Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,51
Angry at God for letting Emma die. But today was different. Today, I smiled, picturing Emma cradled in her granddad’s arms.
Maybe I’d turned the corner on my grief.
Lord, I hoped so. My acceptance phase was long overdue.
I clung to my peaceful state of mind as I pulled into my mother’s driveway. I even maintained my Zen-like calm as I looked over the master list of things we’d yet to take care of.
“Boy, this is some list.” I shook my head as if my statement was news to my mother.
“I realize that, Bernie.” She slid the list out from under my fingertips. “So, we’ll start with the cell phone and go from there.”
I nodded, suddenly flashing back on the flowers and the teddy bear at the cemetery.
“Were you at the cemetery today?”
Mom shook her head. “Your brother was.”
Mark? Mr. I-refuse-to-talk-about-dead-family-members?
“There were flowers on the graves and a teddy bear on Em’s.” I squinted at her. “Mark did that?”
She nodded. “He goes once a week.”
She could have knocked me over with a feather. “Since when?”
She gave me a slight smile. “I told you everyone grieved differently.”
True. She had a point there, but I wasn’t about to let go of this particular conversational thread that easily. “How do you know he went today?”
“He came by to try on your dad’s jackets.” She shuffled through a stack of papers as if she could distract me from what she’d said.
Nice try.
I moved in for the kill. “Which ones did he take?”
Her only response was the shake of her head.
A mix of anger and frustration tangled inside me. Anger at the hurt I read in my mother’s expression. Frustration at the fact my brother refused to do this one simple thing.
Sure, he could put flowers on a grave, but he couldn’t look in the closet, pick a damned jacket and take it home.
“He didn’t take any?”
“No.” She tapped the list. “We’d better get going.”
I knew better than to force the issue.
After all, my niece’s birthday was coming up, the perfect opportunity to tell my brother exactly what I thought.
In the meantime, I refocused on Mom and her quest for a new cell phone.
Once we reached the store, selecting an upgrade for my parent’s outdated plan took less than five minutes. Everything was going fine until the sales clerk asked for the one thing I hadn’t anticipated.
“Do you have a copy of the death certificate?” She blinked, eyes bright, as if that was a question people asked every day.
I winced.
My mother swallowed.
“We just need to change the name on the account to my mom’s.” I gave the woman my brightest smile. “Surely you can do that without the death certificate.”
The woman shrugged. “Sorry.”
My mom sniffled and I spun around to look at her.
She struggled to compose herself even as tears glistened in her eyes. I knew better than to reach for her, knew that would only make things worse.
“Thank you.” She forced the words, her voice tight with emotion. “We’ll come back another time.”
The sales clerk’s features fell slack, suggesting she might have a heart beneath the pat smile and unfeeling questions.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’ll get you a form. You can fax it to me, if that would be easier.”
My mother nodded. I nodded. The sales clerk nodded. Then she disappeared into the back room.
I reached for my mother’s arm but she spoke before I made contact.
“It’s all right, Bernie.”
“No it’s not.” Anger began to simmer inside me. “It’s not all right, Mom. Dad’s dead and this sucks.” I jerked my thumb toward the exit door. “I feel like walking over there and screaming out into the parking lot. Everyone out there should take a moment to acknowledge how much this sucks.”
She looked at me then, smiling through her tears. “I’m sure they have their own problems, honey.”
I stared at her, completely in awe of the woman who had lost her soul mate yet soldiered on, who found a way to smile through her tears.
We didn’t say much on the way home, having decided to return to home base and try the list again later.
I glanced at each car and pedestrian we drove past.
They have their own problems, honey. My mom’s words echoed in my brain.
I knew she was right. I knew everyone had a story. I mean, how could they not?
The woman walking her dog had a story. The man driving the car behind me had a story. Even the neighbor picking up trash along the curb had a story.