by Amanda Foote
For the last hour I hadn’t really been listening, instead I peered into the crowd of 50 or 60 faces that had gathered together to celebrate the life and mourn the death of my parents. Picking out who I knew and who I didn’t – Mrs. Wilson from down the street, my dad’s boss, my mom’s boss, my mom’s friends, my dad’s friends, my English teacher, the cop from the station, Lila and her parents all sitting next to me, a very distant cousin of my mother’s, and countless other people that I had never met – picking out who came because they actually knew my parents and loved them from who came because they felt obligated by respect. It wasn’t until John’s six minute speech ended and Marlene’s speech began that I drew my attention to the front.
Aunt Marlene was a writer. More than that, Aunt Marlene was a published author, with more than one bestseller under her belt. And when she wrote, it was worth stopping to listen. Out of all the many books I’ve read, no words have ever spoken more truth to me than hers. Her books were drugs to me, I read each one. She was the only truth worth believing.
“Gabriela and I grew up together as sisters, and as most of you know, a sister is like a best friend you were forced to have.” A chuckle of light laughter drifted up from the crowd. “But Gabriela and I weren’t friends for a long time – we were more like frenemies.” More laughter. “I was forced to put up with her snootiness and her hand-me-down clothes, and she was forced to put up with my attitude problem and my tattle-tale nature. But this is what sisters do: we put up with each other. And it’s worth it, because, in the end, if you put up with the fighting and the tattling, the hair-pulling and the name-calling and the screaming matches, what you are left with is a late night in a dark, shared bedroom. What you are left with is your sister confiding in you for the first time about her first love. A boy named Ben, who lived two miles away in a cul-de-sac, who was in her French class junior year, who passed her a note that said ‘I like you.’ Then there’s a phone call three years later on a Thursday when your sister calls you to tell you that she’s getting married to this boy. Then a last-minute lunch during a surprise visit from your sister, when she tells you that she’s pregnant. What you are left with, in the end, is a beautiful girl who grows up to be the spitting image of her mother. You’re left with a talented young woman whose personality so reflects her own father’s that it’s hard to believe they share only half a set of genes. The world lost a large chunk of what’s important the day that it lost Ben and Gabriella Lee. I grew up with these two amazing people. But more than that, their daughter grew up to become what will remain of them in this life. Ben and Gabriella’s time ended too soon, but their story is not over. It will live on in each of us, from what we know of them, from how we remember them, from how their memory haunts us each day. It will live on, and let it never be misplaced, or forgotten.”
Hot tears stung at the edges of my eyes. I fought them back with great struggle as the crowd clapped and Aunt Marlene stepped down. The preacher stood up to welcome anyone who wished to visit the closed caskets. They had told us they were badly mangled and recommended this option in place of an open casket. I don’t think I could have looked at them that way anyway and not pictured them in my mind like that for the rest of my life.
Marlene approached us. She was greeted first by Lila’s mom, who gave her a big hug. Lila, her father and I stood back but each offered a reassuring hand to Marlene’s back as tears poured down her face. None of us ventured to the front to visit the caskets. I felt like I might vomit just seeing them out of the corner of my eye. They didn’t hold my parents anyway - just empty husks of who they used to be. I’d find other ways to hold onto my parents… but I’m not to that part of the story yet.
Lila’s mom pulled back the curtain. “When do you two leave for Oklahoma?”
“The reading of the Will is scheduled in a few hours. Once we know for sure that everything has been left to Heaven, we plan on getting the bike sold and the house listed, then we will finish packing and the plan is to be on the road by the day after tomorrow,” Marlene answered.
“I’ll miss you,” Lila said. I hugged her. She whimpered a little and nodded her agreement. Lila had been an invaluable friend to me these last few days, but I knew she would return to her regularly scheduled life before too long and I would fall off her radar.
