Family Blessings

  “Oh, just a minute!” Lee said, and hurried to the kitchen, where a drawer rolled open and tinfoil tore. Momentarily she returned with a neatly folded silvery packet. “It’s chocolate cake. For morning.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Reston.”

  In the Explorer, in damp shirts, he and Janice headed for the apartment with the rain-spotted tinfoil between them.

  “Your mother is wonderful,” he said.

  “Everybody always says that. All my high school friends wished she was theirs.”

  “Does she ever get down?”

  “Not very often. She has this saying: It is out of adversity that strength is born. But I don’t think Greg’s death has really hit her yet.”

  “It will when she stops supporting everyone else and has some time alone. That’s when it really hit me—when I got back to the apartment last night.”

  She reached over and placed her hand on his bare arm, and let silence roll down the rainy streets with them.

  In time she dropped her hand and seemed to realize something. “Christopher! Is this vehicle brand-new?”

  “I just got it this afternoon.”

  “And you didn’t say anything?”

  He shrugged.

  “I thought it smelled new. And it’s still got cardboard liners on the floors.”

  “You’re the first one to ride in it.”

  She gazed at his profile. In the center of this sadness came a moment when pure life zinged through her like a shock of electricity. She had always loved his face, from the first time she’d seen it, a handsome face with clear, tanned skin that always looked freshly scrubbed. Highlighted by the dash lights, his nose, lips and forehead formed an attractive silhouette. In these days when men shaved designs into their heads, or wore their hair in ugly crew cuts or below the ear, his vigorous short hair with its slight curl gave him an all-American look that only added to the overall appearance of squeaky cleanness.

  “There’ve been times when I imagined riding somewhere in a car with you. Too bad the occasion isn’t happier.”

  He had felt her gaze and let her subtle implication pass. “Greg and I had planned to take it to Denver in the fall, maybe to Nova Scotia.”

  “Funny how every path leads back to him.”

  “I guess that’s natural. When someone dies suddenly he leaves unfinished business.”

  “We talked about that last night, Mom, Joey and I. We all slept in Mom’s bed together and we talked about a lot of our feelings.”

  He featured Lee gathering her kids in beside her. The picture fit.

  “I’ll bet she never in her life yelled at you, or swore at you or smacked you.”

  “Swore at us, no. But we got yelled at when we deserved it. And I got smacked once when I was about five or six years old. I called my uncle Barry a dumb shit.”

  Chris burst out laughing.

  Janice went on. “I must have heard someone else say it—I don’t know. And right now I can’t even remember what it was that bugged me so about Uncle Barry, but whatever it was I didn’t like it, so I called him a dumb shit and Mom slapped my face and made me apologize. Afterwards she hugged me so hard I thought she’d crack my ribs, and she cried, too, and said she was sorry but I must never talk that way to anybody again.”

  Where Chris came from the parents called the kids dumb shits and meant it. And afterward there were no tearful apologies.

  “You’re a lucky girl. She’s one fantastic mother.” He made a sharp left turn that took them into the parking lot of Cutter’s Grove apartments. “Here we are.” He wound between the buildings and activated the door of an underground garage. Pulling to a halt beside Greg’s white Toyota, he shut off his engine and asked, “Are you gonna be able to handle it?”

  “I told you I’ve driven plenty of times in the rain.”

  “I’m not talking about the rain.”

  “I can handle it,” she replied in a whisper. “I’m my mother’s child.” She gave in to impulse, leaned over and kissed him on the jaw. “Thanks for everything, Christopher. My mother said she didn’t know what she’d have done without you, and the same goes for me.”

  The next moment she was out of his vehicle, unlocking the door of Greg’s car.

  4

  THE following morning the rain was gone and the sun promised a torrid day ahead. Christopher awakened at 6:35 and listened to the silence in the apartment. What am I going to do today? The wake this afternoon, but between now and then the hours would stretch like a Dalí painting, empty, dry, distorted.

  He rolled over and switched on the radio.

  Lorrie Morgan was singing about Monday, which was never good anyway. The deejay came on with news about road repairs that would narrow I-694 down to a single lane for the remainder of the summer. The weather report predicted a high of 89 today, clear skies and extreme humidity. The announcer said, “Watching your grass grow might actually be exciting on a day like today.”

  He thought of Lee Reston’s grass and wondered when it had last been mowed. Everybody running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and the house overrun with people, and who, in their despair, gave a damn about whether or not the grass got mowed? It was Joey’s job, he supposed, but Joey was having as tough a time as the rest of them dealing with Greg’s death.

  Chris got up and hit the shower.

  * * *

  ATten to eight, when Lee Reston shuffled to the front door and opened it, she heard noises coming from the garage. She went outside barefoot, onto the cool concrete sidewalk, tightening the belt of a knee-length kimono, peering around the corner of the house to find Christopher Lallek with the garage door raised, pouring gas into her mower. He was dressed in cutoff shorts, a sleeveless blue T-shirt and a hot-pink bill cap that matched the strings on his sunglasses. “Christopher?” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mowing your lawn.”

