“Okay. I’ll stay with you,” she told me, and followed me out and down the stairs.
I didn’t know how my mother could continue to do it. She greeted people all day and into the evening. Once in a while, when she turned to me, I could see the exhaustion in her face, but she wouldn’t give in to it. I knew that holding herself together like this, keeping herself going, was what she believed my father would want, would respect. This was how a soldier’s wife should be at such a time. Apparently, while I was upstairs or while I was distracted, she had excused herself for a phone call in my father’s home office. As soon as she had a moment that she could spend alone with me, she told me she had called Uncle Orman.
“What did he say?”
“I thought I was talking to your father’s commanding officer,” she replied. She didn’t sound angry about it. She almost looked amused. “He told me he was about to begin a very important assignment at the Pentagon and couldn’t be here for the funeral. He said your father would understand. I left it up to him to inform his children and your aunt Lucy. I’m sure he’ll have a military attaché do it. The truth is, you and I were the only family your papa had,” she said.
My whole face trembled. She hugged me and kissed my forehead.
“Let’s do what we have to do, Emmie. We’ll mourn for him afterward and forever.”
I took a deep breath and followed her back to the visitors and mourners. Chastity was looking more uncomfortable than ever and told me she should get home. She wanted to tell her parents so they could visit my mother.
“I’ll be back every day,” she promised. “You can call me whenever you want, no matter what time.”
“Okay, Chas,” I said. “Thanks.”
We hugged.
“Do you know when the funeral will be?” she asked, as if she had just remembered what this was all about.
“What funeral?” I said. “This is just a dream.”
She nodded, her eyes flooding with tears, and then she turned and left as quickly as she could. I didn’t blame her. When she got outside, she probably felt as if she had come up out of a grave, I thought.
I understood why Mama wanted people to exhaust her. By the time the last mourner had left our home, she was ready to collapse.
“We have a lot to do tomorrow,” she told me. “Just try to get some sleep.”
I followed her up to the bedrooms. When she paused at mine, I wanted to ask about Roxy. Would she try to reach her to tell her? Did that matter at all to her? Once again, Mama surprised me. She really could read my thoughts.
“We’ll think about your sister tomorrow,” she said. She kissed me and then went to her bedroom like someone who was stepping out of this world and into another.
I was surprised at how tired I was and grateful that she had been wise enough to exhaust us both. I fell asleep like someone under anesthesia.
She was up ahead of me in the morning and waiting for me in the kitchen. We hugged without speaking. I looked at the breakfast she had prepared and shook my head.
“I know you think you can’t eat, Emmie, but you must.”
To emphasize, she began to eat herself.
“Your father’s company has placed an obituary in the New York Times,” she told me.
I looked up at her. I felt certain she was telling me this to open the conversation about Roxy. Who else did she care about seeing it?
“You think Roxy will see it or learn about Papa today?”
She glanced at Papa’s empty chair as if she thought his spirit was there listening. “Your father and I talked about your sister more and more lately. He was still very angry about her, but he was beginning to soften. I left a message with her service last night,” she said.
My heart raced with anticipation. “And?”
“I’ve heard nothing back. It took a great deal of effort to get your father to find out how to reach Roxy. He gave me the information only two days ago. It was as if he knew what was coming,” she said, and took a breath so deep I thought she had reached back into her youth to find the oxygen.
“Why didn’t she call you back right away? How could she ignore this?”
“Maybe she didn’t get my message yet,” Mama said. “Maybe she doesn’t care. I did what I thought I should,” she added, glancing toward Papa’s chair again.
Every time the phone rang after that, I held my breath, expecting it to be Roxy, but it wasn’t. Mama’s family in France called as soon as they were up and about. The only one I spoke with was my mother’s brother, Alain. I hadn’t spent much time with any of her family, and I was very young when I did, but I could recall him the best. He was the nicest and sweetest of them all. Mama had recent pictures of her sisters and brother. They were a good-looking family, but besides being strikingly handsome, Uncle Alain had a softness in his smile that could make anyone he met feel comfortable. As Mama herself said, Uncle Alain had the most positive energy. He was still unmarried, and although Papa had never come out and said it, especially in front of me, he believed Alain was gay. Mama never said anything about that. I knew he was a successful international attorney, but aside from that, I knew little else.