Everyone turned away and there was a lot more hugging of people I didn’t know or people I knew but didn’t care to talk to. My black dress was starting to feel really itchy so I made a quick excuse and high-tailed it out of there. When I had emerged from the building into open air, I knew I had to leave but it occurred to me that I had no vehicle, so I started to walk. It didn’t matter which direction I was going, so long as I was moving. And moving. And moving.
I walked for eighteen minutes before I finally stopped. I found myself in front of the nearest hospital, and knowing who I would probably find inside, my curiosity drove me through the front doors. The nurse at the front desk surprised me by recalling the accident and out of pity or kindness, I’m unsure, she directed me toward the correct hospital room. Once there, I knocked but there was no answer. I opened the door to peek in and saw that he was sleeping. The bruise under his eye was still there but it was slightly faded, and a large bandage was wrapped around his head where the gash had been. His black hair was poking out underneath the bandage. There were eight sets of flowers spread out around his room. He was dozing lightly, but when I accidentally let the door close shut behind me with a clap, he jolted awake.
He saw me immediately. “Heaven,” he said, less of a question this time and more of a confused statement.
“Hi,” I said, unsure of what I was really doing there. I barely even knew him. He was one of those baseball kids who hung out with the “cool” crowd. I leant him a pencil once in the eighth grade. Other than that, I don’t think we’ve ever spoken. “How are you feeling?”
He grimaced. “Not too good.” We were both silent for a moment. “I didn’t get hurt too badly in the crash, but… I feel worse than the bandages give away.”
“Why?” I asked, confused.
He looked at me almost incredulously. His eyebrows clenched together, creating a crinkle between them. I felt a little less lost looking in his blue eyes. “Because of what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. I could blame him or blame Dale a thousand times, but in the end it wouldn’t bring my parents back, and it wouldn’t make me feel any better.
“It could just as easily have been me driving that car. Maybe if it were me…” he sighed, clenching his fist.
“It wasn’t,” I insisted. “Don’t dwell on the past. At least, that’s what the grown ups always say. Not that they’re any good at it.”
He gave me a small smile. “Easier said than done.”
I nodded, recognizing the truth in his statement. “I… you know, I don’t even know your name.”
“You don’t?” he asked. He looked a little hurt. “I know yours.”
I shrugged sheepishly. “I know. You said it, at the crash site. I wasn’t sure at first if you were talking about me or about, you know, the real Heaven, but when you said my name when I walked in just now, I knew that you were.”
He lifted his hand for me to shake. “Dillard. My name is Dillard.” I took his hand and shook it, but when I started to back away he held on. “Heaven,” he started, and took a deep breath. “I am so, so sorry about your parents.”
“I know, I know you are,” I said, clutching his hand in return. He rested his head on the pillow again and let go of my hand, letting out a difficult breath. He looked very tired. “How is the girl?” I asked. “The other girl who made it out.”
He frowned, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “She didn’t make it. Her lung collapsed and they weren’t able to save her.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered, almost choking on the words. “What was her name?”
“Amy.”
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” I said, taking a sea
t next to his bed.
He chuckled uncomfortably. “I could say the same to you.”
I stared at my hands, then tugged at a loose strand that dangled at the end of my scratchy black dress. “I guess we both lost people who were important to us that day.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, lying back again, eyes closed.
I glanced up. “I don’t blame you, or even Dale.” His eyes flew open. “I hope you know that. I know that it was an accident.”
“Thank you, Heaven. That means a lot.” He stared at me. “What are you going to do now? Where will you live? Do you have other family?”
“There’s only my mom’s sister. She lives in Oklahoma. I’ll be moving there in a few days to finish out my senior year.”
“Where in Oklahoma?”
“Shawnee?” I posed it as a question, thinking maybe he’d heard of it, but just as I hadn’t, by the shake of his head it was apparent that neither had he.
“Heaven, do you… do you think it would be okay if we talk sometime, again? I could call you. You know. I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Sure,” I said, writing my number and Marlene’s address down on the pad next to his bed. “Dillard,” I said, emphasizing his name to remember it better and loving the way that it rolled off my tongue, “that would be really nice.”