  “Oh, Christopher, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I know what pride you take in your lawn, Mrs. Reston, and there’ll be lots of company coming the next couple days.”

  “Joey can mow it.”

  “Joey’s got all he can handle right now.”

  “Well . . . all right, but have you had breakfast?”

  He gave her a small smile. “I had a piece of chocolate cake.”

  “Well, at least come in and let me give you some coffee.” She led the way into the house while he watched her bare feet from behind. She had shapely calves for a woman of her age, and very small feet.

  “The kids are still sleeping.” She held the screen door open and he followed her inside.

  “How about you?” he asked. “Did you sleep?”

  “Oh, a little. You?”

  “I did, yes. Woke up early though, and the radio said it’s going to be a scorcher later on, so I thought I’d come over and do the lawn while it’s still cool.”

  She poured coffee into two thick blue mugs and they sat down at the table.

  “I’ll bet you’ll be glad when tomorrow is over,” he said.

  “Going back to work is beginning to sound good.”

  “You must be getting a little tired of having people in your house.”

  “At moments, yes.”

  “Listen, I wasn’t going to come in, I was just going to—” She pressed him back into his chair when he began to rise.

  “No. Not you. I like being with you. Whenever I am, the disaster seems less disastrous. This is nice, just the two of us sitting here quietly.” Beneath the table she crossed her ankles and propped her heels on a chair seat.

  It was shady in the kitchen at this time of day. She hadn’t turned on any lights. The room was rather a mess, the counter still covered with cake pans, Tupperware, loaves of bread and neglected mail. Beside the sink a roaster was filled with water, soaking the remnants of somebody’s offering. The photo albums were closed and piled on the table along with a bunch of stacked clean coffee cups that someone hadn’t known where to put away. The slid
ing door was open, bringing in the cool, dewy freshness of morning. Out on the lawn a pair of robins cocked their heads, enjoying a healthy breakfast after the previous night’s rain.

  “I feel the same way,” he said. “When I’m over here, I’m closest to Greg. But I don’t want to make a pest of myself.”

  “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll let you know.”

  He sipped his coffee and let his eyes smile at her over the rim of the cup.

  “Everybody at the station asked how you were when I was over there yesterday.”

  “Everybody I know seems to be wondering how I am. Can I tell you something? Without meaning to sound ungrateful for people’s good intentions, there was a moment yesterday when the phone rang again, and I heard that question again, and I thought I’d scream and run out of here. I just wanted to hang up and say, ‘Leave me alone! How do you think I am!’ ”

  “Well, you’d better get used to it, because from what I’ve seen of the people you know, they’re going to keep calling for a long, long time.”

  “I must sound ungrateful. What would I have done without all the wonderful people who came and brought love and hugs and food the last two days?”

  “Aw, come on, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not ungrateful, you’re just human. It’s a tough question to answer on the best of days—how are you.” He took another sip of coffee and they listened to the birds singing.

  “So, how are you?” he asked.

  They both laughed.

  Afterward they felt themselves grow a notch more relaxed with each other.

  “Gosh, that felt good.” She roughed up her hair with four fingers, the sleeves of her silky kimono falling to her shoulders. “Haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “Me either. Mostly I have long lapses when my mind hardly works. How about you?”

  “Same here. You find yourself staring at nothing.”

  He scratched at his mug with a thumbnail and said, “I did something yesterday that I was quite proud of, though.”

  “What?”

  “I spoke out loud to Greg.”

  “Really?” She propped her jaw on an upturned palm. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Hey, Greg, I finally got my new Explorer!’ And then I said, ‘Damn your ’nads for not being here with me to ride in it!’ ”

  She laughed softly and got a little teary-eyed at the same time.

  “We had talked about taking a trip in it this fall, maybe to Denver, maybe to Nova Scotia.”

  “I didn’t know that. But that’s . . .” She wagged her mug back and forth across the tabletop, then looked up again. “. . . That’s what I value about being with you right now. Talking with you is like talking with him. Getting tidbits about his life that I wasn’t privy to in the last couple months. He was always fascinated by Nova Scotia.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Chris said, studying the contents of his mug. “Then yesterday, after I got mad at him I asked him if there were hot dogs up there . . .” He looked up at Lee. “And afterwards I felt so much better. You ought to try it.”

  She took her mug in both hands and, resting her elbows on the table, studied the yard while he studied her. Her kimono was flowered and crossed at the breast. Above it hung a tiny pearl surrounded by a gold swirl and two small diamonds, suspended on a fine gold chain around her neck. Her neck was thin and long. Her chest was slightly freckled.

  He looked away, finished off his coffee and rose. “Well, I’d better get to work.”

  “Sorry,” she said, rising, too. “I got melancholy on you. I didn’t mean to.”

  “Don’t apologize, Mrs. Reston. Not to me.”

  In silence they studied each other. The coffee machine clicked on and sizzled, rewarming the pot. Outside the birds sang. At the other end of the house a toilet flushed.

  “All right,” she agreed quietly.

  “And one more thing. You should keep your garage locked. Anybody could come in and start your mower.”

  Her mouth hinted at a smile. “You sound just like him.”

