the time.”
“Sweet boy,” Aunt Trudy said, with Aunt Kirsten on another extension. “Our hearts are broken for you.”
“Thank you,” Erik said over and over to his people. “Thank you.”
“I can’t put him in the ground,” Daisy said. “I can’t bear the thought.”
“No,” Erik said. “I can’t either.”
“He needs to be near us.” Her voice was syrupy with tears and pain. “He’s so little. I want to keep him.”
“I do, too.”
The arrangements were made for them. They didn’t have to lift a finger or make a call. Their sole task was to hold Kees and press him into their memory before they took him away.
And sign the certificate of stillbirth.
And remember to take it to the registrar at some point.
And collect his ashes.
And…
PEOPLE WERE UNBELIEVABLY KIND. The house filled with food: casseroles, soups, pies. The counters creaked under the offerings, the fridge exploded with sympathy. Flowers filled every room. The fruit bowl overflowed. A waterfall of envelopes spilled from the mailbox. Cards, notes, letters. Donations were made to charity in Kees’s name. A Jewish family in the neighborhood had a memorial tree planted in Israel. Another had a star named for him. Every deed was accompanied by beautiful loving words. You’re in our thoughts. In our prayers. We’re broken-hearted. I’m sending you my love. I’m lighting a candle.
A package arrived from deWrenne Atelier and they unwrapped a beautiful silver hummingbird with a jeweled eye. A note from Vivian read: In the spirit world, hummingbirds are messengers of joy. But they are also known for the ability to get in and out of small places, and their ability to heal. I send you all my love in this little bird, and hope it can hover in the small dark places of your hearts and help heal you.
The MacIntyres sent flowers. Come to Clayton anytime you wish. Come home and stay with us. We’ll take care of you.
Mike Pettitte texted often. Hey buddy. I’m out on the boat. I’m thinking about you. I’m here if you need me.
Love came from all directions. On paper, on screens, in dishes and words and deeds.
We’re thinking of you every minute.
I’m sorry.
We’re sorry.
We’re so sorry…
Kees came back to them as a few cubic inches of ash. Most of the cremation urns offered by the funeral home were cloyingly kitschy. They picked the simplest one available for the time being.
They didn’t quite know where to put it. The mantelpiece seemed too obvious and lonely. The kitchen was the center of their household universe, but it seemed an odd location to keep an urn. They took turns keeping it on their bedside tables for a week until Daisy placed it on top of the upright piano. Erik took the black and white picture of four Fiskare generations from his desk and set it beside his son.
And baby makes five.
He fussed and arranged the composition of picture frame and urn, trying to get it perfect. Wishing he could reach fingers into the photograph, rip his infant self out of his great-grandfather’s arms and put Kees there.
“Take care of him,” he said under his breath, meeting Emil’s eyes. He imagined the old man, who had lost a son in the war, nodding as his arms tightened protectively.
These things happen and they are terrible things to bear.
Erik sat and played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Then he felt dumb and closed the lid over the keys.
“Play the Prelude in C,” Daisy said. “It’s a lullaby.” She sat on the floor and he noticed she was working a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table.
“Why are you doing that?” he asked, feeling dumber, as if he ought to know why.
She looked at him as if she thought the same. “I just want to put something together.”
He nodded and opened the piano’s lid again. He played a flat, soulless version of the Bach prelude. Started a Mozart sonata but stopped for no reason and went to sit on the floor by Daisy. He poked a finger through the box of pieces, looking for the borders, which he slid across the table to her. Her thank yous were clipped and businesslike, as though he were passing her instruments during a surgery.
He helped her for half an hour, not speaking. Then he got tired and lay down on the couch. His hands were ice cold and he held them tight between his knees.
He thought of the time he was eleven and had watched the movie Poltergeist, which had scared him past healthy terror into a unshakable, manic upset.