✽✽✽
At the reading of my parents’ last Will and Testament, there were five chairs. Aunt Marlene and I occupied two of them. John occupied the third and my mom’s best friend Casey occupied the fourth. A young woman I didn’t recognize sat in the fifth chair, but I remember seeing her at the funeral.
The lawyer, a close friend of my father’s, pulled out a thick manila envelope from a filing cabinet behind his desk. “I’ve gathered each of you here together today because you all have received something from either Ben or Gabriella Lee. Ben and Gabriella had prepared for the possibility that one or both of them could pass on and have created a video they wished to share with each of you. In it they detail who will receive what, and I have a copy in writing for anyone who wishes to have one. Unless there are any questions, I will go ahead with the video.” No one responded so he pushed a button on a remote and suddenly my parents’ faces were on his tv screen. It was shocking and made me a little sick to my stomach, but at the same time, I found comfort in their smiles.
My mother spoke first, her gorgeously long dark honey-colored hair falling in waves against her chest. She wore her favorite shirt in the video, a black long-sleeve blouse with buttons down the front and large clumps of peonies scattered across it. “It’s a sad day if you are watching this, because I can no longer see your face. Each of you is very dear to both of us, and because of this we want to leave you with something in the unfortunate event that Ben and I might pass before our time.”
My father began. He wore his favorite suit from work and his short black hair was perfectly combed. “John, you have been an important friend these past seventeen years. You were with me through trials and triumphs, through my daughter’s birth and through more than a few late nights. I’d like to leave you with my Harley. It’s not much, but you were with me the day that I picked it out, in fact, it was you who begged me to buy a motorcycle because your wife would never let you get one. I imagine that if your dead friend leaves one to you in his will she can’t possibly say no,” he said, offering a small chuckle, “so I hope that it will bring you a lot of joy in my absence.”
My mother spoke again. “Casey,” she said, already smiling, “do you remember that night at my bachelorette party when we drank four beers each and a couple of tequila shots? I kept one of those beer bottles. I want you to have that. I also kept all of our notes, including a full memory box of keepsakes from our many years together. All of that is yours.”
“Marlene,” my father said, “you might be only my sister-in-law, but since I had no brothers or sisters, you have been the only person to have ever been anything close to a sibling to me. I love you so much, we both do, and there’s a lot we are grateful for that you have done for us in the past. And now we pass our most treasured possession onto you, our beautiful daughter, Heaven.” Pesky tears are creeping up behind my eyes again, but I bid them stay. Marlene’s face was stoic, but she gripped the tissue in her palm with a ferocity I could feel from here. “We entrust her care to you until the day she turns eighteen. We also put into your care any assets we are leaving to her until she is of legal age. We hope that you will take her input into consideration when deciding what to do with these assets, but we trust that you will deal with them wisely.”
It occurred to me that they had left nothing yet to this young thin woman in the last chair and it caused me to wonder who in the world she even was. Her soft honey hair fell in curls around her shoulders, and her dark brown eyes wept gently above dark circles and thin, pale skin.
“Heaven,” my mother grinned. “My sweet, beautiful baby Heaven. It was such a magical experience getting to watch you grow up. You are the light of my life. You are the light of both of our lives. Every wise decision you have made and every path you have chosen has been a blessing. We were so lucky to be given such a stunning, kind, generous, and amazing child. I only wish,” she said forlornly, “we had told you about this a long time ago.” About what? I wondered, feeling impatient and guilty all at the same time.
My dad’s turn. “Heaven, we are leaving to you all of our major assets, including the house, the car,” What’s left of it, I thought, immediately feeling a stab of guilt, “all of my stock, your mother’s jewelry, anything you find in the house, and more that is detailed in the will itself. You may do anything you wish with all of this, sell it, keep it, rent it, whatever, as long as it is under the supervision of your Aunt Marlene, if you are still under eighteen. And finally, there is one more thing.” The already silent room seems to grow even quieter. “For the past eight years, your mother and I have been carefully adding to not one, but two savings accounts. These accounts now each separately equal a little less than ten thousand dollars apiece. One of these accounts will be written over to you, Heaven, in the will. The second one will be written to Cadence… your sister.”
