Claire and I talk to him, reminding him that he has something to fight for. I don’t know if I believe in the afterlife or the shining white light people with near death experiences say they’ve seen, but I do believe in love and faith. And I’m praying that wherever Ray is right now, he’s turning away from the light and coming back to me.
“WOULD YOU LIKE ME to brush your hair?”
Claire steps up behind me, dressed in a black dress that touches her knees with her hair up in a bun. I don’t know who did her hair, but I’m thankful. I can barely brush mine. Years ago, when I lost Tucker, I didn’t have time to mourn and part of me wishes I were in a similar situation because every part of my body hurts. The other part of me feels like I didn’t do this right with Tucker or I’m somehow not honoring his memory.
With the ‘passing’ of Tucker I was living in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder and jumping at the slightest noises. I’d sleep up against the door while Claire slept peacefully in bed or battled her toddler demons. Numerous times, I wondered if her night whimpers were dreams about Tucker, but her little mind was probably dreaming of monsters under her bed, not her father dying, not her father never coming home. I can’t even remember if I told her.
I stare back at my daughter who looks so much like the father she doesn’t know. How did our lives become this cluster mess of lies and decei
t? I never wanted to lie to Ray, but I had no choice. There was never a convenient time to sit down and unload my burden on him. And why would I? We were living a life of bliss and nothing was wrong, except my inability to give him a child. That was selfish of me. I didn’t know if I could love another child the same way I love Claire. She was my last link to a life that I never wanted to give up.
Today I’ll bury my husband when I couldn’t do it before. I was never afforded the opportunity to say good-bye to Tucker. Instead of honoring the man who served his country, sitting there like a proud wife and accepting his flag, I was lying on a bed, silently crying my eyes out and holding my daughter for fear that someone was going to take her out of my arms.
“Who did your hair?”
Claire picks up my brush and moves it through my hair, brushing it softly. “That lady, Ryley. She seems nice.”
“She is.” I smile softly. “When you were little, we used to go to the park with her all the time. She has a little boy now … I don’t know why I just told you that,” I say, getting lost in thought.
“It’s okay. We can talk about it.”
Claire sets my brush down and sits next to me on my bench, taking my hand in hers. She’s so strong and resilient.
“My name is Penelope,” I tell her with a smile. “And your name is Claire. For days now I’ve been referring to you as Claire in my head because it was your grandma’s name and your dad loved your grandma so much.”
“What’s his name?”
“Tucker McCoy.”
“He’s downstairs fixing our door,” she states as if I’m supposed to know this. “He made me breakfast, too, but it wasn’t very good. I didn’t tell him that though.”
“Oh yeah?” I try not to let my voice crack, but it does. I can’t imagine what Tucker is thinking right now. He’s spent the past six years believing we’ve been waiting for him, that he’d come home to a family who missed him. Well, I missed him, but Claire … she was too young.
“Has Tucker spoken to you?”
Claire shakes her head and starts pulling at her lower lip. “What’s going to happen now?”
I bring her into my arms and hold her, trying not to mess up her hair. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t. I have a lot of decisions to make and I can’t make them without you, but none of them have to be made today, okay?”
“Would you be mad if I didn’t want to change my name?”
I shake my head slowly while looking her in the eyes so she knows I won’t be mad at her. I can understand why she would want to keep her name the same, it’s all she’s really known.
“He’ll be hurt, though, right?”
I rub my hand up and down back, searching for the right answer. Tucker is as innocent as Claire is and we’ve all lost so much.
“I think Tucker would understand why you want to keep your name the same.”
Claire doesn’t say anything for a long time before she stands and picks my hairbrush up. She starts humming “Hush Little Baby” the song I used to sing to her while brushing my hair. I keep my eyes closed and let her do whatever she wants. No one is going to care how I look today, not when the focus should be on Ray.
The sound of a hair clip locking into place has me looking in the mirror. Claire stands behind me, beaming. “I think you look pretty like this,” she says with a toothy smile. I turn my head from side to side, as if I’m striking a pose, and smile.
“I love it.”
Claire stands at the front of the church, her father’s body resting behind her. The pews are filled with friends, colleagues, and students, along with their parents. I have been touched, hugged, promised visits, and offered condolences from people I don’t know. Behind me sits my friends, the ones who saved us. No one here knows what really happened, and the police bought the stray bullet story. They found tracks in the woods and figured it was a hunting bullet gone astray. Not uncommon here.
Ryley wanted to sit next to me, but I told her people would stare. Never, in the years that I’ve been here, have I talked about anyone other than Claire. I don’t want to explain where my sudden barrage of friends came from. This is still my home.