  “I know. Us damn cops never let up, do we?”

  He headed for the door and she trailed after him.

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Thanks for mowing.”

  “The best thing is to keep busy.”

  “Yes, I’ve found that out.”

  He went out and she caught the screen door as it closed, stood with her fingers caught idly on its handle, watching him go down the steps. At the bottom he did an about-face and stood below her, looking up. Strings dangled from his lopped-off jeans onto his thighs. The hair on his sturdy arms and legs was bleached by the sun. His bare feet, in dirty sneakers, were set wide apart.

  “I’ll tell you something, Mrs. Reston.” He slipped his sunglasses on, the pink Croakies flaring back behind his neck. “I’ve never lost anyone before. I’ve never been to a funeral. It’s damned scary.”

  He turned and headed for the garage before she could answer.

  THIRTY-FIVEminutes later he was mowing the backyard when Janice came out the sliding door with a glass of ice water. He glanced up and remembered it was Sunday: She was wearing a pale peach dress and white high-heeled pumps. He went on maneuvering the machine around the edge of the flower beds until she approached. He killed the motor, pushed his cap back on his head, accepted the glass and said, “Thanks.” She watched him drink the ice water, his head tipped back, a trickle of sweat sliding from his short-trimmed sideburn. “Ahhh,” he growled, finishing, backhanding his mouth and returning the glass. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s really nice of you to do this.”

  “Keeps me busy.”

  “Don’t make light of it. Mother really appreciates everything you’ve done for us.”

  “Yeah, well it goes both ways. Your family’s pretty special.”

  She smiled.

  “Did I wake you with the mower?” he asked.

  “No. I had to get up and get ready for church anyway. Do you want more water?”

  “No, thanks . . . that was great.” He nodded at the flower beds. “She do all this?”

  “Yes. In her spare time. We keep saying to her, ‘Mom, how can you spend all that time in the garden after working with flowers at the shop all day long?’ but she just loves it.”

  He studied some tall blue spiky flowers while she studied him and wondered if he’d ever notice her. He hadn’t for two years. Now that Greg was gone Chris wouldn’t be around anymore, and she’d never been comfortable with flirting. Furthermore, this wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

  “Do you go to church, Chris?” Janice asked.

  “No.”

  “Mom said to tell you you can come with us if you want. We can wait for a later service.”

  “No thanks, I’ll just . . .” He gestured toward the mower. “Finish the mowing.”

  “All right.” She fired the ice cubes off the lip of the glass onto the

  grass and turned toward the house. Halfway there, she called back over her shoulder, “Anytime though. It’s an open invitation.”

  “Thanks.”

  He watched her walk away in her peachy summer dress with the sun showing the outline of her slip through the skirt, her legs looking firm and polished, her white high heels adding a pleasing curve to her ankles. He watched her, feeling the uneasy regret of a man who knew full well a woman found him attractive though she failed to stir him in the least.

  Disquieted, he turned back to work.

  A while later, with the mower still buffeting his ears, he saw Mrs. Reston step onto the deck, dressed in a short-sleeved brown-andwhite suit and high heels with a purse slung over her wrist. She waved; he waved and watched her walk the length of the deck toward the garage. A moment later, between the two buildings, he saw them drive away for church.

  WHENhe got home the light was blinking on his telephone answering machine. He pushed the message button and Lee Reston’s voice came on. “Christopher, this is Lee. I just wanted
to tell you one thing. Funerals aren’t bad, Chris. If you think about it, they’re really for the living.”

  He tried to bear that in mind that afternoon as he showered, shaved and dressed in a suit and tie for the wake of his best friend. But when he was in the Explorer with the air-conditioning turned on high, driving toward Dewey’s Funeral Home, the stream of cold air couldn’t quite dry the sweat on his palms.

  The funeral home was one of the prettiest buildings in town, on a shaded corner, looking like a stately southern mansion with white pillars and Palladian windows. Walking toward it, he felt a knot of dread in his stomach. Inside the shadowed building, it was nappy and gloomy, the windows mostly covered to hold out the summer light. But where one might expect to hear recorded organ music, he heard instead—very softly as a background to murmured voices— the sound of Vince Gill’s album “I Still Believe in You.”

  His mouth twisted into a disbelieving half-smile as he smoothed his tie and stepped toward a lectern holding a memorial book. Lee’s mother and father were there signing, then whispering together, scowling as they cast their eyes toward the ceiling as if in search of the speakers.

  He caught a snatch of their conversation: “. . . what in the world she was thinking of!”

  “I can just imagine what Aunt Delores will say.”

  He signed and followed them toward a cluster of people, watching Lee separate herself from them to come forward and greet her parents.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I know what you’re going to say, but please . . . let’s celebrate his life, not his death.”

  “Oh, Lee, people are whispering.”

  “Who?” she said, gazing straight into her mother’s eyes, gripping Peg Hillier’s hands in both of her own. “I talked it over with the kids and it’s our choice. It makes our memories happier.”

  Peg withdrew her hands. “All right, have it your way. Orrin, let’s go say hello to Clarice and Bob.”