“What?!” I gasped, not even realizing for a moment that I had screamed out loud and that everyone in the room was now staring at me. But my eyes were locked to the screen.
“We are so sorry for keeping this from you, Heaven,” my mother said with sad eyes, “but there never seemed to be a right time, and if you are finding out from this video, then the right time probably didn’t come soon enough.”
“We were only sixteen when we got pregnant with Cadence,” my father said, “and only seventeen when she was born. We have regretted giving her up for adoption ever since, and when Cadence was sixteen her parents contacted us to get back in touch. We have been saving for the both of you, for this moment, since then. I know that it’s not much that we give you, Cadence-”
“But,” my mother cut in, “we just wanted to give you something to show that you did mean something to us, and always have. We never forgot about you and we never will. Your father and I hope, Heaven, that you and Cadence can recognize what a blessing you have here – you now both have a sister when before you had none. We leave you with that and keep you in our hearts always.”
“We love you all,” they said together, clasping hands. Then the screen clicked off.
“What?!” I said again. I looked at the girl in the last chair, the one with the soft honey hair, like mine, like my mother’s, with the big brown eyes, like mine, like my father’s, and asked her, “You? You’re Cadence?” She nodded erratically, tears streaming down her face. She looked like she was going to be ill, clutching a Kleenex to her chest. “Who are you? I don’t even know you!” I yelled, standing from my chair.
“Heaven,” Marlene said, touching my arm gently to try to calm me, but I barely heard her over the pounding headache in my ears. I felt betrayed. Lied to. Misled. I felt like my world had already crashed and now it was on fire
, ready to explode at any moment.
“I can’t believe they never told me,” I fumed, clenching my fists. I gave Cadence one more glance, her face in utter shock, and finally stormed out of the office, refusing to look back.
✽✽✽
“That’s the last box,” I said, placing a cardboard box labeled Mom’s Clothes into the back of the U-Haul. I set it gently in the front, where it rested amid an assortment of eighteen other boxes labeled things like Keepsakes, Dad’s Stuff, Paperwork, Heaven’s Stuff, To Sell, and more, along with my furniture. I closed the back and locked it. I watched as Aunt Marlene locked the front door and set up the For Sale sign in the yard. It sat upright about four yards from my old swing set, which we had decided to leave. We didn’t have a need for it, and it made the house look more charming, which meant it might sell faster. It made me sad to leave it behind, but as I glanced at it I could remember the day I got the scar on my chin. My dad was pushing me on it, and I kept shouting, “Higher! Higher!” I couldn’t have been more than six, and I couldn’t have been more shocked when I flew so high that I flew out of the seat, soaring through the air. For what felt like whole minutes, I was flying. But in reality, it was only seconds before I hit the ground, hard. That was my first ever trip to a hospital. But not my last. Suddenly, I didn’t regret leaving the swing set here. Some memories are better left alone. I climbed into the passenger side just as Marlene started the U-Haul. “Home, here we come,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, giving my childhood one last glance as she backed out of the driveway. “Home.”
Chapter Three.
Marlene’s office was squared away in the back of the house, where sounds did not reach it and she could write in peace, though since she lived alone this never quite made sense to me. Marlene lived in a fairly large house with 2 bedrooms and a den and a huge fenced backyard, on a cute little cul-de-sac. Every wall in her house was painted a different bright color, and there was a minimum of 3 plants in every room. Might I add, you could also find stray cat toys on the floor of every single room. There were dirty dishes in the sink at nearly all times, and stacks of books on every possible surface. I wouldn’t call Marlene a slob, but let’s just say that she paid someone to clean her house every week.
