and he liked to gamble. He knocked up my mom. Mom moved back east somewhere, apparently drank herself to death. Dad, last I heard, he was in debt for hundreds of thousands of dollars. He asked my grandfather to sell the business, or put it up as collateral. That was twelve years ago, so I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
“You’ve lost your parents.”
His shoulders lifted with a matter-of-fact sigh. “I never really had them to begin with. I can’t really say I’ve ever missed having them either. When he goes,” he turned his head toward his grandfather, “that is going to fucking kill me.”
“Well, I’m your Girl Friday,” I said gently. “You call me, I’ll give you my card. This is what I do.”
“Right,” he said and looked to his grandfather thoughtfully. “He talks about ‘Dee’. He used to take the canoe up to her place just to look at her garden and see if she was on her deck.” His eyes moved to the letter again. “Give me her ashes, Ms. Clare. I’ll respect her wishes. I have a feeling my grandfather will want them to be together, even if it is just scattered in the river.”
“She loved him.�
��
“So it would seem,” he commented. “Hey, do you mind if I…?” He held the letter to his side, motioning toward his grandfather.
“Go right ahead.”
A few minutes later, Taylor had taken his place off to the side at the front. A small podium stood left of where Delilah laid. Taylor gave me a signal that we could begin whenever I was ready.
Mrs. Smith did not want to say anything, telling me she’d already said her goodbyes to “Mrs. D.” I was just about to make my way to the front, thinking I was going to wing it, when the older man beat me to it.
“Delilah came here from Arizona for peace and quiet. When she arrived, looking for a home, she stayed at my cabins…” It was then I realized he was the Russian guy that ran the holiday cabins near the bridge. “We fell in love in one day. One.” He held up his finger to the small gathering. “The day started with our pasts and ended with our futures. Ours. Four years I had with this woman, and, aside from my grandson, I have never loved another person like I loved her. Rest now…my beautiful Dee.”
Seven people there, but not a dry eye in the house.
The casket was closed. The long wooden display table with the casket was lowered and would await us in the crematory. After our goodbyes, I made my way to the back. Mr. Everly was waiting for me, but I had to check on my man.
“Ahren?” I said as he peered out toward the beautiful gardens that surrounded the funeral home. He didn’t answer me. “Baby?” I asked, using the affectionate term he often used with me.
I saw his eyes then. He was having his own moment, privately.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re going to start, but I know it’s pretty confronting. I can meet you at the car. It won’t take long.”
He reached out for my hand, wrapped his fingers around my own, and silently led us back inside.
Mr. Everly had opened the casket again so I could do one last thing.
I set a small Brewster’s box with a piece of red velvet cake, her favorite, right between her hands. I even placed a little eco-friendly fork between her fingers.
“Now, make sure you share, Delilah.” I smiled through my tears. “I’m gonna miss our chats. See ya.”
The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare Page 13
